Hooded?
It sends a fresh wave of heat through me that I absolutely do not need right now.
I swallow.
Because suddenly I’m hyper-aware again.
Of my body.
Of how I look.
Of everything I just tried not to think about.
“I was just—” I start, gesturing vaguely, immediately hating how unsure I sound.
He doesn’t let me finish.
“Shhh,” he says quietly.
Just that.
One word.
But it stops me cold.
His gaze lifts, locking with mine in the mirror.
“You don’t have to explain why you took long, Cookie. But I wanna know why you’re looking at yourself like that,” he adds, voice low but firm.
My brows knit.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re—fuck.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly like he’s searching for the right words. “Like you’re anything less than the perfection I just had in my bed, on my lips, in my arms.”
My heart stumbles.
Because—that shouldn’t hit me the way it does.
But it does.
Hard.
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, crossing my arms without really thinking.
“Rob, I know what I look like.”
He steps closer.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just steady.
Certain.
“Yeah,” he says. “You do.”
