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You’d never been that scared before.

Saint’s hoodie pooled around her hands and made her shoulders look thin and insubstantial. She shrugged it off, the rest of her clothes already in a puddle on the bedroom floor. She hadn’t wanted to get the stairwell dust in the bed.

The shower was enormous. The glass was fogged, and the two showerheads filled it entirely with steam.

“Bougie.”

Saint stood on the other side, leaning back on the tile, one hand splayed behind his back. Soft light highlighted the edges of his muscles, the lines of his hips. The tattoos on his chest were blurred. More part of him than not.

She let her hands drop to her sides.

His eyes caught her, the heated embers glowing, but he didn’t move. “This is all you, Ri,” he said, voice lowered. “Your choice.” His eyes leapt to her arm and then back to her face.

She swallowed and stepped closer. The tiles were hard-edged under her feet. She stopped, their bodies inches apart, breathing in the steam. He didn’t move, didn’t reach to touch her. She knew by now. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want.

“I’ll tell you to stop if I need to.”

He moved fast and then slow. His mouth came down on hers, avoiding the nick on the bottom one, and his hands traced over her skin like it was spun glass. The calluses raised goosebumps in their wake, and his hand came around the back of her neck, thumb finding her pulse, a steady weight anchoring her.

His back was corded with muscle, the scars raised, Riley pressed flush against his hard body. She didn’t want to think, and he had the unique talent of making it nearly impossible when he touched her.

Her knees shook.

He pulled back, hands moving to her shoulders. “Too much?”

She pressed her lips together, metal twisting with the taste of sleep.

“No,” she whispered.

Water dripped from Saint’s forehead, following his eyebrows to run down his cheeks. She reached up and traced the path, avoiding his gaze. A hand caressed her cheek, turning her jaw with one finger. “Look at me,” he murmured, voice softer than the steam beading on her skin. He searched her eyes, and she stopped herself from saying she was fine.

She wasn’t.

But she could be, again.

“He can’t have this,” she whispered.

Pain and darkness swirled through his dark eyes, and the understanding there made her chest hurt. With a choked breath, she pulled his lips to her. He kissed her gently, and she arranged his hands around her back.

She tried to crawl into his skin, and settled for pressing their bodies as close as possible. Need clawed through her, her movements jerky and nails skimming his back.

“Riley.” His voice had a hard edge.

“Please, Saint.” She dug her fingers into his back, teeth scraping his jaw. “I want this.”

He hesitated for a moment, and a second of fear stronger than anything in the stairwell filled her.

Oh, god.

He hitched his hands around her thighs, pulling her up, and pushed her against the warmed wall, shielding her from the spray.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” His teeth pinched her earlobe and she panted. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. Just like when she’d seen him leaning against his truck, waiting for her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drowning as the overwhelm from earlier pushed up her throat. He pressed her back into the tile, the pressure helping, but she needed more.

She cared about this, him, more than she cared about the unanswered questions.

Who he was and what he was going to do didn’t matter to her.

“I’m not leaving, Ri.” He watched her, worry in his eyes.