Page 239 of Nyx

"Full disclosure," he says, finger still curled under my chin. "My cock is going to be rock hard in this shower."

I grin at him, but his face remains completely serious.

"Just because I have a hard time controlling my body's reaction to you doesn't mean that in anyway are you obligated to do anything about it. Understand?"

I nod.

"Words," he insists.

"I understand."

"Now let's get in before we run out of hot water."

He pulls his hand back before leaning in and pressing the sweetest kiss to my forehead.

I want to wrap my arms around him, cling to him forever, and beg him to be mine, but instead I turn around and test the water temperature with my hand before stepping inside.

He follows shortly after, taking the wash rag I hand him before reaching for the body wash.

"Plumeria and vanilla," I say when he lifts the rag to his nose after applying the soap. "You're gonna smell like a girl."

He doesn't react the way I think he will. He smiles instead of hesitating to press the cloth to his skin.

"I'll smell like you," he counters.

Thankful that I can blame the water's high temperature for the blush on my cheeks, I also load my wash rag with soap.

We continue to glance at each other as we get cleaned up. As he promised, even as he washes his lower parts, the wash rag in his hand wrapping around his erection, he doesn't say a word or look at me seductively that would apply pressure to engage sexually.

It doesn't stop my body from responding, but I don't give that part of me a voice.

He washes my back when I ask, and the movements are economical and efficient before turning around and handing his wash rag over his shoulder, his own silent request.

I'll ask about his battle scars later because his body is covered in old wounds, but this doesn't feel like the time or place to wake old demons.

He climbs out first, giving me time to wash and condition my hair, something I didn't have the energy for last night after the chaos in the parking garage.

He's standing outside the shower, boxer briefs hanging low on his hips, and gratefully, he doesn't mention the way I let my eyes rake over his bare chest.

He hands me a towel before leaving the bathroom, and feeling like there's no rush, I take my time drying off and blow-drying my hair.

When I step back into the bedroom, a little embarrassed to still be wrapped in a towel from my rush to get to the bathroom earlier, I see the old bed linens in a neat pile on the far side of the room and the bed made to military precision.

"You made the bed?" I ask.

"I had one of the other women come in and strip it while you were in the shower."

My jaw hangs open as I blink at him, my hand instinctively coming up to clench the towel. I don't know how I feel about other people in my space.

"Really?"

"No. I made it myself," he says, and for a brief second, I'm stunned.

"Did you just make a joke?"

His grin is wide as he watches me.

I smile back at him before grabbing pajamas from the dresser and pulling them on.