But I’m not brave. I’m the woman who spent three years with someone who made her feel like too much and not enough at the same time. Who needs connection, emotion, something more than just bodies responding to animalistic urges.
Even if my body is screaming for exactly that right now.
A final groan echoes through the door—deep, destroyed—followed by ragged breathing.
The water shuts off.
Panic shoots through me. I scramble backward, nearly tripping in my haste to get away from the door. I grab the first book I see—one of the tactical manuals—and throw myself onto the couch. By the time he emerges, towel slung low on his hips, I’m curled up pretending to read about close-quarter combat techniques.
“Found something to read?” His voice is carefully neutral, but there’s heat in his eyes. Water droplets trail down his chest, catching the light. The towel hangs dangerously low on his hips, revealing those cut lines that disappear beneath terry cloth. And there’s no missing the evidence of what just happened—he’s still partially aroused, the outline unmistakable behind the towel even as his erection softens.
My mouth goes dry. I can’t help wondering what he looks like without that towel. What it would feel like to trace those water droplets with my fingers, my tongue. The thought shoots heat straight through me.
“Yes. Just—passing time.” My voice comes out too high, too breathy.
His gaze drops to the book in my hands. A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Tactical Close-Quarter Combat Techniques. Interesting choice.” He steps closer, and I catch the scent of his soap—something clean and masculine that makes my head spin. “Though it might help if you read it right-side up.”
Horror floods through me. I flip the book quickly, face burning.
“Unless you were—distracted?” He turns toward the bathroom, then glances back over his shoulder. One eyebrow cocks up, that smirk deepening.
He knows. He knows I heard him. Knows I was listening at the door like some desperate voyeur while he?—
“I was just …” The words die in my throat. What can I say?I was just casually eavesdropping while you stroked yourself to thoughts of me?
“Tactical movements can be very educational.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “All about positioning. Leverage. Finding the right angle of approach.”
The double meaning isn’t subtle. My whole body flushes hot.
“I should—” I stand too quickly, the book tumbling from my lap.
We both reach for it at the same time. His hand covers mine on the spine, and the contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. He’s close now, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. The towel has shifted lower, barely hanging on, and my gaze travels down before I can stop it.
“See something interesting?” His thumb strokes across my knuckles, the lightest touch, but it makes me tremble.
“I wasn’t … I didn’t mean to?—”
“Didn’t mean to… what?” He’s definitely toying with me now, that controlled facade cracking just enough to show the predator beneath. “Listen? Look? Or imagine?”
All three. Definitely all three.
“You’re being inappropriate.” The accusation would carry more weight if my voice didn’t shake.
“Am I?” He releases my hand but doesn’t step back. “You’re the one studying tactical positions while I shower. Making all kinds of noise out here. Breathing so hard I could hear it through the door.”
My eyes widen. He heard me listening?
“Thin walls,” he says, answering my unspoken question. His gaze travels down my body, slow and deliberate, taking inmy flushed face, my rapid breathing, the way my thighs press together. “Very thin walls.”
“You should get dressed,” I blurt out, horribly.
But he doesn’t move. Just stands there, water still glistening on his skin, that towel one wrong move from falling, watching me with eyes that promise he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Exactly what I want.
“I can… Unless there’s something you’d like to discuss about… tactical movements?”
“No. I’m good.” My face feels like it’s on fire.
He disappears into the bedroom. When he returns, fully dressed but hair still damp, I can’t look at him without remembering those sounds. Without imagining what his face looked like when he groaned my name.
