CHAPTER 44
ARIA
I stood up, water slipping down my legs as I reached for the towel hanging nearby. My heart was still a mess of thundering beats, and my thoughts even more so. I needed to get out.
Away.
Space to breathe—space to think.
“I should go,” I said quietly, not looking at him.
I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and unblinking, even as I wrapped the towel around myself.
I stepped out of the tub, pretending I didn’t feel the ache of his gaze trailing me.
But just as I reached for the doorknob, his voice came—soft, quiet, with a tinge of something almost sulky.
“You still haven’t helped me wash my wound.”
I froze.
I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder at him.
He was still in the tub, sitting with one knee bent, water slicked across his chest.
His eyes met mine—calm, unreadable, but there was a subtle tug at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Please....Still sore. Especially when I twist. Hard to reach.”
I stared at him, lips parting to object, to call out the obvious manipulation in his voice—but then he tilted his head a little, that same stubbornly cute tilt, his wet hair falling into his eyes again.
It wasn’t fair.
It really wasn’t fair.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered under my breath, letting the door close again behind me.
I hung the towel back up.
“You win. But just the wound,” I said firmly, stepping back toward the tub.
His long legs stretched out, water sloshing gently around him as his thighs brushed the edges of the porcelain.
He shifted slightly and looked up at me, that same gleam of innocence still dancing in his eyes… but there was something else now too.
Something darker. Hungrier.
I swallowed hard and rolled up my sleeves.
“You should get in the tub,” he said suddenly, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “It’ll be easier that way. You won’t have to lean so far. Don’t want you hurting your back.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really? That’s your excuse?”
He just shrugged, all wide-eyed and lazy, water trailing down his collarbone like temptation carved in flesh. “I’m trying to think about your comfort. I’m being considerate.”
I snorted, arms crossed over my chest.
“You’re being manipulative.”
“And yet,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower,
“you haven’t said no.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
God, he was annoying.
And warm.
And wet.
And ridiculously beautiful sitting there in the water with that impossible expression on his face, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me and was daring me to keep pretending I didn’t feel it.
I sighed.
“Fine. But only because I’m already wet and you clearly can’t be trusted not to drown while I reach for your oh-so-difficult back.”
His grin widened, soft and satisfied.
“Welcome back to the tub, Aria.”
I shook my head, already regretting this.
Already knowing I’d do it again.
And still, I stepped in.
His grin widened immediately, childlike and far too pleased.
“Turn around,” I muttered, trying to sound unaffected.
He obeyed—kind of.
He turned halfway, just enough to expose his back but still able to watch me from the corner of his eye.
I reached for the body wash, squeezing a small amount into my palms.
The scent of eucalyptus and mint filled the air as I lathered it between my hands, working up a thick layer of foam.
My fingers trembled just a little.
This was fine.
I was helping.
That was all.
Just helping.
But then my hands made contact with his skin.
He was warm.
Too warm.
My hands moved carefully over the area around the wound, lathering soft bubbles into the skin. His body was warm beneath my touch, his breath slow and steady, and I hated how aware I was of every inch of him.
“This okay?” I asked, voice quieter now.
“Feels good,” he murmured.
"Mmmm..."
He let out a small noise—a low, muffled moan that vibrated through his chest.
I froze.
“Aria…” he murmured, his voice a deep hum.
“That feels nice.”
I glanced up.
His eyes were half-lidded, his head tilted slightly to the side, water dripping down his temple. He looked… soft.
Vulnerable.
And something in my chest twisted sharply.
“Okay,” I said quickly, pulling my hands back once I was done.
I tried to ignore the way heat had already crept up my neck.
I focused on his skin, the way his muscles shifted under my hands. I worked in silence, lathering across his shoulders, down the curve of his spine… and then, with what I told myself was purely clinical care, I moved lower, toward the spot just above his waist.
That’s when he turned again—fully this time.
And suddenly, I was facing him.
My eyes dropped before I could stop them, catching a glimpse of what the water didn’t quite hide.
I looked away immediately, heart pounding.
But he didn’t look ashamed.
Didn’t hide.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving mine, his expression still open and full of something maddeningly soft.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I should go,” I said, standing quickly—but not fast enough.
His hand caught mine.
Gently.
So gently it stunned me.
“Please,” he whispered.
“You help this far… just a little more, yes?”
I hesitated, lips parted.
“This part,” he said, pointing down, his expression surprisingly earnest.
“Not washed yet.”
The words should’ve made me laugh—or cringe.
But there was something so sincere in the way he said them, like it really was just part of the bath, just something he needed help with. And maybe it was.
Maybe that’s all it had to be.
"Lian..."
"Please"
I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice.
My heart was hammering, my throat dry.
He shifted again, adjusting his legs so I could kneel in bwtween them.
My clothes were already soaked from earlier, the damp fabric clinging to my skin like a second skin. I tried not to think about how exposed I felt.
He didn't leer.
He just watched me, his gaze dark but soft, patient in a way that didn’t match the growing tension between us.
I added more body wash to my palms.
My hands hovered for a second—just one second—then lowered gently beneath the water, to where he’d pointed.
The moment I touched him, his breath caught.
His thighs tensed, his hips twitching slightly as a groan slipped from his lips, low and hoarse and completely unguarded.
I focused on the motion of my hands, on keeping the touch slow and even, but the feeling of him—hard and hot and very real—was impossible to ignore.
I couldn’t stop the heat that spread through me. It curled in my belly, down between my legs, my thighs pressing together beneath the water.
“Aria…” he said again, almost a gasp this time.
I looked up—and froze.
His eyes were locked on mine, and the hunger in them was no longer masked by innocence. It was open. Raw. Undeniable.
Then he moved—leaned forward—and his lips brushed against my ear. Soft. Testing.
My breath hitched.
His tongue darted out, licking the edge of my ear, the heat of it sending a jolt straight down my spine.
My whole body jerked involuntarily. I should’ve pulled away.
I meant to.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I felt myself leaning into him, my hands still resting against his hips as his mouth moved lower, tracing the slope of my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
When his lips reached the damp neckline of my nightgown, he paused.
“Can I?” he whispered.
I nodded.
He didn’t hesitate after that.
His mouth found my chest, lips closing around one taut nipple through the soaked fabric, tongue flicking softly, teasing until I was gasping, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.
“Lean,” I breathed, unable to stop the tremble in my voice.
“I need to touch you. Just for a little. Let me feel you, Aria…”
And I did.
Let him feel me.
Let him touch, and kiss, and explore—until I forgot what I was supposed to be afraid of.
Until the only thing that mattered was the closeness, the heat, the tenderness in every brush of his lips, every moan against my skin.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that—half submerged in the water, clinging to each other like we might fall apart otherwise.