“If there’s wolf hair in the tub again,” I muttered, peeling off my tank top, “I’m filing for emotional damages.”
The universe, shockingly, was merciful tonight. The tub was clean. Sparkling, even. Not a single stray hair in sight. Bless him.
I turned the water on and stepped under the spray, hissing a little as it scalded my skin before easing into that perfect-too-hot temperature I liked best. The water hit my sore shoulders like a benediction. I tipped my head back and let it soak into my hair, steam curling around me like a second skin.
For once, I didn’t want to think. Not about Seraphina. Not about Doris and her supernatural stalker notebook. Not about how Roman looked at me like I was something rare, and how dangerous it felt to want to believe him.
I just wanted heat. Silence. Soap. Maybe a minute of pretending my life was simple.
I was halfway into lathering my shampoo-eyes closed, sighing like I’d found the gates of heaven-when I felt a shift in the air behind me.
Not cold. Not threatening.
Roman.
Hands slid around my waist, slow and sure. Warm breath brushed my shoulder. Roman’s chest pressed against my back, and I stilled only long enough to forget how to breathe. The steam swirled between us. My heart stuttered once, traitorous and loud, before settling into a rhythm I only seemed to find with him.
“Sharing’s caring. Gotta save water. For the environment, you know?” he murmured, mouth grazing my ear.
And then he pressed me against the tile.
I didn’t protest. I leaned into the heat of him and let his hands roam. Let his mouth find mine in that familiar, hungry way that made it impossible to keep pretending this was casual. The shower was a blur of sensation. Steam. Water. Skin. The slide of his hands over my hips. The way he kissed like he was anchoring himself to the moment.
Like I was the moment.
He spun me around and lifted me easily, like I weighed nothing, pinning me gently to the cool tile. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, down my throat, and I clung to his shoulders, lost in the sound of our breathing and the rush of water between us.
Time disappeared. There was only him.
Eventually, he shut the water off, kissed my shoulder once, and carried me out of the bathroom. I looped my arms around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He dripped water across the hardwood as he walked us toward his bedroom, not bothering to grab a towel. I was still floating somewhere between dazed and giddy when he set me down on the floor and I hopped onto the bed.
I bounced once on impact, laughing… until Roman froze. He blinked, staring at the bed and then at me.
“Oh shit,” he whispered, horror blooming across his face. He swallowed as if trying to hold back the words he wanted to say.
I looked at him, confused, still breathless. “Roman?”
He hovered, wide-eyed, arms flailing like he was trying not to startle an endangered bird. “You’re wet. On the bed.”
My brow furrowed. “That was kind of the point?”
He looked at me like I’d committed a war crime. “Umm… I can fix this. Hop down. I will lay towels. This bedding is cashmere. Or… is it suede? Microfiber? Or maybe it’s rayon. I can’t even remember now. I’m panicking.”
A giggle burst out of me.
“This is why we have clauses, Mags. Clauses. Like civilized people. You agreed to towel etiquette in Section Four, Subparagraph B.”
I folded my arms over my knees and smirked. “Are you serious right now?”
“This bed has seen things,” he said, darting toward the linen closet, “but moisture will be its downfall.”
“You have two-point-five seconds to get the damn towels,” I warned, still grinning.
Roman vanished at werewolf speed. He returned and laid the towels out with surgical precision, one for under the hips and one folded into a square I didn’t ask questions about.
I watched him the whole time, amused and-God help me-completely turned on.
When he finished, he stood at the edge of the bed and narrowed his eyes like a man making a final inspection before battle. He stalked toward me, grabbed my waist, and dragged me down into the blanket fortress with a grin that was all teeth and trouble.
“Now it’s legal,” he growled against my skin.
I didn’t stop laughing until his mouth found mine again.
And after that, neither of us said much at all.
Roman
She was laughing. Still breathless from teasing me about the towels, still grinning as I kissed the sound right off her mouth. She tasted like toothpaste and steam and something sweet I hadn’t earned, but I kept chasing it anyway. Kept kissing her because I wanted to memorize her with my mouth.
She cupped my face with both hands and pulled me down like nothing else existed but this. Us. Now.
The mattress dipped under my knees as I crawled over her, bracing myself so I didn’t crush her but refusing to give her an inch of space she clearly didn’t want. Her thighs parted, welcoming me between them.
Her fingers curled around the back of my neck, tugging me down again. The kiss wasn’t rushed this time-it was deeper, heavier. A slow ache blooming between us.
She lifted her hips just enough to brush against me, and I groaned into her mouth, catching myself with one hand pressed to the mattress beside her head. My other hand slid up her side until my thumb found the soft curve of her breast.
She arched into it, and my restraint slipped another notch.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I murmured against her lips.
She didn’t. She just looked at me with heat, trust, want-and it went straight to my cock.
I eased her back down against the mattress, pushing her hair off her face before kissing her again. My hand trailed over her bare stomach, ribs, cupping her breast with more purpose now. She gasped into my mouth, body pressing up into mine like she couldn’t help herself.
And that was it. My patience vanished.
“Fuck, Maggie…” My voice came out rougher than I intended. “You’re gorgeous. All of you.”
Her cheeks flushed.
I lowered myself over her, chest to chest, skin to skin, and kissed her again before grinding my cock against her, slow enough to feel every wet, hot inch of her open for me.
She whimpered into my mouth. “Please.”
“Please what?” I murmured, dragging my lips down her jaw, over her throat.
“Please, Roman… I want to feel you.”
That was all I needed. I lined myself up and thrust into her, slow enough to feel every tight, clenching inch as she took me in. The heat of her wrapped around me like a vise, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then. My head dropped to her shoulder with a curse.
“Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good,” I rasped, my voice breaking. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”
Her nails raked down my back, a shiver shooting through me as her hips tilted, pulling me deeper. That little shift punched the air from my lungs.
I started slow, savoring the drag, the way her body molded around mine like she’d been built for me alone. But the control didn’t last. She rolled her hips up to meet me, and I lost it-thrusting harder, deeper, until the wet slap of our bodies filled the room.
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