Chapter 91 MY STEPSON WANTS ME PART 14

Chapter 91 MY STEPSON WANTS ME PART 14
Marie’s POV
My husband finally left for one of his “business trips.” I knew what that meant. He wasn’t in some hotel room buried under paperwork—he was probably buried inside another woman. In the past, that would have gutted me. I would have sat in bed alone, staring at the ceiling, asking myself what I’d done wrong, what made me not enough. But now? Now I felt nothing. Or maybe it wasn’t nothing—maybe it was freedom.
After dinner, I padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I undressed slowly, almost carefully, folding my clothes on the little stool by the wall. The mirror was foggy from the heat of the water I’d already turned on, and I caught my reflection before I stepped into the shower. My hair hung loose, my skin pale under the bathroom light. I didn’t look like a wife waiting for her husband. I looked like a woman with secrets.
The shower welcomed me with warmth. I closed my eyes and let the water hit my shoulders, sliding down my body in heavy streams. I tilted my head back, soaking my hair until it clung to my neck and down my back. I reached for the shampoo, squeezing some into my palm, rubbing it into my scalp.
As my fingers worked through my hair, my thoughts betrayed me. They went straight to Jamie. I could still feel him—his mouth, his fingers, the way he’d made me cry out in ways I never thought I could. The memory washed over me harder than the water did, and I bit down on my lip to stop the sound that tried to escape my throat.
My hands moved slower as I rinsed my hair, sliding the soap down my arms, across my chest. My nipples hardened instantly under the heat and the memory, and I cursed myself for being so weak. I pressed the soap lower, circling across my stomach, and every move made me think of him, think of how his hands had felt so sure, so hungry.
My body shivered, even in the steam, as I tried to steady my breathing.
And then—
The door creaked.
I froze, my whole body locking up. Through the foggy glass and thick steam, I saw the door push open, slow but steady. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs as I turned my head.
Jamie.
He stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. My chest tightened, my breath catching, because the look on his face wasn’t casual, it wasn’t innocent. His eyes burned, dark and intent, like he had come here with only one purpose.
My first reaction was instinct. I let out a sharp breath and quickly tried to cover myself, pulling my hands across my chest, folding my arms, crouching slightly like that would hide me. My cheeks burned hotter than the steam.
But then… I looked at him. Really looked.
His eyes didn’t waver. They drank me in, like I was something he’d been starving for. The desire there was so strong, so raw, that my arms trembled where I held them across myself. My throat tightened, and my heart pounded so loud it was all I could hear.
And in that moment, something inside me shifted.
My arms loosened. Slowly, almost helplessly, I let them fall back to my sides. My bare skin was exposed again, water dripping down every curve, and I stood there trembling but not hiding.
His eyes grew darker, his jaw tightening as he stepped further into the room. My pulse jumped wildly, my knees threatening to buckle, but I didn’t look away.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t ashamed of being seen. I wasn’t embarrassed about my body or my flaws. Not under his gaze.
For the first time—I felt wanted.
He got closer to me, and before I could even step back, he moved right into the shower. Water poured down on him, soaking through his clothes until the dark fabric stuck to his body like a second skin. My eyes trailed over him without my permission, the outline of his chest and shoulders showing even through the wet shirt. My mouth went dry, and my heart thumped so hard I thought he might hear it.
His hand slid around my waist in one smooth, firm motion, pulling me against him until there was no space left between us. I gasped softly, my palms pressed against the wet tiles behind me as if I needed something to keep me steady. Before I could find words, his lips crashed down onto mine.
The kiss stole everything from me—the air, my thoughts, even the strength in my legs. His mouth was hot and demanding, tasting of rain and hunger. My body softened against his even as my hands rose awkwardly, unsure where to go. I let them touch his chest for only a moment before pulling away, my fingers trembling.
He broke the kiss just long enough to speak, his voice low, deep, and rough, vibrating through me.
“You can touch me if you want.”
Those words sank into me like fire, leaving no room for doubt. My hand lifted again, this time slower, more certain. I pressed my palm to his chest, and the heat of him pulsed beneath the soaked fabric. His heart was hammering, too—fast and strong—like he wanted this just as much as I did.
He watched me carefully, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he reached down, tugged at the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head. The wet fabric clung to his skin before finally peeling away. My breath caught as his bare chest came into view.
Water streamed down over him, gliding along every ridge of muscle, dripping from his collarbone to his abs. He looked almost unreal, too perfect, too much. My lips parted, and I found myself licking them nervously without even realizing it.
He smirked faintly when he noticed, but he didn’t tease me. He just stood there, letting me look, letting me touch.
My fingers trembled as they traced over his chest. His skin was warm under my hand despite the cold water falling on us. I slid my touch over the hard lines of his muscles, every curve and dip making me more aware of just how close he was. When my fingertip brushed against his nipple, he drew in a sharp breath, a sound half hiss, half groan. The sound alone made my body shiver, and I couldn’t stop myself from pinching gently, testing, teasing.
His jaw tightened, his head tilted back just slightly, and I felt powerful in a way I never had before.
Growing bolder, I let my hand trail downward, over the ridges of his abs, each one carved and solid beneath my touch. My pulse quickened with every inch I traveled lower. When I reached the waistband of his jeans, my hand paused, shaking. I looked up at him nervously, afraid of what I might find in his eyes.