Yes, gently and teasingly

He withdrew slowly, hissing through his teeth at the oversensitive friction. The sudden emptiness made me clench around nothing, a fresh trickle of his release sliding down my thigh. James caught it with two fingers, smearing the evidence across my hipbone before bringing them to his mouth. The sight of his pink tongue swiping through our mingled fluids sent heat licking up my spine again. "Bathroom," he ordered, voice rough. His palm flattened against the small of my back, propelling me forward even as his other hand tangled with mine—possessive even now.

The en-suite smelled of Sarah's lavender body wash and the sharp cedar of James' aftershave—an incongruous blend that tightened my throat. He nudged the shower handle with his elbow, steam billowing within seconds as he turned to me with a focus that felt surgical. His fingers traced the clasp of my bra with deliberate slowness, the backs of his knuckles brushing my spine as the damp fabric slithered away.

Water sluiced over us in scalding sheets as he crowded me against the tiled wall, his chest hair rasping against my oversensitive nipples. The sponge materialized in his hand like a magician's trick—soft, yellow, undoubtedly Sarah's—but the way he dragged it over my collarbones felt like sacrament. James mapped every dip and curve with methodical devotion, pausing to circle my navel with his thumb until I squirmed. "Still?" he murmured against my wet temple, his free hand skimming down to test my slickness. His chuckle vibrated through my shoulder when my hips jerked. "Christ, you're insatiable." The sponge glided lower, catching on my peaked nipples —each stroke calibrated to make my breath hitch without crossing the line into pleasure.

His palms cradled my ribs with unexpected gentleness, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts as he knelt before me. The contrast between the man who'd pinned me to his desk and this version—lips pressed to my hipbone as he soaped my inner thighs—stole my breath. Water sluiced between us when he turned his face into my stomach, inhaling sharply like he wanted to memorize my scent before the lavender soap erased it. His fingers traced the stretch marks behind my knees—flaws I'd hated at sixteen—with a reverence that made my throat tight.

The sponge whispered over my clavicles, catching on each droplet like he was collecting evidence. When his calloused palms slid down my back, they lingered at the dimples above my ass—a detail he'd mentioned once in our messages. Now he pressed his mouth there, tongue flicking out to taste the water beading on my skin before dragging the sponge down the cleft. His chuckle vibrated through me when I shuddered. "Shy now?" he murmured against the small of my back, hands spanning my waist to turn me gently. The sponge followed the slope of one breast, circling slowly until the nipple peaked beneath the foam. His breath hitched. "Christ. Even your fucking pores are perfect."

He knelt fully then, water sluicing through his chest hair as he worked the sponge down my abdomen with torturous care. His thumbs pressed into my hipbones—measuring, memorizing—before dipping lower to trace along my inner thighs. The reverence in his touch made my throat tighten. "These," he said hoarsely, pressing his lips to one, "drove me mad in your gym leggings." The confession shouldn't have sent heat pooling between my legs again, but my traitorous body clenched around nothing as his fingers brushed higher.

The sponge glided over my knees, catching behind them where sweat had gathered earlier—his tongue followed the same path, hot and wicked against sensitive skin. James hummed against my shin when I jerked, his hands steadying me with unexpected gentleness. "Easy," he murmured, turning my foot to press a kiss to the arch. The absurd intimacy of it—his stubble rasping against delicate skin, his broad shoulders blocking the shower spray—made my breath hitch. His fingers traced every tendon with agonizing precision, as if committing the map of me to some dark corner of his mind for later.

He worked upward, the sponge circling each dip between my ribs with deliberate slowness. When his thumb brushed the underside of one breast, I arched instinctively—only for him to still me with a hand splayed across my stomach. "Not yet," he chided softly, dragging the sponge over my nipple just hard enough to make me whimper. The contrast between this meticulous exploration and the man who'd split me open on his desk tightened something low in my belly. James' exhale gusted hot against my sternum as he turned my wrist palm-up, tracing the blue veins with the sponge before pressing his lips to my pulse point. "Perfect," he muttered, the word rough with something that wasn't lust—not entirely.

Water sluiced between my shoulder blades when he rose, his damp chest pressing against my back as he reached for the shampoo. His fingers carded through my hair with unexpected tenderness, massaging my scalp until my eyelids fluttered shut. The scent of Sarah's coconut conditioner filled the steam—an incongruous detail that should've soured the moment, but James' thumbs digging into the base of my skull rewrote every association. "Lean back," he murmured, and when I obeyed, his arm banded around my waist kept me from slipping. The spray hit my forehead first, his palm shielding my eyes as he rinsed—a gesture so caring it burned worse than his teeth ever had.

His soap-slick hands slid down my arms, fingers interlacing with mine against the tiles as his cock stirred against my lower back. The chuckle he breathed into my nape vibrated through me. "Greedy girl." His hips rolled lazily, the half-hard length of him dragging through my cleft with torturous lightness. "Still aching from how I stretched you open, and already clenching around nothing." The truth of it thrummed through me—every shift of his thighs behind mine sent fresh twinges through well-used muscles.