The door shuts. Their car crunches down the gravel driveway. And just like that, it’s just us.
I glance over at Faith, and she catches my look—half smirk, half something I don’t even want to name.
“Well,” I say, stepping toward her slowly. “Looks like we’ve got some alone time.”
She stretches slightly, arms overhead, tank top riding up just enough to reveal the sliver of that blue lace waistband again. “I need to rinse the lake off.”
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, trying to keep it casual—but my voice betrays me. It’s rough. Needy.
She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She walks off without waiting, already peeling off her tank top, her hips swaying like she knows I’m watching.
God help me.
Upstairs, water patters against the tile. Steam curls around her bare shoulders as I step into the shower behind her.
Her back’s to me. That lace is gone now. So is every damn thought I had about keeping my cool.
I slide my hands around her waist, pulling her gently against me. She sighs, relaxing into my chest, tilting her head so I can kiss the side of her neck.
“You know,” she says breathily, “this lake house fantasy just keeps getting better.”
I trail my lips over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” She turns, water cascading between us, and her mouth meets mine—hungry, slick, open.
My hand slides down her back to that curve of her ass and I give her a firm, playful smack. She gasps—then lets out a wicked little laugh.
“Oh my God,” she grins, water dripping off her nose. “Did you just spank me?”
“Little throwback,” I murmur, crowding her against the tile. “Felt appropriate.”
“Still bossy, aren’t you?”
“Still bratty, aren’t you?”
She whimpers when I grip her hip and nudge my thigh between hers. I drag my lips down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin and the steam between us. One of her hands fists in my hair, the other dragging down my chest.
"You going to be good this time?” I growl near her ear.
"Definitely not," she breathes.
I spin her gently so her back’s against the wall now, and drop to my knees on the slick tile, gripping her thighs and spreading her open.
“Oh my God, Hunter—” she gasps as I lower my mouth to her, lapping slowly, possessively, like it’s the first and last time.
Her hands slam against the tile behind her, head thrown back, moaning so loudly I have to lift a hand to press over her mouth.
“Shh,” I whisper. “You want my mom walking back in and hearing this?”
She bites down on her own fist, eyes wild with heat.
“Good girl.”
She’s still panting, clinging to the tile like it’s the only thing keeping her upright when I stand. Water rushes down her body, and I drink in the sight of her—flushed, trembling, eyes heavy with satisfaction and hunger.
I curl a hand behind her knees and another under her back.
