I tugged my shirt off. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. So I stepped closer and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. My hands shook, which was ridiculous, but Iwasn’t used to being this close to someone and not having to fake it. Not having to pretend I didn’t care. I did care. That was the problem.
He let me undress him. Just stood there and let me peel the sweat-damp shirt off his shoulders. His skin was warm, not like the last time I’d been this close, not with me cold and shivering. Just…warm. Solid. I wanted to press my face into his chest and breathe him in.
Instead, I worked the button on his jeans. It felt weirdly intimate. My knuckles brushed his hip, and I heard him catch his breath. I didn’t say anything. I just got rid of the jeans and the briefs, careful not to look too desperate about it, then stepped back so he could climb into the shower.
Butfuckhis cock was fine, and I shivered with the thought of where I wanted it. I was a bottom which was why I daren't. It was too risky, too vulnerable.
He stood under the spray for a second with his head tipped back, water running down his face, and I thought he might cry. But he didn’t. He just braced his hands on the wall and let the water beat the night out of him. I tried not to stare at the muscles in his back or the way the lines of his body looked almost too perfect to touch. But I stared anyway.
“Come here,” he said, voice rough.
I hesitated. I was wearing just my shorts and t-shirt, and when I reached for the hem, my hands shook. He saw it. Reached out and caught my wrist, pulled me in so I didn’t have to do anything but lean into him. The water was hot, but his hands were hotter. He eased my shorts down, careful of the yellow bruises on my side. I was embarrassed at how skinny I was, how banged up, but he didn’t look away. Not once.
I stepped into the shower and the steam closed around us. I was shaking, partly from nerves, partly from the way he looked at me. Like I was the only thing that mattered.
He reached up and cupped my face. His thumb brushed my cheek, gentle even though I knew it probably hurt to look at. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just held my face in his hands and let the water run over both of us. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the words. I knew that feeling.
My hands foundhis hips, fingers digging in just to anchor myself. I fit against him weirdly well, considering how much bigger he was. I wanted to melt into him. The heat from the shower was nothing compared to how hot his skin was against mine, and I couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
He must have noticed, because he wrapped one huge arm around me, hand splayed over my ribs, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was soft but not pitying. Just…concerned. Real.
I shook my head.
He huffed a laugh, almost a groan. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
I wanted to say something funny, something that would make him smile, but when I looked up, all my words got lost. His eyes were dark, green and gold from the lights in the bathroom, and there was something in the way he looked at me that made everything else vanish.
He leaned down, and for a second, I worried he’d stop. But he didn’t. He kissed me, gentle at first, just lips brushing mine. The water beat down on both of us, but all I could feel was Cole’s mouth, the way he tasted, the way he held me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I opened for him, needy and desperate, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue was careful, not demanding, just coaxing. My hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the muscles, and he shivered under my touch. The power in him was unreal—I could feel it in every line of his body—but he held me like I was breakable. Like I mattered.
He broke the kiss first. His forehead rested against mine. We were both breathing hard, water running down our faces.
“You sure?” he whispered, and I realized he was giving me a chance to change my mind. To stop this, if I wanted.
I didn’t want to stop. Not even a little. “Yeah,” I managed, voice shaking. “Please.”
He groaned, low in his chest, and pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, even though I'd been going to take care of him.
He washed me, slow and careful. His hands were strong but gentle, tracing the bruises on my side as if he could erase them by touch alone. He was so much bigger than me, but he never made me feel small—instead, I felt safe. Seen. Like every inch of me was okay, even the broken parts.
He turned me so my back was pressed against his chest. His hands skimmed my hips, splaying his fingers low on my abdomen. I could feel him, hard and hot against my ass, but he didn’t push. He just held me, letting me lean back and relax into him.
I let my head fall back on his shoulder. He hooked his chin over my temple, lips grazing my skin.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he murmured, and his palm slid lower, fingers wrapping around my cock.
The touch was electric. I gasped, hips stuttering forward, and he chuckled, low and rough.
“Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
He stroked me, slow but steady, his other hand braced against my chest, making a cage around my ribs so I couldn’t move if I wanted to. Not that I wanted to. I’d never been touched like this before, not even close. There was nothing mean in it, nothing rushed, just the sure way he worked my cock while his other hand kept me upright, like he knew I might fall apart if he let go.
The pressure built so fast I couldn’t hide it. My hips stuttered, and I let out a sound that made me want to crawl into the drain and vanish. But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just pressed his mouth to my hair, lips moving against my skin, and whispered, “That’s it. Let go. I’ve got you.”
