Through the fogged-up glass, Harris tilts his head, eyes dragging lazily over me like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t speak—leans into the water, expression unreadable but unmistakably aware of my impending nakedness.
A slow prickle of heat creeps up my neck.
Tentatively, I reach for the hem of my shirt and tug it over my head in one smooth motion. His eyes track the movement, following the drop of fabric to the floor.
I trynotto let this striptease affect me.
I trynotto feel the weight of his attention, lingering, waiting as I unbutton my shorts and slide them down my legs.
But I do.
Chapter 20
Harris
This was not on my bingo card for the night.
Standing in Lucy’s shower, hot water sluicing down my back, I watch transfixed as she steps inside and makes room for herself—wet, naked. Yeah, I definitely didn’t see this coming ...
I am absolutelynotcomplaining.
Steam curls around us, thick and hazy. Every single inch of her is on display, dewy and slick from the water, her skin glowing under the dim bathroom light. I try to be subtle about it.
Ifail.
Gorgeous tits? Check.
Rosy nipples? Check.
Slick, wet thighs? Check, check.
Water beads along her collarbone, slipping lower, trailing between her breasts before making its way down the dip of her stomach. I swallow, my throatdry, which makes no sense, considering I’m standing under running water.
Lucy doesn’t seem fazed by any of it. If she is, she’s doing a damn good job pretending otherwise. She reaches for the soap, movements slow and deliberate, lathering it between her palms before stepping closer.
Taking her sweet time.
My breath locks in my chest as her hands meet my shoulders, smooth and slick with soap, gliding over my skin. I tilt my head back under the water, exhaling through my nose, forcing myself to focus on my dick not getting hard.
Jesus Christ it feels good.
Her nails scrape lightly over my collarbone, a soft, barely there touch, but enough to send a sharp bolt of awareness straight down my spine. The tenderness of it—the care she won’t admit she’s giving—hits harder than her teasing did.
I stay quiet, watching as she works, the water sliding between us, steam wrapping our bodies in warmth.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone like this.
Not justphysically.
Emotionally too.
She’s quiet. Intentional. Ifeelher attentiveness in every slow stroke of her hands. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me but won’t let herself acknowledge it. At least not out loud.
Or. Maybe she’s waiting for me to crack first.
I give.“You always take your job this seriously?” I murmur, watching her lather up her palms again before smoothing them down my chest.
Her fingers hesitate for a second before resuming their path, gliding lower, enough to make my breath catch. “I thought you said you needed help. Suddenly it seems like you have an ulterior motive.”
