CHAPTER 43
ARIA
I was brushing my teeth, the minty taste sharp on my tongue as I swirled the water in my mouth and rinsed. Just as I reached to set the toothbrush down, his voice stopped me mid-motion.
“I need help.”
The words were soft—so soft I almost thought I’d imagined them over the steady hum of the bathroom fan.
I blinked, pausing with the toothbrush still in my hand, before carefully placing it beside the sink, the bristles still glistening with toothpaste foam.
When I looked up, he was standing in the doorway, barefoot, the dim hallway light casting a faint glow around his silhouette.
His bare chest rose and fell slowly, muscles tense beneath pale skin.
One hand rested lightly over the bandage at his side—the spot where the tracker had been dug out just days ago.
The skin underneath was still pink and tender, raw like a fresh wound that refused to fully heal—a quiet reminder of everything we’d been through.
I swallowed and blinked at him.
“Help with what?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Just stood there, bare-chested in the bathroom doorway, the fan’s soft whir wrapping around us like a fragile bubble.
His gaze was fixed on me, steady and intense—the kind that always made it impossible to say no.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.
“To bathe,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“To bathe?” I echoed, disbelief creeping into my tone.
He nodded.
“It hurts when I lift my arms. My shoulders… they pull.”
I stared at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious or trying to mess with me.
But there was no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk playing at his lips—just quiet, raw honesty.
A surprised chuckle escaped me before I could stop it.
“You’ve been walking fine all day,” I said, tilting my head in scepticism.
“Didn’t seem to bother you when you climbed onto the roof this morning.”
His lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite.
“That was different. I wasn’t trying to wash my hair.”
He shrugged, voice soft but firm.
“I can move. But it pulls when I stretch too far. Reaches I’m not used to. It aches.”
I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes as a sceptical smile tugged at my lips.
I was about to say something sharp, maybe tease him for being overly dramatic—but then he looked at me with those wide, almost puppy-dog eyes, so open and vulnerable it nearly broke me.
“Nathan said… If you want something, you should say please,” he mumbled, his voice low, almost sheepish.
Then, with the slightest tilt of his head and a hopeful look that absolutely did not belong on someone his size, he added softly,
“So… please? Will you help me bathe?”
His lashes lowered just a bit, mouth tugging into the smallest, almost boyish smile—like he wasn’t sure if he’d said it right but was proud of himself for trying anyway.
I stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer audacity—and softness—of the moment.
That hopeful little smile. The way he tilted his head was like a confused puppy trying to figure out a new trick.
It was ridiculous.
Completely, utterly ridiculous.
And yet… somehow, impossibly, it worked.
That look—soft, hesitant, so out of place on someone who could throw a grown man across a room—hit me right in the chest.
And that little smile? Like he was proud of himself for remembering his manners?
God help me.
I looked away quickly, pretending to fuss with the towel hanging on the rack, but mostly just trying to hide the heat rising in my face.
“You’re seriously not going to stop until I say yes, are you?” I muttered, already knowing the answer.
When he didn’t reply—just kept watching me with those wide eyes like a hopeful puppy—I sighed.
“Fine. But just to rinse your hair. That’s it. No funny business—” I warned, reaching out to turn the faucet.”
I reached for the faucet—twisting the handle too far, and the showerhead roared to life, spraying a cold, unexpected jet of water straight onto my chest.
Cold. So cold.
I gasped, staggering back with a wet yelp.
Behind me, I heard a startled sound—half concern, half something dangerously close to laughter.
I turned sharply, ready to snap at him—only to realise, a second too late, that my foot had caught on the edge of the bath mat.
The next thing I knew, the faucet slipped from my fingers.
I shrieked and stumbled backwards, arms flailing as the water sprayed me full in the chest, soaking through the thin cotton of my nightgown instantly. It clung to me like a second skin—transparent, treacherous, and utterly revealing.
My nipples pebbled instantly in the cool air. I tried to shield myself with my arms, heat crawling up my neck like wildfire.
I didn’t even want to look at him.
But I did.
And he was staring.
His eyes were black—not just dark but consumed, pupils wide with something more primal than hunger.
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
His lips parted just slightly, the faintest inhale pulling into his chest as he looked at me like he was seeing something sacred and forbidden at once.
“Don’t—” I choked out, shaking my head.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
I stepped into the tub, needing to hide. Needing distance.
I dropped down fast, knees curling into my chest as the water splashed up around me, still running from the showerhead above.
The moment the warm water touched my skin, I let out a long, shaky breath. I pressed my back against the cool ceramic wall, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around myself.
There was silence behind me.
And then—movement.
I twisted to look over my shoulder just in time to see him stepping into the tub, clothes and all.
“Lean—”
He ignored me, his long limbs folding awkwardly as he crouched down behind me, bracketing my body with his own.
His knees pressed into either side of my hips, his thighs fitting flush against mine. It was too close.
Too intimate.
“You’re insane,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I needed to be near you.”
I shivered—not from cold, but from the heat of him. From the pressure of his legs against mine. From the way the low rasp of his voice curled through me like smoke.
His head dipped, chin brushing the curve of my shoulder. I felt him inhale slowly, deeply, like he was memorising the scent of my skin.
His breath was warm, almost reverent. It grazed the shell of my ear and made me twitch in surprise.
“Lean, you can’t just—”
“You smell different when you’re wet,” he said softly, almost dreamily.
“Softer. Sweeter.”
I shut my eyes, trying to calm the erratic thud of my heart.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m trying to be sane. Logical. And you’re making it… difficult.”
He shifted, and I felt the muscles in his thighs flex against my sides—restless. Like he was barely containing something much stronger than words.
His chest brushed my back, breath catching just slightly.
“I feel… strange,” he murmured, almost confused.
“When I’m this close. Like I want to crawl under your skin.”
My entire body went stiff.
His words should’ve terrified me.
But they didn’t.
Because deep down… I understood.
He wasn’t human.
He didn’t know boundaries or modesty or propriety.
He only knew need.
I could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his desire pressing into my back. His movements are restless, his thighs shifting against me, sending waves of sensation through my body.
I squirm, trying to put some space between us, but there's nowhere to go.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me back against his chest, and I can feel every hard plane of his body, every ripple of muscle, every inch of him that wants me.
"Lean," I gasp, my voice breathless with a mix of desire and embarrassment.
"We shouldn't... not like this. Not in the bathtub."
He nuzzles into my neck, his lips brushing
against my skin, sending electric shocks of pleasure straight to my core.
"Aria, I can't help it. You drive me wild. Your scent, your touch, the way your body responds to mine... It's intoxicating."
"Lean...behave..."
I try to stand up, to create some distance, but his arms tighten around me, holding me in place. He points to his unwashed genital area, his eyes filled with a mix of innocence and hunger.
"Here, not washed yet," he says, his voice laced with a need that makes my heart race.
I froze.
The heat in my cheeks returned tenfold, and I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at what he was pointing to. My gaze hovered somewhere near his collarbone—anywhere but lower—as my breath caught in my throat.
He wasn’t trying to be crude. That was the wild part.
He was so earnest, so painfully unaware of what this was doing to me.