Out of the bathroom and into the bedroom

Steam curled around us as James reached past my shoulder for the towel rack, his bicep brushing my cheek. The terrycloth whispered over my skin with unexpected reverence—first blotting the droplets from my shoulders, then tracing the hollow between my collarbones with slow circles. His knuckles grazed my nipples just long enough to make me gasp before the towel swept downward again. "Lift," he murmured against my damp temple, and I obeyed without thought, raising one foot at a time as he dried between my toes with ridiculous care. The absurdity of this meticulous attention after his earlier brutality tightened something behind my ribs.

His thumb caught a stray droplet at the dip of my waist, pressing in just enough to make me arch. "Missed a spot," he lied, watching my reaction as the damp towel skimmed lower—so close to where I throbbed that my breath hitched. James smirked, deliberately folding the towel away before dragging it up my inner thighs with torturous slowness. "Patience," he chided, though his own breathing had gone uneven. When the terrycloth finally brushed my cleft, it was merely to blot the water beaded there—his exhale hot against my shoulder when I clenched around nothing.

The bedroom smelled of Sarah's lavender sleep spray and the faint musk of James' cologne on the pillows—an intoxicating collision that tightened my chest as he guided me backward with hands spanning my hips. His fingers flexed against bare skin when my calves hit the mattress edge, the silent command clear before he voiced it: "Lie back." The duvet bunched under my shoulder blades as I obeyed, my legs dangling off the side with knees bent—spread wider when his thumbs pressed into the tendons behind them. James knelt between my feet with the reverence of a man at prayer, his damp chest hair glistening under the bedside lamp as he dragged his palms up my shins.

The scrape of his stubble followed the sponge's earlier path up my calf, pausing to nip the sensitive hollow behind my knee until my thigh twitched. "Told you," he murmured against flushed skin, breath skating higher, "these fucking legs." His teeth grazed the crease where thigh met hip, deliberately avoiding the heat pulsing mere inches away. My hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the contact he denied—only for his hands to pin my pelvis down with effortless strength. "Uh-uh." His tongue painted a wet stripe along the same inner thigh, so close I could feel his exhale stir the curls between my legs.

James switched sides with agonizing leisure, his lips tracing identical patterns up my left leg—the same nibble behind the knee, the same open-mouthed kiss high on the thigh—hovering near enough that my clit throbbed with every ragged breath he took. The bastard even matched his pacing, pausing to suck precisely where my leggings would crease tomorrow, his thumb pressing into my hipbone as if measuring the tremor running through me. "Beautiful," he muttered against damp skin, the word vibrating through muscle as he dragged his mouth higher—then bypassed my slit entirely to lick the crease of my opposite hip.

I whimpered, fingers clawing at the duvet when his stubble rasped along my pelvic bone. His chuckle was dark as he inhaled sharply against my mound, nose brushing the shaved skin. "Smell perfect… fucking delicious," he growled, the raw satisfaction in his voice sending fresh slickness between my thighs. His tongue darted out—just once—to lap at the evidence trickling down, then retreated with infuriating control. When I arched toward him, his broad hands shoved my hips down hard, pinning me with one forearm across my pelvis as his free hand slid beneath my ass, lifting me with obscene ease.