She nods, keeping her eyes fixed somewhere around my collarbones, determinedly not letting her gaze travel down my body.
She reaches in carefully for the loofah, but water splashes her arm anyway, soaking her sleeve. She squeezes shower gel onto it, the familiar scent of cedar and bergamot filling the steamy air.
“Turn around,” she instructs.
I do, presenting her with my back, and wait.
The first touch of the loofah against my shoulders makes my breath catch in my throat. Her other hand braces against my side to steady me.
“Is that all right?” she asks softly.
“Yes.” The word comes out rougher than I intended. “Just like that. Perfect.”
She scrubs in slow circles across my shoulders, between my shoulder blades, and each stroke releases another knot oftension and wave of pleasure. Mina’s hands on my skin after so many years of wanting her. Mina touching me.
A low sound escapes my throat before I can stop it, something between a groan and a sigh.
She pauses immediately. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” I can barely form words around the tightness in my chest. “God, no. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
She holds still for a moment, and I can feel her hesitation, can imagine her biting her lip the way she does. Then she continues, the loofah moving down my spine with careful, tender strokes, working around my hips, then back up, tracing the muscles of my back. The tattoos of her scratches in my flesh.
“How sweet it is when you touch me like this,” I say quietly, my voice hazy with pleasure. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Mina. You, touching me. Being here with me.”
“Cristiano, don’t.” There’s a tremor in her voice that wasn’t there before.
The loofah moves lower, tracing the small of my back with gentle pressure, and pleasure radiates outward from every point of contact.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I continue, because I can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out. “Sometimes I wake up, and I can’t believe it’s real. I’m afraid I’ll blink and you’ll both be gone.”
The loofah pauses against my spine.
I turn slowly to face her, and the water beats against my back, running down my body in rivulets. She’s still outside the spray, but she’s close enough that mist clings to her hair, making it curl slightly.
“You’re getting wet,” I tell her, even though she’s barely damp compared to what’s about to happen.
“I’m fine.” Her eyes are locked on my face, determinedly not looking down. Suds drip from the loofah as she stares at me.
“Why are you pretending? Why are you acting like this doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“Because it can’t.” Her voice is pleading. “We can’t—”
“Why not? Because you’re afraid? Because you think I’m going to hurt you? Or because you’re afraid of how much you want this?”
Her breathing is coming faster now, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge her. “Tell me you feel nothing when I touch you. Tell me this means nothing.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. But no words come out.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I murmur, taking another step closer. “It means so much to me that you’re choosing to be here.”
She looks at me through the steam, her lips parted, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to find the lie, the trick, the trap.
But there isn’t one. Not this time. This is just the truth, raw and vulnerable and terrifying.
The loofah falls from her hand, hitting the wet tiles.
