Page 40 of The Last Time

He tries to hide his smile when he realizes what I’m saying. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Yes! That’s it, you cannot stay in those clothes. What if I get you sick? You have a daughter you need to be healthy for. Get up,” I say to him as I jump out of bed.

He follows me as I walk into the bathroom and grab a towel. Shoving the towel in his chest, I push him toward the shower.

“Here. Take off your clothes. Take a shower and let me wash your clothes.”

He looks surprised. “You want me to shower here?”

“Yes! I sweat all over you. You need to get it off.”

I’m honestly not sure why I’m freaking out so badly about this. It’s just not how I pictured being in bed with him, and I’m desperate to rectify getting him all gross with my germs.

Instead of following my demands, he looks at me, slightly amused.

“I’ve gotten a woman’s sweat all over me plenty of times.”

“Well, this isn’t because of sweaty, hot sex.”

I lose my train of thought as I think of the two of us fucking so hard that we are sweating all over each other. My brain can’t stop picturing it.

“Charlotte,” his raspy voice pulls me away from my thoughts. His eyes are dark and serious. I feel like he can see through me; like he knows exactly what I am thinking about. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll take a shower. Just stand on the other side of the door. I’ll hand you my clothes.”

He starts to walk me backward out of the door, then closes it, but winks before his face disappears.

Why do I always seem to make a fool of myself in front of him? He must think I’m crazy. Not only did I just sweat all over him like he was my own personal sweat towel, but I just demanded he strip naked in my bathroom and shower while I did his laundry. Then he makes me lose my train of thought with images of us naked together.

Although, he’s the one who brought up sweaty sex.

When he opens the door to hand me his clothes, he has the towel wrapped low around his waist. I have never in my life felt every nerve in my body so active and alive.

Every inch of Asher is perfect. His tan from the summer just adds an element that makes him look like he should be on a magazine cover. Since I can’t move, let alone breathe, he steps closer and places the clothes directly into my hands. Before he closes the door, he winks at me again.

I clutch his clothes in my hands and stare at the door for what feels like a creepy amount of time.

When I finally gather enough wits about me to move, I run down the stairs and throw his clothes in the washer on the speed cycle.

I’m disgusting. I can’t believe I let him see me like this. Luckily, I have spare bathroom products in my travel bag. I grab it and run to the spare bathroom with a towel. I know I don’t have long, so I take the world’s fastest five-minute shower.

When I’m done, I switch his clothes over to the dryer. I walk into my bedroom in my towel to find something to wear, but before I can make it to my closet, the bathroom door opens.

There he is again in that towel. Only now, his hair is slicked back and wet. It brings a whole new level of sex appeal that has me losing all ability to speak.

“You showered,” he says as he leans against the doorframe.

His presence feels like it takes up the entire room.

“I did.”

I walk toward him.

Why am I walking toward him? What are you doing, Charlotte?

I’m standing right in front of him, taking in the muscles in front of me. Particularly stuck on the ones that extend from his hands to his elbows. They are flexed as his arms are crossed across his chest.

My heart starts hammering in my ears. When I look up at him, he is peering at me intently. He seems curious, amused by my obvious appreciation for him.

I start to think about all the times I pictured having him like this in this particular house. Now, here he is, standing right before me, giving me a challenging look like I don’t have enough courage to do what I really want.

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