Page 41 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"It's nothing. I'm almost done — I could've just taken my razor and finished off in the kitchen sink."

There's a soft murmuring I can't quite make out.

The water shuts off.

"Could you hand me my towel, please?" she says, her hand poking out from the shower curtain.

For a moment I freeze, staring at the wet arm, unable not to imagine the naked body it's attached to — how much I want to pull the curtain aside, climb in, and lick every drop off her until she begs and screams my name.

"Marcus! I thought you wanted me to hurry."

I startle, the razor nicking my chin. I curse under my breath, more about my thoughts than the little cut, and reach for the towel and shove it into her hand, careful not to touch her.

There's the sound of her manoeuvring behind the curtain before she pulls it aside and steps out of the shower, the towel tucked firmly under her arms, her hair in a dark wavy curtain down her back.

If she sees me staring at her in the mirror, she makes a good show of ignoring me. I, on the other hand, could not pretend I'm not staring at her for a billion dollars.

She grabs the second towel off the rack and flips her head over to rub it through her hair, the pale skin of her back exposed.

Fuck.

Blood races to my groin, and I can barely breathe. She looks so fucking good. I wonder how she'd react to me pressing her back into that shower, peeling the towels away, turning the water back on and kneeling between her legs as I lick her as she moans⁠—

"All yours."

I blink, and my eyes focus again. She's standing upright, hair bundled in the towel on her head, the other still around her body.

"Um, sorry, I was thinking about work." Yeah, working my cock into her... "Ahem. What did you say?"

She frowns. "I just said the bathroom's all yours. Sorry again I took so long. I feel terrible that I made you late for work.”

"Don't. It's all good. See? I'm almost done." I gesture to my face. "As handsome as always."

She smiles, then it fades into a look of horror. "Marcus! You're bleeding!"

I turn back to the mirror. The cut's deeper than usual, a thick line of red runs down my chin.

"Oops, must've been this new razor. It's really sharp," I say, reaching to touch it out of some morbid fascination.

"Stop! Oh my god, don't touch it with your dirty hands. You'll get an infection!" she practically shouts, pushing my hand away.

I laugh. "Lexi. It's totally fine. Men cut themselves shaving all the time!"

She ignores me, grabs a handful of toilet paper, and comes at me with it, then pulls back, eyes apprehensive.

"I'm not sure how to do this. I don't want to make it worse."

I smile. "Here, I'll show you." I take her hand, the one holding the toilet paper, and gently press it against the cut. Her voice drops as she watches the blood seep into the paper. "This really happens to you all the time?"

I nod, then hiss when the cut catches on the paper, and she pulls back, turning pale.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," I say, giving her a big smile. "It's not even as bad as a paper cut."

She scrunches up her face. "Oh, those things sting like a motherfucker."

I can't help chuckling at that. She so rarely curses. "Exactly."

"I get a lot of those. Paper cuts." She holds up her free hand, showing me the bandaid on her ring finger. I frown and take her hand in mine, examining it. "Was it deep?"