"Like what you see?" he asked, voice low and rough.
Her mouth went dry. Her pulse kicked up. "Maybe."
He leaned in, close enough that she could see a bead of sweat trailing down his neck. Close enough that his breath ghosted across her lips. "Just maybe?"
She reached up and ran her hand along his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath her palm, the dampness of his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart. "Definitely."
He kissed her. Hard and hungry, tasting like salt and need and something wild. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer despite the sweat. Or maybe because of it. Because this was him unfiltered, raw, real.
When he pulled back, they were both breathing harder.
"I should shower," he said, but he didn't move.
"Yeah. You should."
But neither of them moved. They just stood there, his body caging hers against the doorframe, her hands on his shoulders, the garage smelling like concrete and sweat and the faint scent of motor oil.
Ghost's hand slid from the doorframe to her waist, fingers curling into her hip. "Come with me."
It wasn't a question. It was an invitation. A promise.
Rachel nodded.
He took her hand and led her back through the house to the bedroom, to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam started to rise, then turned back to her.
"You sure?" he asked, even though they'd done this before. Even though he already knew the answer.
"Yes."
He reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head, then her shorts, unbuttoning them slowly, pushing them down her hips. Her bra came next, his fingers working the clasp with practiced ease. Her underwear last, sliding down her legs until she stepped out of them.
She stood bare in front of him, and his eyes moved over her. Not rushed. Just looking. Learning. Memorizing.
"You're so damn beautiful," he said quietly, and the way he said it made her believe him.
Then he stripped out of his workout clothes, the damp T-shirt, the athletic shorts, his boxer briefs. When he was bare, she let herself look too. The broad shoulders. The defined chest and abdomen. The scars she was starting to recognize. The hard length of him, already responding to her proximity.
He took her hand and led her into the shower.
The water was hot, almost too hot, but it felt good against her skin. Steam filled the glass enclosure, making everything soft and hazy. Ghost pulled her under the spray, his hands sliding into her hair, tilting her face up to his. Water ran down between them, slicking their skin. He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. Like they had all the time in the world.
Rachel's hands explored his body, tracing the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his back. She found scars and wondered about them, a puckered circle near his ribs, a long thin line across his shoulder blade. Each scar told its own story-moments he’d survived, battles he’d outlasted.
Ghost reached for the body wash and poured some into his palm, then his hands were on her, lathering soap across her shoulders, down her arms, along her sides, slow, deliberate. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like he was claiming every inch of her skin.
He washed her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked, down her stomach, her hips, then he knelt, and she felt his hands on her thighs, her calves, her feet. Worshipping, that was the word that came to mind. He was worshipping her body with his hands.
When he stood back up, water streaming down his face, she reached for the body wash. "My turn."
She washed him the same way. Slowly. Thoroughly. Learning the landscape of his body, where he was ticklish (just below his ribs), where he was scarred (so many places), where he was sensitive (the hollow of his throat, the inside of his wrists). She felt him trembling slightly under her touch, saw his breath quicken.
When her hands slid between his thighs, soaping his length, he groaned. She stroked him slowly, feeling him harden further in her palm.
"Rachel," he said, his voice strained.
"Yeah?"
"Keep doing that and we're not getting clean."
