The Imperfections

For a few minutes, I sit there feeling sorry for myself, second-guessing choices I’ve made and agonizing over whether or not I’ve ruined everything by not making different ones.

After a few minutes, though, I pick myself up off the couch, grab a bottle of water out of the fridge, and head upstairs. I can hear the shower already running in the master bath when I step inside the bedroom, so I make quick work of undressing. I uncap my water and take a quick sip, then I put it down on the nightstand and pad across the room.

As I ease the bathroom door open, I’m greeted by a warm mist of fragrant steam. He just got in a couple minutes ago, so he must be taking an especially hot shower tonight.

I step into the room softly and carefully close the door behind me so as not to draw attention, then I sneak over to the sink and take out my hair clip. I see Brant already got a nice, soft towel out for when he gets out of the shower. I pass my hand over the fluffy material as I put my hair clip down on the countertop, then I turn around and fix my gaze on the fogged-up glass in front of me.

More specifically, on the sexy specimen on the other side of that fogged-up glass.

I expect to catch him off guard when I open the door and step inside the shower with him, but as I slide my arms around him from behind and press my breasts against his back, I can tell he’s not surprised.

I move my hand up and down over his wet abdomen, resting my face against his muscular back. “Hello, future husband.”

He glances over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Hello, future wife,” he says to humor me.

I lift my head and flash him a little smile. “I hope you don’t mind the company.”

“Of course not.”

“Good. You once told me if you ever turned down a shower with me to shoot you, and I didn’t even bring my gun.”

He cracks a smile at that but makes no move to touch me. That’s okay. I just want to be close to him, and I am. With my arms locked securely around him from behind, Brant moves the soaped-up washcloth over his muscular chest and arms. If he minds my clinging, I certainly can’t tell.

Easing the faintest of concerns that maybe he does and he’s just being nice, after he finishes soaping up his upper body, he passes the cloth into my hand and tells me, “Why don’t you make yourself useful.”

Warmth spreads through my lower abdomen and a smile claims my lips. “Ooh, yes, sir.”

I adjust my position and stop hugging him so I can reach forward, using the washcloth to spread soapy lather over his slick abdominal muscles. When I finish, my hand drops lower and I run the cloth along his pelvic bone. Then I move it even lower.

I know he wants me to touch his dick, so I slide my hand over and start soaping up his inner thigh instead.

“Tease,” he murmurs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes while I wash him.

“You have such strong, sexy thighs. They deserve a little attention, too,” I inform him.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, unconvinced.

Once I’ve adequately washed his right thigh, I reach across his body, allowing my wrist to graze his dick, and start to soap the other one.

That doesn’t last long. Brant’s strong hand locks around my wrist and he holds onto me while he switches our positions, backing me up against the shower wall.

I’m not afraid of him, but my heart beats like I am as he closes in on me. Still grasping my wrist, he guides my hand between his legs. This time I don’t tease. I open my hand and wrap it around his dick, gently squeezing his hard shaft.

Brant releases my wrist, but his dark gaze never leaves mine. I can’t look away from him—I don’t want to—so I keep my eyes locked on his while I clean and caress him. Once I’ve adequately soaped his dick, I move the cloth lower and start massaging his balls.

“Is that good?” I ask, to make sure I’m doing it right.

“Mm-hmm,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with arousal.

The desire I feel radiating off him seeps into me. The way he looks down at me sets me on fire—there’s lust inside him, but there’s rage, too.

I know there’s violence inside this man. I know what he’s capable of, but I also know he would never hurt me.

The danger is still there, though, and I feel like I’m playing with it as I play with him. I drop the washcloth, giving up the pretense of cleaning him. As the sopping wet cloth hits the shower floor, I take his cock in my hand again and begin to stroke.