I moved lower on his body… slowly—trailing the sponge across his chest. My eyes followed the movements of my own hands, entranced by the slope of his collarbone, the slight twitch of his abdomen, and the way the water clung to his lashes like tiny crystals.
His chest rose and fell—steadily, but deeper now.
"You're staring," he murmured.
"I'm inspecting," I whispered.
He chuckled low. "Should I flex?"
"Please don't."
He flexed anyway. I dropped the sponge.
"You're a bully," I groaned, reaching to pick it up.
His hand caught mine. I froze.
The atmosphere thickened around us, heavy with heat and something else I couldn't name.
He raised my hand and pressed it to his bare chest, letting my palm rest directly over his heart. It beat strong and steady beneath my fingers.
"You feel that?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, unable to speak.
"That's all yours."
And I broke. Not into pieces. But into feeling. Like something in me had melted and reformed.
