Page 129 of The Plus One Contract

Yet I don’t stop him.

I don’t stop him as he drags his hands over my skin, rubbing soft, soapy circles over my shoulders and down my arms. I don’t stop him as his fingers graze over my ribs, skimming the curve of my waist, smoothing over my stomach.

I should stop him.

I should say something.

But I don’t.

Because he’s still looking at me.

And I love the way he looks at me.

His touch is gentle. Almost reverent. Careful over the places where I’m still throbbing, where I’m still his. He drags the soap lower, smoothing over my hips, the tops of my thighs, making sure I’m clean—so fucking clean—and yet every touch of his fingers sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs.

I hate that my body reacts to him so easily.

I hate that I let my eyes flutter shut, that a soft sound escapes my lips when his hand lingers a second too long between my legs.

I hate that he hears it.

He lets out a low hum, his grip tightening on my hip for just a second before he steps behind me, gathering my hair, wetting it under the spray. His fingers glide over my scalp, massaging as he lathers the shampoo into my hair, washing away the sweat, the mess, the memory of what we just did.

But heisthe memory.

I can’t wash him away.

He smirks, but there’s a softness in his eyes that damn near breaks me.

His palms splay over my belly, pulling me back against his chest, cradling me there, the steam curling around us like a secret.

His fingers trace circles on my skin. Lower. And lower. I moan in surprise. My eyelids flutter shut, but he turns me in his arms and catches my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me,” he says, voice thick with need.

I don’t look away. I can’t. Because the intensity in his eyes consumes me.

His fingers slide against my clit once more, sparking fresh waves of pleasure that steal my breath. My nails bite into his chest, but he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, coaxing moan after moan from my lips, unraveling me all over again.

My body quakes under his touch, and I know there's no going back from this. We’ve crossed every line and destroyed every boundary.

He watches me shudder under him, pressed against wet tile, tension spiraling in my core like a live wire.

The water beats down on our tangled bodies, soap bubbles still sliding in rivulets along my waist. The difference of hot water and the cool air on my skin sends goosebumps rippling across me. He inches his mouth closer, breath ghosting over my temple. A wave of self-consciousness flickers—standing here, pinned to the wall, arms braced on his shoulders, practically undone by his touch.

But the second his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves, everything inside me stops thinking. My head drops back, teeth catching on a yelp, and I hear the low, satisfied grunt he makes at the sound.

“Look at me,” he repeats, voice strung tight with desire.

Shuddering, I peel my eyes open, forcing them to lock onto his. The primal satisfaction in his gaze sears my last coherent thought. I see it flicker across his face. The sliver of something else that rattles my heart.

He dips his head, biting gently at my jawline as he presses me harder against the tile. The friction of his chest grazing my nipples sends another jolt straight between my legs.

His voice is an unsteady rasp. “Christ, Sienna.” He pushes two fingers inside me, curling them, and my body squeezes in response. “You—fuck, you drive me insane.”

I gasp, nails raking down his arms. The corner of his lips twitch, a triumphant smirk, before he plunges in deeper, hooking in a way that makes me see white.

“Oh God,” I choke out, pleasure building impossibly high again, my core seizing with renewed tension.

---