You gonna stand there holding laundry, or join me?

Dan tried to turn, but his body refused to obey—feet rooted to the tile as his gaze flickered over her, catching on her nipples breaking the water’s surface. "I—I didn’t—"

"Didn’t think anyone was home?" Bailey arched a brow. "Marc’s a prick. Ditched him." She tilted her head, wet strands clinging to her collarbone. "You gonna stand there holding laundry, or join me?"

Dan’s throat worked. The towels slipped from his arms, landing with a muffled thump on the damp floor. "Uhhhh—"

Bailey laughed—and reached for the wine glass perched on the edge of the tub. She took a slow sip, watching him over the rim. "You’re staring, Dan." She licked a drop from her lip. "Like you’ve never seen tits before."

Dan swallowed hard. Jess’s were smaller, perkier—he knew every freckle on them. But Bailey’s were something else: as she leaned forward. He couldn’t stop staring at her nipples. "I—uh—shouldn’t—"

"Oh, don’t bullshit me." Bailey rolled her eyes. "Jess hasn’t satisfied in weeks, has she? I hear you two arguing through the walls." She smirked. "Marc’s the same for me lately."

Dan’s pulse hammered—half shame, half thrill. He shouldn’t be here. But his dick was betraying him. Bailey noticed. Her laugh was low, knowing.

"Tell me," she murmured, swirling the wine with her fingertips before trailing them down her tits, "what Jess won’t let you do."