Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
She studies my face, tipping it upward. “I like being wrong sometimes.”
I reach around her, grasping for a bottle of body wash on the recessed shelf, flip it open and squeeze a generous amount into my palm.
“You’re about to like this even more.”
She watches intently as I work the soap between my hands, building a thick lather before sliding them onto her shoulders. I spread the foam over her skin, thumbs kneading gently at the tension gathered there.
Her head tips back slightly.
“Mm,” she hums. “That feels so good.”
I lean down, kissing the nape of her neck, adding to her pleasure.
“Full service.”
I smooth my hands down her arms, over her sides, along the curve of her waist. Over her stomach. Up her sternum.
Exploring.
“You don’t seem like someone who lets people see this side of you,” she says quietly into the steam.
“What side?”
“The gentle side.”
Yeah well, that’s what happens when you’re fucked over by teammates and women—not that I’m dwelling on it.
My hands slide around to her front, lathering over her bellybutton. Juliette inhales softly when my palms glide to her tits, her nipples covered in soapy bubbles that I want to lick off like cream.
“Want to know something?” I ask. “I like that you’re shy.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not shy.”
Oh, but she is.
Adorably, beautifully so.
“I’m not shy. I’m cautious.”
“Maybe,” I concede. “But you’re also brave.”
Her hands rest against my chest, fingertips tracing lazy lines through the water. “You think I’m brave?”
“I think,” I say slowly, choosing my words, “that you don’t do things halfway. If you’re here, it’s because you trust me.”
Trust.
Her expression softens in a way that hits me square in the ribs and, for a hot second, guilt assuages me for taking advantage of the moment to gauge her trust in me.
Without trust, she won’t fall in love with me.
If she doesn’t fall in love with me, I can’t crush her brother.
That’s the plan, isn’t it?
Except…
The longer she looks at me with those pretty eyes and fluttering wet lashes, with those freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose…
I swallow, a lump forming in my throat that shouldn’t be there.
NINETEEN
JULIETTE
He thinks I’m brave?
Not one soul has ever called me brave before.
I reach for the soap before I can overthink it, squirting a dollop in my hand and lathering it the way he did.
“Turn around.”
He lifts a brow, amused. “Oh?”
Aaron’s back is broad, tapering in a slow, powerful line from his shoulders to his waist. The muscles shift beneath his skin as he turns, defined with every flex, earned through hard work, long workouts, and dedication.
Even relaxed, he’s a solid mass.
Every inch of him is taut, firm. His arms are corded and strong. When I run my hands down his biceps his muscles flex instinctively under my touch, and I feel the restrained power there.
It makes my stomach flutter.
He’s solid in a way that makes me feel small but safe—like he could kick some dude’s ass in a dark alley that was going to cause us harm.
“You carry a lot of tension here,” I say, pressing my thumbs into a tight spot between his shoulder blades.
He humphs. “That’s from having to answer my sister’s phone calls.”
I laugh, sound echoing off stone and glass. It feels far more intimate than being naked on his kitchen counter, laughing like this while standing completely exposed under warm water, steam rising around us.
My hands slide around his sides now, exploring more boldly, soapy palms lowering. I feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my fingers as the energy gets more charged.
He exhales slowly when I move lower still, when my touch lingers near his pelvis.
Neither one of us is laughing now.
I glance up into his face; at his set jaw and the eyes that are darker than they were a moment ago. Focused and penetrating.
“Juliette,” he says softly.
God, I love it when he says my name…
Especially when he’s turned on.
I haven’t let myself look directly at his penis yet, but I look at it now, hard and straining for attention.
The sight of it steals my breath—not because it’s shocking, but because of me. Because of this. Because we’re standing here under warm water, and something between us has shifted from playful to undeniable.
My palms slide down, one hand gliding over his waist, the other to his erection, and slowly I begin stroking him. Firm grip, back and forth, watching his expression as it changes.
Watch as his eyes get hooded.
His lips part.
Aaron extends his arm to grasp the wall as I grip him, jerking him off, intoxicated by the look on his face.
Then, with a shaky breath, his free hand slides down to cover mine, not to stop me—but to guide the pace. Slowing so things don’t spiral out of control.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I’m so wound up.”
The admission does something to me.