He scrubs my shoulders, my arms, my sides with deliberate care.
But when he cups my breast in one palm to “wash it,” my breath stutters.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Just washing.”
I arch into his touch anyway.
He moves lower. Washes my stomach. My thighs. And finally he pauses.
“This okay?” he asks, voice almost reverent.
I nod, barely breathing.
And then he touches me. One hand steadying my hip, the other sliding through the lather—rightthere.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t press.
Just glides and cleanses. Almost like he’s worshipping me.
The air between us is heavy. Soaked with everything we’re not saying.
When he’s done, he steps back, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together by a thread.
“I think we’re clean,” he finally mutters.
“Squeaky,” I whisper.
We take turns standing under the warm water to rinse off. Dry off without looking at each other.
There’s no kiss, and no promises about what this means. Just tension thick enough to drown in.
Back in my room, I get dressed in yoga pants and the first oversized sweatshirt I can find, tug it over my head, and head for the stairs.
I grab my notebook and backpack, and this time—I head out to the coffee shop before I can get distracted again.
Chapter Thirteen
LOGAN
I lie back on my bed, arm flung over my eyes, trying to quiet my brain. Big game tonight. I should be resting. Focusing. Visualizing plays, timing my swing, dialing into that flow state I’ve trained for since I was a kid.
But unfortunately, all I can see is Cassie.
She’s naked and glowing, with water droplets clinging to her curves like she was sculpted from steam and sin. That stunned expression when I pulled the curtain back. The way her eyes dropped—not to mentionlingered—then dragged back up my body like she didn’t want to miss a single inch.
I shift on the bed, already hard again, and groan like a man being punished by the gods.
I try to ignore it. Breathe. Think of anything else.
But the images come anyway.
Her hand on my chest. Soap gliding over my stomach. Down. Her fingers wrapping around me, slick and slow, like she’s not just cleaning me—she’sclaimingme.
I swallow hard, and my hips twitch up off the mattress involuntarily.
It wasn’t just the way she touched me. It was therestraint. The unspoken current holding us taut, keeping us on oppositeends of a line we both know we’re going to cross. I mean…Ithinkwe will.
I shift again, hating how badly I want to rewind time just to feel the heat of her skin pressed to mine again. Then there was how her thighs brushed my legs as we stood there. Every brush of her fingers, every glance was like she was trying not to get burned.
