“Sap washes off easier than you’d think.”
“Spoken like someone who didn’t just take a tree facial.” She shivers slightly; it’s still cold enough this spring that her wet clothes are a problem. I steer her toward my house.
“My water heater’s bigger,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism?”
“It’s a fact. But also, yes.”
She laughs, and the sound settles my nerves. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of making her happy. Inside, she strips off layers while I turn on the shower, letting the water heat until steam fills the bathroom. When I turn around, she’s down to her underwear, still streaked with sap, her hair a sticky disaster.
“I look like a swamp creature,” she says.
“A lady yeti, perhaps.”
“Flatterer.”
I close the distance between us and run my thumb along her cheekbone, where a smear of sap has dried to a shine. “Hold still.”
“What are you?—?”
I lean in and lick the sap from her skin.
She sucks in a breath. “Asher.”
“Mm.” I move to the next spot, just below her ear. “You taste like maple.”
“That’s… oh…” Her hands grip my shoulders as I work my way down her neck, finding every sticky patch and cleaning it with my tongue. “I thought you meant a real shower.”
“Consider this a pre-wash.” My voice is gravelly as I taste her sweetened skin.
“Is this the yeti version of a cat bath?” She’s the one who purrs as I find a trail of sap that’s dripped between her breasts and follow it with my mouth. She arches into me, her fingers threading through my hair. “The shower’s running,” she manages. “We’re wasting water.”
“Then we should get in.” I strip off my own sap-smeared clothes and pull her under the spray. The hot water hits us both, sluicing away the stickiness. Eva tips her head back with a groan of relief.
“God, that feels good.”
“Just the water?”
“The company is also nice.” She opens her eyes and looks at me through the steam. “All of it.”
I press her into the tile and kiss her, deep and slow, tasting water and maple and want. Her leg hooks around my hip, and I lift her easily, bracing her against the wall.
We’ve gotten better at this. Learned each other’s rhythms, figured out what works. But it still feels like discovery every time—like there’s always something new to find in the way she responds to my touch, the sounds she makes, the way she says my name when she’s close.
“Asher…”
“I’ve got you.” And I do. I always will. I sink to my knees on the tile floor and devour her, glancing upward as she buries her hands in my hair. Eva groans as I lap at her sweetness, and when I slide a finger inside her, she comes with my name on her lips.
Her knees wobble as she catches her breath, and I stand again, steadying her against my chest, holding her close even as my erection prods her stomach. The water runs over us both, steam thick in the air, and I’m struck suddenly by how much this moment feels like everything I’ve ever wanted and been too afraid to reach for.
Eva’s eyes are closed, her forehead pressed to my shoulder, her breathing slowly evening out. She’s so trusting like this. So open. She lets me see her completely—sticky with sap, shaking with pleasure, vulnerable in ways I still struggle to show her.
Need rises in my chest—not just desire but the overwhelming requirement to form words I’ve thought a thousand times but never uttered out loud. Not to anyone.
I open my mouth.
Close it.
