“Put your foot on the ledge, honey.”
I lean against the tile wall, cold against my back, and rest my foot where he told me to, my body relaxed and pliant.
The showerhead makes a slow, deliberate trek over my shoulders and down to my breasts, tight and heavy with the new ache coiling in my stomach.
I’m not sure what kind of dark magic Tripp is working with, but I’m already panting. His gaze is locked on mine as he guides the spray lower, across my ribs, down my stomach—and finally between my thighs.
He switches the spray to pulse, and I gasp as the concentrated stream of water hits my clit.
His hand grips my hip, thumb brushing over my tattoo in slow, steady strokes while he holds the showerheadright there, expertly angled.
My orgasm rushes up on me, sharp and electric. I come with a startled cry as it jolts through me like a bolt of lightning.
He steadies me with a hand on my hip so I don’t fall—thumb still tracing the tattoo like he’s trying to keep me grounded.
His eyes are on me, wide and warm. Almost marveling. He looks at me like I’m the eighth wonder of the world.
No one’s ever made me feel like this.
They never even bothered to try.
My pleasure was always an afterthought—something I had to fake, chase down on my own, or go quietly without.
But Tripp acts like it’s some incredible honor to give me pleasure. A privilege and a priority, profound and extraordinary.
And I think that might be the sexiest thing about the man standing in front of me.
He smirks—that slow, shit-eating grin that starts in the corner of his mouth and takes over his whole damn face.
“Thank God for detachable showerheads,” he says.
A laugh bubbles out of me. “You‘re going to ruin me.”
He winks. “You love it.”
I shake my head, grinning like an idiot. “Yeah. I really,reallydo.”
There’s no doubt in my mind—Tripp’s going to ruin me for every other man in existence. No one else could compare to the boy I was half in love with during my entire childhood, the man who just shattered every expectation I ever had of him.
But I can’t find it in me to care right now.
Because this—him—it’s exactly what I need right now.
And for once, I’m taking what I need without apology.
Let him ruin me.
I Should Really Start Using the Front Door
Tripp
Fourteen Years Ago
Ibend over and creep to Quinn's window, rapping quietly with my knuckles as a gentle breeze breaks the heaviness of the July humidity hanging in the air.
I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing knocking on her window. I’m way too old to be doing this shit at twenty, but I needed to make sure she was okay.
I’ve tried to keep my distance from my best friend’s little sister this summer. He’s not here to be a buffer, and it’s made being near her that much harder. The fantasies I come up with late at night with my handaround my dick would have Wes slaughtering me without a second thought if he knew.
