Page 61 of The Wrong Brother

The next time was in the shower.

It had been a long day, the kind that left my body tense and my mind racing. Every moment of stress, every lingering frustration, clung to me like a weight I couldn’t shake. And as the sound of water running filtered through my door late at night, I felt an ache that wasn’t just physical…it was deeper, clawing at my insides, begging for release.

I didn’t think…I acted. My feet carried me to his bathroom before my mind could catch up. The air was thick with steam, curling and rising like smoke, wrapping around me as I stepped inside. The heat kissed my skin, easing some of the tension in my shoulders but stoking something even more consuming within me.

He stood under the cascade of water, his back to me, broad shoulders glistening under the dim light. The sight of him stirred a fire that had been simmering since that night on the balcony, where he had been as cold and unyielding as the wind biting at my skin. He had taken me without hesitation, his hands rough, his voice commanding, but his heart distant…guarded. Now, I felt no shame, no hesitation about what I needed.

I needed him to fuck the day out of me.

"Jenny," he said, his voice low and rough as he turned to face me. His eyes met mine through the rising mist, and I saw the flicker of surprise before it was quickly replaced with something darker, hungrier.

I stepped forward, my hands trembling, not with hesitation but with the sheer weight of everything I felt. Without a word, I slipped into the stall, the water soaking my hair, plastering my clothes to my skin. His gaze roamed over me, lingering on the places where the wet fabric clung, and I saw the moment his restraint snapped.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, even as his hands reached for me, sliding down my arms, his grip firm and possessive.

“I should,” I whispered back, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “I need this. I need you.”

There was no hesitation then. He pulled me against him, his lips crashing into mine, the kiss fierce and consuming, a battle of need and control. The water poured over us, erasing the day but fueling the fire between us. His hands moved quickly, peeling my wet clothes away, his fingers grazing my skin with a touch that sent shivers down my spine despite the heat.

"Turn around," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

And I did, my palms pressing against the cool tiles as his hands gripped my hips. The tension in my body coiled tighter as he positioned himself behind me, his breath warm against my neck. He didn’t rush…he never did. But when he finally pushed into me, the stretch was slow, deliberate, claiming every ounce of control I thought I had left.

The stress of the day melted away with every thrust, his movements deliberate, driving me closer and closer to the edge. The sound of the water hitting the tiles mixed with the slap of our bodies, the soft gasps and moans escaping my lips as he filled me completely.

I lost myself in him, in the heat of his touch, the strength of his body against mine, and for the first time all day, I felt free…alive. Every stroke, every whispered word, was a promise, and as my legs began to tremble and my release crashed over me, I knew he had given me exactly what I needed.

When it was over, he didn’t let go. He held me there, his arms wrapped around me as the water washed over us, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. But the memory of his coldness from before lingered, a quiet reminder of why I couldn’t let myself fall too far.

So, I pulled away and returned to my room, shaky. Yet, still needing more. It continued further till I fulfilled my contract, then it was time for us to return to New York.

Chapter

Thirty-Four

ZACK

The hum of the airplane engines thrums beneath my feet, a steady, monotonous sound that mirrors the weight pressing down on my chest. I’ve been staring at the tablet in front of me for the better part of an hour, pretending to focus on emails I’ve already read twice. The screen blurs, the words meaningless, but I refuse to let my thoughts stray to her.

Not here. Not now.

She was late. Her shoot had run behind, leaving me waiting like some fool, checking the time as if I didn’t have better things to do. Now she’s here, sitting across from me…a vision of quiet defiance in her tailored travel clothes, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the window.

The sunlight streams in, glinting off the auburn strands of her hair, and I hate the way it catches me off guard. I shouldn’t be noticing these things. Not when we’re on the way back to New York, and whatever this is…whatever this was…needs to end. For both our sakes.

But her silence presses on me like a weight, and I know she can feel my eyes on her. She shifts slightly, her chin tilting in defiance, refusing to acknowledge my presence. A joke of sorts…this cold detachment. It’s exactly what she asked for when she made her conditions clear.

“You’re quiet,” she says finally, breaking the tension. Her voice is light, teasing, but I can hear the edge beneath it. “Last time we were on a plane together, you talked more.”

I didn’t even bother lifting my gaze from my tablet as I respond. “You said you had no interest in talking. Only getting fucked.”

Her words falter. I can see the surprise flicker across her face before she schools it into composure, but I catch it, and I let it hang between us. She turns back to the window, her hands tightening over her arms as if to keep from reacting.

“That’s over now, isn’t it?” she says after a beat, her voice clipped. “Since we’re heading back.”

“Sure,” I reply, my tone dismissive as I glance back at the tablet.

“Sure?” she repeats, her voice rising just slightly. She straightens in her seat, her frustration unmistakable now. “That’s all. That’s all you have to say?”

---