Page 48 of The Brotherhood

She needed a shower.

Maybe it would ease the ache of wanting him again. Maybe it wouldn’t.

She slid out of bed, moving slowly. Carefully. Her legs were still weak, her muscles sore in ways that sent another rush of memory flooding through her.

God. She had felt him everywhere. And she wanted to feel him again.

She crossed the room, stepping lightly, her ears straining for any sign of him. But the apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Her stomach clenched. Where was he?

She reached the bathroom, pushing the door open. Steam curled into the air as she turned the water on, letting it run hot. She stepped inside, shivering as the heat cascaded over her skin. She exhaled, tilting her head back as she relived the feel of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing.

A sharp need curled in her belly. She missed him. It hadn’t even been a full day, but she felt his absence like a wound.

She dragged her hands down her body, trying to soothe the longing. Trying to shake the feeling that something had changed between them forever. That she wasn’t just his. But that maybe… maybe he was hers, too. And maybe… she didn’t want to let him go.

The steam curled thick around her, draping the bathroom in heat. The water pounded against her skin and down the curve of her back. She exhaled, tilting her head, letting the sensation soothe the ache deep in her muscles. Her fingers trailed absently down her stomach. The ghost of his touch still lingered there—the rough drag of his palms, the press of his mouth, the way his body had demanded hers.

She hadn’t resisted. She never would.

She turned slightly, reaching for the soap. A sharp gust of cooler air slipped into the shower and she stilled. Heart hammering, she turned her head. Her breath caught at seeing him standing just inside the doorway.

His broad frame filled it, black shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his chest. His stance was rigid, his fingers curled into loose fists at his sides. His face—God, his face. Hard-edged and all over her. So much hunger. Dark, raw, undeniable.

The air turned molten. “You're back,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the water.

Handy didn't answer. He moved. One step. Then another.

The sound of his boots hitting the tile floor was followed by the rest of his clothes. She barely had a second to react before he was in the shower with her, fully naked, his body radiating heat even against the scalding water.

Her back pressed against the slick tiles as he loomed over her, his chest and body a wall of uncompromising strength. The space between them was gone as his breath ghosted over her lips.

Poppy swallowed hard.

His fingers came up, slow and deliberate, skimming up her thigh. She shivered. “Handy—”

His palm flattened against her stomach, pressing firm, possessive.

Her pulse jumped.

His fingers slid lower.

She gasped, her back arching against the tile as pleasure bloomed, sharp and dizzying.

His mouth brushed her ear. “Missed me?” he murmured.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “Yes,” she whispered as his fingers swirled with a teasing pattern along her folds. “God, yes.”

His breath hitched, just slightly as his fingers slid inside her.

Her head tipped back against the tile as sensation rushed through her like wildfire, hot and consuming.

Handy growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating against her skin as he watched her, his hand steady, relentless, working her over with a focus that had her trembling.

She clung to him, gasping, whimpering his name as he dragged her to the edge. “Please,” she begged.

His hand stilled and his body went rigid.

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