ROSE CALLOWAY
I didn’t go back to sleep. I decided to take a shower before the rest of the house wakes up. The bathroom is my hell. I think it’s the third or second circle. Scott Van Wright, a devil in disguise, stands firmly in the first.
A chest-high tiled wall barely separates one shower from the other. As though we need to high-five while we’re shampooing our hair.
I wash quickly, but I have a particular routine: scrub beneath my nails at least twice, rinse, shampoo, wash, condition, repeat. I’ve already finished with those steps. But I still have others to do.
I prop my foot near the hot-and-cold knob and shave my leg. I slow down to avoid cutting my ankle or knee.
And then the door swings open.
I drop my leg, warm water dousing me from the showerhead. Please be Connor.
I process that sudden realization—that I’d want it to be him, out of everyone, that’d I’d hope for it. Even if it would pull him away from his business project.
I hate that I’m attracted to a man who thinks love is nothing but a weakness. But I also adore that there’s no one else remotely like Connor Cobalt in the world.
And I’m the one who has him.
When I look back up, Scott is already halfway inside, heading to one of the sinks in the center. He barely acknowledges me, just turns on the faucet and starts brushing his teeth. I solidify to stone. And I only move to cover
my chest with my arms, standing underneath the showerhead, as though the downpour of water will clothe me.
I should ignore him and just go back to shaving, but I can’t reawaken my taut muscles.
I shouldn’t watch him either, but I find myself scanning his features quickly. Messy dishwater blond hair, scruffy jaw, and reddened eyes from the early morning.
He spits into the sink, and his gaze meets mine as he wipes his mouth with a towel. “Yes?”
“I didn’t say anything.” My voice is not even a little kind. I don’t know how to defrost the ice that clings to each syllable, even if I wanted to.
“You’re staring.” This fact gives him permission to lower his gaze to the misted shower glass.
I don’t look away. I will not come across as a frightened bird.
“I wondered if you were a bush kind of girl. Now I know.” He tops it off with a half-smile.
I purse my lips. He can’t see that much detail through the glass. “You’re a pig.”
He tosses his toothbrush back in a cabinet underneath the sink and leans against the porcelain rim. “And Lo calls me Mr. Hollywood. Do you all
have a thing with nicknames?”
“Loren also told you to eat shit in the same breath, so I wouldn’t gloat.”
His grin never falters, in fact it widens. “You forget that every curse word, every pig and insult is another notch for ratings. So keep ‘em coming, honey.”
He prefers to provoke Loren since he’s fishing for drama. He’d like for me to curse him out too. Maybe I should seal my lips shut and let him deal
with the silence. We could still have great ratings without being nasty. But it’s harder for me to be nice than mean. However awful that seems.
Scott steps closer to the showers, and my eyes tighten as I glare so hard. I continue to hide my breasts with my arm, but everything else is exposed. I could reach for the towel, but surrendering is not an avenue I’ll take. I’ll look foolish and scared, which’ll sit like dead-weight in my stomach.
He slowly steps out of his pants. “What are you doing?” I ask.
He cocks his head. “Taking a shower, Rose.” He motions to the
available “stall” beside mine—the one so close that we could practically high-five. “Do I need your permission?”
“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders. “And you’re not getting it.”
He laughs. “I was just being a dick when I asked. I don’t really care about your permission.”
I don’t really care about your permission. His words gnaw a hole in my brain. I hated him before. I think I loathe him now.
He removes his white shirt, and my eyes linger on his abs for point-two seconds. They’re okay… Defined, but more “I lift too many weights and drink a shit ton of protein shakes” sculpted than the natural “this is my body. I’m just fucking hot” look. Which all three guys in the house possess in spades (even if they all do work out together).
My loyalties lie far, far away from Scott Van Wright—and even a simple compliment about his body feels like kissing a pig who shit in my yard.
I catch a glimpse of his red briefs. This is not okay.
Fuck it. Where’s my towel?
I go to reach over the glass door to retrieve the cloth off the hook, but Scott snatches it—and it slings right out of my grip.
You have got to be— “That’s my towel.” This is not okay.
“Now it’s mine.” Scott acts modest all of a sudden, tying it around his waist so he can shed his underwear.
I fume. Outwardly. Steam may as well be blowing out of my ears. “What no peep show this morning?”
“We’ll save that for the bedroom,” he says. And winks. He winks at me.
My insides shrivel in repulsion. I think he just poisoned my uterus.
He takes off his briefs, all while keeping the towel snug around his waist, and then he kicks his underwear to the side. His eyes pin to me, a smile playing at his lips. Yes, he is naked underneath that towel.
And yes, I am very much naked in the shower right now. I’m not quite sure things could get much worse.
“Sorry that phone call took so long, darling.” Connor’s voice emanates from the doorway. “The partners wouldn’t stop talking about finger paints.”
A sudden wave of relief crashes into me. My teammate has arrived to tag me out of this disaster. Somehow he saw or heard Scott in the bathroom and came to retrieve me. Maybe he finally realized that I can finish his project for him.
Thank you. I’m out of here.
And then Connor says, “My shampoo, is it in there?”
That relief is squashed by anxiety. I understand now. He wants to come into the shower. He plans to beat Scott this round and push our relationship to a place where it should already be. I try to pump my chest with more confidence, but he still wants to hop in here with me. And in order for Connor to win, I can’t be shocked by his arrival. I can’t push him away like he’s less than my boyfriend. I need to be as comfortable around him as I should be. I can’t say “wait” like I did downstairs. I have to let him keep
going. Full speed ahead. No fucking brakes. Grow some bigger balls, Rose Calloway.
Yes, I think I can do this.
I scan the shelf with an arrangement of female and male hair products. I find his black bottle that costs more than my conditioner and body wash put together. “Your precious shampoo is here,” I say in my usual biting tone.
“You shouldn’t insult my shampoo. I’ve been told my hair is my second best feature.” He ignores the fact that Scott still stands outside the second shower, his hand on the glass door, frozen as he watches.
I only notice Scott from the corner of my eye. He waits for one of us to acknowledge his presence. And I refuse to entertain his snide comments.
Even though, really, it’s more than rude to be bathing in a communal shower together. I know Lily has already done it…though in her bathing suit. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy has too with her new boyfriend (that no one has met yet).
I want to not care and just “go with the flow”—I’ve never really been like that.
Connor quickly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside, now only in black slacks. As he nears my shower, he’s clearly taller than Scott.
Connor combs his hand through his hair. “It’s thick, full—something to grab onto.”
Is he still talking about his hair? My eyebrows rise at him in question, and he shows off a million-dollar grin. I stare at his crotch, unabashed about looking now.
“And what’s your first best feature?” I challenge. Your cock, most definitely.
“My ass.” His smile widens. And with this, he steps right out of his pants and boxer-briefs. Completely fucking naked.
The glass door still separates our bodies, but Connor has just shed his clothes right in front of Scott. And he doesn’t even care. He acts like the producer deserves none of his attention, as though he’s as low as weeds in cracked pavement.
Connor is the sexiest he’s ever been.
He opens the shower door confidently, and I try not to shy away. No man has ever seen me this naked and that’s all about to change.
And in order to give Scott the middle finger, I can’t be alarmed when Connor’s naked body comes into contact with my naked body.
There’s just a whole lot of naked in this scenario. With no room for fear.
Fearless nudity. I do like the sound of that.
I pull my shoulders back and drop my arm as Connor steps inside, careful to block my exposed body from Scott. He closes the door behind him.
His tactic to neglect the third-party works for the most part. Scott stands outside of his shower stall, just watching us in curiosity, as though he’s considering grabbing a video camera. If he does, I will snip his fucking…
My thoughts trail off as soon as Connor nears me. His eyes drop, climbing from my bare legs and rising higher and higher. His gaze momentarily pauses on the spot between my thighs, and I swear he smiles ever so slightly. Places that no man has ever touched ache for hard pressure. All because of his stupid smile. And those eyes, I suppose.
They heat me as much as the shower steam, his blue irises ascending
once more from my feet to my breasts where he lingers. I check the state of my nipples. Erect. Of course. My pulse speeds crazily, and each bead of water scorches my skin.
And yet, I don’t want to move. I want to stand right here and burn with this fire.
Connor closes in, and his hardness brushes against my belly. I feel so short without high heels on. I look up. The water rains down on his body, where his muscles curve in hard, defined lines, leading to his cock. Just seeing that stirs something deep inside of me, the heat and his body numbing my brain.
A strong need heightens, the kind that would like a real dick and not a rubber one—the kind that I’ve snubbed for a long, long time. This is something I would have fantasized about at sixteen in my bedroom. Connor Cobalt entering my shower like a dominant god, his intelligence trouncing mine for a long, stimulating moment.
He reaches over me, grabbing his expensive shampoo, and his arm rubs against my shoulder. My chest collapses. Just like that.
I don’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I’m surprised my brain hasn’t completely shut off. But then I would really be pissed. My brain has never ditched me before, and like hell the first time would be because of a penis.
Fearless nudity. Right. I suck in a breath and command my confidence to return.
“Your project,” I whisper to Connor. He needs this time to work, not guard me from the sleazy producer. Normally I would protest against the backup, but I wish, more than anything, he’d stay right here.
“I finished it,” he says, his face naturally unreadable. It could very well be a lie, but I’d rather not reignite that argument.
The other shower turns on, and I hear the water splash against the tiles. Scott decided to make this situation more awkward. I’m about to look over
and shoot him one of my signature death glares. But Connor rests a hand on my bare hip and maintains my position here in front of him. He stands between me and Scott, the chest-high wall also adding a bit of a barrier between us and the producer. I pull a wet strand of hair off my lip. Despite being shielded by a six-foot-four muscular man, my fury ejects. “Nice of you to wait ten minutes, Scott. If my shower ends up being cold, I’m going to—”
“What? What are you going to do?” Scott says in amusement, most likely smirking. “Assault me with your nails? Claw me? Please do. And be sure to forget the towel when you come into my shower.”
Uh…fuck. I suddenly realize that giving Scott attention is the equivalent of kicking Connor to the ground.
My boyfriend can be the bigger person in most situations. I tend to take the low road.
Connor lets his annoyance pass through his features. His jaw sets tight and his eyes flash hot at me. Just when I wonder if he’s going to punish me, as he once said he’d do, he returns to his shampoo, actually washing his hair.
Disappointment floods me. Is it bad that I wished he punished me
somehow? I guess I should go back to my routine then… I bite my gums, trying not to be distracted as I grab my razor. But he’s much larger than anything I’ve put inside me, and he’s only semi-hard.
“So what’s your job title at Cobalt Inc.?” Scott asks Connor.
“Interim CEO,” he replies civilly. I think Scott’s just trying to provoke Connor.
“So it’s temporary?”
“Provisional, momentary, brief,” Connor lists with a casual tone. “More synonyms for interim in case you need them.”
Scott snorts but has nothing to fling back in my boyfriend’s face.
I concentrate on bathing. I still have to shave my leg. And that means bending over in front of Connor. He continues to hide me from Scott, so I
have no clear view of him—thankfully. I don’t want Scott to see my ass. He can look at Connor’s all day—you know, since it’s his best feature.
Maybe I can skip shaving. I shudder.
Fuck it. I’ve come this far. I’m naked in a shower with a naked man. I can bend over a little. I lather soap on my leg, and then I lean over to finish shaving. My bottom rubs against his dick, and I go to stand up and scoot forward, away from him, but Connor puts a hand on my back, forcing me to stay down.
His other palm caresses the soft flesh of my ass. And then he squeezes me hard, and I hear the warning in his grip don’t give Scott anything of yours.
I wince and can’t help but smile, loving that he cares. He alternates between a forceful grip and a soft one, rubbing and clenching, nearing the spot between my legs. Not yet entering. My arms shake as I attempt to shave, especially when he massages my bottom and then slaps it. Ahh…fuck me…
Why does that feel so good?
He releases his hand on my back, allowing me the option to stand, but his fingers perilously dip to the crease of my ass.
He lowers them. And I yelp, a sound that has never left my mouth before. I’ve just been startled out of my fucking mind. Holy… I knick my kneecap, drawing blood, and stand up straight, causing Connor’s hands to fall from me.
Scott laughs. He’s fucking laughing, which only pummels me with more guilt and shock. I just rejected Connor right in front of Scott—is that what it looks like? I slowly turn around and meet Connor’s complacent, composed and most importantly unreadable expression. I channel so many apologies through my face. I’m using facial muscles that have been static for the past twenty-three years.
Scott’s chortles still scald my eardrums. Out of haste, I try to turn on the producer and curse him out, to ineloquently explain how it wasn’t just Connor. If any man tried to do that with me, they would have been met with the same alarmed response.
But Connor pinches my chin and forces my gaze on him. Our eyes connect on a different level. The world becomes small.
No Scott.
No shower.
No rush of water or nakedness. Just me. Just him. Just us.
Together again.
Desire blankets and pulses and shrouds me in its heady web. Wants and urges bubble, feelings that have been caged since we moved to the townhouse. It all springs to life, and I see the longing swim in his deep blues.
We haven’t gotten off in a while. I haven’t masturbated in our bed, fearful of the noises catching on microphones outside the walls. And Connor used to masturbate in our shower, which has become complicated with the communal style here.
We’re both horny as hell. Especially after arousing each other downstairs.
And then his thumb brushes my jaw, my lower lip, and slides into my mouth.
An audible noise of consent, of yearning and delight escapes. It’s a moan that I am not so quick to catch this time.
