His expression softened, and instead of arguing, he opened his bedroom door, ushering me inside.
"Want a tour first?"
I chuckled. "Who needs a tour of a bedroom?"
He smirked, motioning toward the space. "Bed, dresser, laundry I should probably do… and the bathroom."
Then, his jaw ticked slightly, and he added, "The reason I chose this place is the bathroom."
Something in the way he said it caught my attention.
"Oh, this sounds exciting." I dropped my bag near his dresser and went to open the door, but before I could, his hand pressed against my stomach, stopping me.
I stilled. His touch was warm, steady. But it was his eyes that made me pause. Because there was something there. Something hesitant.
Like he was waiting for me to notice.
"Hiding more from me?" I teased, but my voice wasn’t as carefree as I wanted it to be.
His brows pulled together instantly, his expression tightening like he was trying to read between the lines.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said more.
"What?"
I didn’t answer. I kissed him instead.
It was instinct, a way to push past whatever was happening, whatever this weird tension was.
At first, he was rigid, caught off guard, but then my hands slid over his shoulders, down his chest, and he melted against me. He kissed me back deeply, possessively, like he was trying to pull me back to him, trying to remind me where we were.
"Fuck, I missed your mouth," he groaned against my lips.
"Good," I whispered, pushing him backward, walking us into the bathroom when I finally saw what he meant. "Holy shit."
“I told you.”
Brooks kept kissing me, his teeth grazing my neck, his hands sliding over my hips as I took in the massive, marbled bathroom. The huge glass shower. The sleek lights.
And the biggest fucking tub I had ever seen. I blinked at it, mouth slightly open.
"You could fit a whole army in this thing," I muttered.
He laughed, reaching around me to turn on the faucet.
"What excites you more?" he mused. "Shower sex or bath sex?"
I ran my fingers over the smooth porcelain, my heart pounding too hard for reasons that had nothing to do with the water temperature.
“I want to be inside that tub. Now.” I stepped away from him, walking up to it like it was a sacred artifact. “I would fuck this tub if I could."
"In a weird way, I get what you mean."
His chuckle was warm, but when I glanced back at him, his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, watching me like I was something he was trying to memorize.
“I don’t have any bubble shit,” he admitted, “but the jets make up for it.”
My voice squeaked. “Jets? Oh, I’m getting wet already."
