“What are you waiting for?” His voice carried through the fogged glass, his grin unmistakable even through the steam.
I pushed off the counter, my mouth curling into a smirk.
My turn.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ASH
Every nerve in my body was awake, coiled too tight beneath my skin.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this—though it was probably with him.
But not likethis.
There were no walls this time. No pressure. No lies. Nothing holding us back.
Would people be upset about it? Sure. I was guessing his parents would drag my name through the dirt again. But who the fuck cared?
The exhaustion in my limbs—in my mind—felt good. Not the bone-deep strain of holding everything up—just the clean release of finally letting go. It held me there, awake inside the moment instead of letting it slip through my fingers.
I’d probably let him sleep after the shower. But we could indulge in this a little longer. Maybe another round before we had to leave for the hospital again. And who could blame me for wanting him this much? For needing him?
Four fucking years of dreaming about him. Not just being with him like this—fucking him—but actuallyhavinghim. I knew there were still conversations to be had, decisions to bemade. But I’d told him I loved him, and he’d come to me so willingly. That had to mean something. Right?
The water washed away the sweat and the grime—and some of my doubt, especially when he stepped in and molded his perfect body to mine. I hummed softly as his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me there with him under the spray. His lips slid across my back, his tongue a warm caress as he caught the rivulets trailing down my skin.
I reached for the body wash, squirting some into my hands before turning in his grasp and taking a step back. Our eyes met as I worked up a lather, my palms sliding over his shoulder, his chest. Warm water traced the lines of his body, carrying the soap downward in lazy streams.
When I finished rinsing him, I tipped my head toward the shelf and reached for the shampoo. Ethan’s hair had gotten so long—longer than before, falling into loose, golden curls that clung to his neck. I fucking loved it. And he knew that.
“Come here,” I murmured.
He stepped closer without question, turning so his back was to me. I poured a small amount of shampoo into my palm and worked it gently into his scalp, massaging with my fingertips. The curls loosened beneath my hands, slipping between my fingers as I washed him. I combed through them slowly, more reverent than necessary, savoring every second of it. I could’ve stayed there forever just doing this. Just knowing I was allowed to touch him again—without fear, without distance, without losing him afterward. Listening to those little hums of approval through the rush of the water.
He tilted his head slightly, giving me better access, and I smiled despite myself. “Almost done,” I said, my hands stilling for a moment before I rinsed the soap away, careful not to tug, letting the water run clear. I smoothed his hair back from his face when I was finished, my thumbs brushing his temples.
When he turned again, I expected to see fatigue. Some hint that the night had caught up with him. Instead, Ethan was watching me intently—eyes clear, focused, intense. Something warm and steady settled in me at the sight of it.
“My turn,” he whispered.
Ethan picked up the body wash, his fingers brushing mine as he poured some into his hands. My gaze caught on the gold bands circling his fingers, the way they flashed softly under the light, right where they belonged. They always had. Ethan was made to wear things like that—meant to be looked at, worshipped when he did.
He stepped in closer, close enough that the warmth of him pressed into me, and then his hands settled on my shoulders, washing me with the same care I’d given him. Slow passes over my chest, my arms. His touch wasn’t tentative, but it was thoughtful, like he was checking in with my body as he went.
I closed my eyes, water pounding against my back, his thumbs dragging unhurried circles that made me breathe a little deeper. When I opened them again, he was still watching me, a small curve at the edge of his lips. Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees. He didn’t take his eyes off me as his hands came down with him, washing the backs of my thighs, my calves. He leaned forward, placing a kiss on my hip before his attention returned to the task.
I braced one hand against the glass in front of me, Ethan trapped between it and my body. My cock—which should have been more than satisfied for the night—started filling slowly at his attention. At his position.
His hands slid along the inside of my thighs, over the swell of my ass, fingertips just barely dipping into the crease. Then, bold and assured, he wrapped his fist around my cock and stroked.
I moaned softly, drawing his gaze back to mine.
He grinned, nudging me under the stream of water to rinse away the soap before guiding me forward again with a hand hooked under my thigh. As soon as I was close enough, he stuck out his tongue and let the head of my cock brush over it—softly at first, then with more pressure.
One of my hands slid into his hair, cupping his nape, holding him there as he looked up at me with that almost wicked glint, letting me sink deeper into his mouth.
Then he closed his lips around me and sucked, and my eyes practically rolled. He was careful—probably mindful that we were both oversensitized—but still took me deep and eased off again, his mouth working over my cock. Fuck—that felt incredible.
