Page 139 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“All part of my plan to lure you into my clutches,” he says, and I realize I actually like the way he’s joking about it. He wanted me from the beginning, and now that want is out in the open. He’s owning it, sharing it with me.

Not only that, but I’m about to enjoy the unexpected benefits of his surveillance, or I would if I could reach the shampoo on an eye-level shelf without whimpering from the reach.

I sigh. “Hugo, I need more help.” My hands fall by my sides. “No funny business, I promise.”

“Of course.” He sighs too, his chest expanding with the effort. “No funny business.”

He walks toward the shower like he’s planning to get in fully dressed, and I cross my arms and say, “Nuh-uh. If I’m naked, you’re naked.”

His eyes slam shut, and his lips move like he’s counting to ten. “Are you sure the business can’t get a little funny?” he mutters as he strips and opens the door to join me. My eyes bounce from his defined arms to his strong legs to his muscular chest… Oh my god, his chest has so many muscles.

“Maybe a little funny,” I murmur when he comes to a stop directly in front of me and my eyes fall to his cock. “Like a semi-clever pun.”

His jaw flexes. “Clean first. Anything else later.” He reaches for the body wash—my body wash, the one that smells like bergamot and berries, this romantic lunatic—and pours it into his hands.

“No loofah?” I ask as he rubs the fragrant pink gel between his palms.

“Nope. And just so you know, this is going to give me notions.”

“Notions?”

He glances down, and I follow his gaze to his cock, which is hard as steel and pointed directly at me.

“Oh,” I say quietly, and then, “Ohhh.” The second utterance is embarrassingly reverent, because holy shit, I want to worship that perfect penis. I already know it’s long enough to hit everything inside me that matters and thick enough that I’ll feel it the next day. But I’ve never seen it straining toward me, and I’ve definitely never gotten to explore that vein along the underside. I want to touch it, trace it with my fingertip, taste it with my tongue.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” he says gruffly.

“Right.” I swallow, clearing my throat. “No funny, no business.”

He gives a strained laugh and starts to spread the gel gently over my collarbones and the top of my chest, then down my breasts, gliding his palms across my stiff nipples. He’s not lingering. He’s not trying to turn me on. But it feels so good that my breath starts to come in pants. He laughs and drops a kiss against the side of my neck.

His movements still when he hits my left arm.

“You told me all of that blood was his,” he says accusingly, holding it up so he can study the three-inch gash on my inner forearm.

“I said most of it was,” I correct him. “And it hurts a hell of a lot less than the bottom half of me.” I shrug. “Can’t say I recommend a two-story patio escape.”

He says nothing as he turns and flings the shower door open to retrieve the little stool from against the wall. I don’t love the cold air it lets in, but I do love the eyeful I get of his muscular ass and thighs as he stalks around the bathroom. And then there’s that dick…

“Sit,” he commands once he’s set the stool in the center of the shower.

I sit, and I’m rewarded when he fills his palm with more bergamot-and-berry gel that he spreads over the backs of my hands and between my fingers, massaging each individual joint until I’m almost purring—and that’s before he drops to his knees to rub gentle circles over my thighs, taking care with my sore knees before he moves on to my shins, my calves. I wince when he hits my left ankle, and he winces too, at causing me pain with even his most gentle touch.

His fingers reach my feet and dance across my ticklish instep before working the gel between each toe. I shiver and sigh despite the ache in my bones and oh my god, do I have a foot thing now?

“Feels good, baby?” His smirk turns wicked.

My eyes flutter shut. “It feels wonderful.”

Being here with him, warm and cared for. Being alive. It’s all wonderful. And he’s so tender with the sore, aching parts of my body, which outnumber the nonsore parts at this point, that tears sting the backs of my eyes.

He works his way back up my legs and mutters, “No fucking funny business.” His eyes close like he’s in pain as his fingers ghost across my mound, and when he grips my hips and breathes like he’s been running uphill, it’s all I can do not to arch my back and tell him to do something useful with the hard cock. Then his eyes open, and he gives me a crooked grin.

“Okay, I’m good. Ready for your back?”

I exhale and nod, and he walks behind me, brushing my hair forward over my shoulders as he reaches for the shower gel again. But when several heartbeats pass without the touch of his fingers, I brave the pain of turning my head and glance back to find him frozen with the bottle in his hands.

“Hugo?”