His laugh bounced off the tiled walls. “I promise, it’s really not that big,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck like he was the embarrassed one. “I mean, it’s average-plus on a good day.”
I tilted my head, still staring. “Average-plus? Please. I have an entire hidden gallery on my phone from guys who thought I needed to see theirs, and none of them compare to that monster.”
His laughter died instantly. “You have a what?”
I bit my lip, realizing too late what I’d admitted. “Um, a gallery. You know, for the unsolicited dick pics guys have sent me.”
Bennett’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there. “How many are we talking?”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool even as heat flooded my face. “I stopped counting after twenty, some more creative than others. One guy used a soda can for scale.”
He made a low, possessive sound in his throat and backed me gently against the tile, hands sliding to my hips. “Delete it.”
“I was already planning to,” I replied softly, meeting his eyes.
“Good, because the only cock I want you thinking about from now on is mine.”
I smiled, fingers tracing down his chest. “Consider the gallery archived. Permanently.”
He growled again, half with jealousy, half with relief, and kissed me hard, water pounding around us as the steam swallowed everything else.
I whimpered when he suddenly pulled away.
“Processors,” he said, tapping the plastic devices behind each ear. “I have to take them off so they don’t get wet.”
He unhooked the first processor and set it carefully on the bench outside the spray.
“I’ll be reading your lips, but if you want me to stop or slow down, just tap my shoulder twice. Like this.” He gave two quick, firm taps to my left shoulder. “Okay?”
“Two taps,” I echoed. “What if I want more?”
His grin flashed, crooked and warm. “I’ll figure it out.”
He took care of the second processor and then joined me under the spray once more.
The water was almost too hot, but it felt perfect against the chill that had settled into my skin. Bennett reached for the body wash on the shelf—something plain and citrusy that smelled like the clubhouse—and poured a generous amount into his palms. He rubbed them together and waited.
I nodded.
Turn around,he mouthed.
I did, bracing my hands against the tile as his soapy fingers massaged my shoulders and worked their way down my back. He took his time, carefully mapping every inch, from the curve of my spine, down the slope of each hip, until finally, he reached my ass.
From there, he moved lower, down the backs of my thighs, tracing the birthmark behind my knee. I let my head fall forward. A soft sigh escaped me as every ounce of tension melted away. Bennett’s touch was reverent, but there was heat beneath it, too, a promise of more.
He turned me gently to face him again and added more soap to his palms, skimming them down my collarbone before landingon my breasts. His thumbs circled my nipples, tightening them into aching points.
His eyes flicked up to mine, a silent question in them, and I nodded for him to continue.
When his hands slipped between my thighs, parting them just enough, I gasped. He washed me there carefully, thoroughly, fingers gliding through the slickness between my folds but never pushing inside, where I wanted him.
I reached for him, wanting to return the favor, but he shook his head and guided my hands back to his shoulders.
Then he sank to his knees.
The tile had to be hard and cold, but he didn’t seem to care. He looked up at me then, water streaming down his face, curls plastered to his forehead, and waited.
I nodded, frantic.
