Maybe I was more than convenient.
I swallow, afraid to move and break whatever this fragile thing is. Because I have no clue what happens when morning comes, and we go back to being rivals.
But for once, I let myself hope for something dangerous.
That maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t chosen second.
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy
Steam clings to everything.
The mirror. The glass. My flushed skin.
Him.
Cole’s body is a wall of muscle at my back, his chest rising slow and steady against my spine. He’s spent the last ten minutes in this shower unraveling me with nothing but the touch of his fingers. He squeezes my hips—less a caress, more of a claim.
I’m the one with the plans, the strategies, the control.
But right now?
I’m pure sensation. My thoughts go to static every time his grip tightens, every time his breath exhales down my neck.
He’s rewriting every rule I’ve ever lived by.
The riskiest thing about this?
How easy it is to let him.
How natural it feels.
Like my body already knows him.
“Cole.”
“Mm.”
“You’re supposed to be washing your hair.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, but his hands don’t stop. Over my ribs, on my breasts, his palms heavy and sure.
“I’m multitasking.”
“That’s not—” The words dissolve into a whimper as his thumbs drag over my nipples. “That’s not what that means.”
Those troublemaking hands slide south, mapping my stomach, lingering on the curve of me. Then, he impulsively yanks my hips back until I fit perfectly against him.
“See. Now I’m washing you too.”
His erection is bold, impressive, and now between my cheeks. My body reacts with a tingle and a shudder, despite the exhaustion. The hours we spent tangled together weren’t enough to sate my hunger for him.
“This,” he mutters, nose buried in my damp hair as he drags in a deep breath. “This is the scent that’s been fucking with my head all weekend.”
“My shampoo?”
Another deep inhale. “Apple. So damn sweet. You walk by me and I forget what the hell I was doing.”
