Taking Turns (Turning #1)(36)

“Why aren’t you in the shower?” Smith asks.

He’s standing in the doorway and I take a moment to appreciate him. He’s f*cking handsome. Tall with those broad shoulders. I can’t see the muscles in his upper arms or back, but I know they’re there. He has a shadow of stubble across his perfectly square jaw that wasn’t there earlier in the day. I watch him watch me.

“I asked you a question.” he says.

I look back at the lingerie in my hands. “I was looking at it.”

“You don’t get an opinion,” he says. “So you don’t need to look so hard.”

“Can we talk about these rules?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then how will I know what to expect?”

“We’ll let you know.”

“Don’t you think that sets me up for failure?”

“The failure is half the fun, Chella. Now get your ass in the goddamned shower.”

“What will you do if I don’t obey you?”

Smith smiles. A crooked, devious, devilish smile. “I’ll have Bric handle it. You can’t get your way with me by ignoring my rules.”

“And what will Bric do?” I’m genuinely curious. I’m not even trying to piss him off.

“You’ll have that discussion with him, should you ever find yourself in that position.”

I put the lingerie back on the bed and go into the closet to undress. Smith follows me, cocks a hip against the doorjamb and watches my every move.

I slip the dress down and his eyes follow it to the floor. That’s pretty much all I’m wearing, so I place both hands on his chest as I try to maneuver past, through the door, but he slaps them away.

“Don’t f*cking touch me again, Chella. I’m very serious about this.”

I let it go. I am tired, I realize. Tired of this game, tired of this day, and I need that hot shower more than he knows.

I start the water and when I look over my shoulder, he’s there again. Watching. Silent. Arms crossed over his chest. Frown on his face.

“Am I not making you happy?”

“Not even a little bit,” he growls.

I let that go too. Maybe when we have breakfast tomorrow he will tell Bric and Quin I’m not worth it. I can’t make them happy. And maybe they will cut me loose.

If that happens… will I fight it? Or will I let it go? Walk out and never look back?

I wish I didn’t know the answer. I wish the answer was walk out. Be strong. Leave this darkness behind before it’s too late.

But I won’t. If they decide I’m not their type or not good enough for whatever reason, I will fight it. I will prove it to them.

“Chella,” Smith snaps. “Stop daydreaming and get in the shower.”

I step into the shower and get my hair wet. The heat feels so good. But when I open my eyes, Smith is dropping his pants just outside the glass door. “What are you doing now?”

He takes off his shirt, throws it on the floor, then opens the door and I step aside to let him pass. “What the f*ck does it look like?”

“I thought we can’t touch.”

“I won’t be touching you. You’ve got a big shower.”

Whatever. I give up. We trade places. I rinse my hair and apply conditioner as he soaps up his body. And even though I tell myself I’m not interested in those shoulders, or those arms, or that fat f*cking cock of his—which is so hard, it’s climbing up his stomach—I am. I can’t stop watching him.

I think he feels the same way about me. His eyes linger on the thick, frothy bubbles as they fall over my breasts. He stares at my shaved * like he wants me.

If he wants me, why does he allow Bric and Quin to dictate his behavior with me?

“Are you done with the water?” he asks.

“I have two shower heads,” I say, pointing to the one that’s not in use.

“I can see that.”

“Go ahead.” I sigh, stepping aside as I go looking for my razor. I put my foot up on the stone bench in the corner and apply shaving gel to my leg. But before I can start shaving, Smith takes the razor. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll do it.”

“But you can’t—”

“I’m not touching you, Chella. The razor is.”

Clarity ensues and I smile.

“Don’t get excited,” he says, smiling back. A big enough smile to make that dimple appear. “I take the rules pretty seriously.”

I press my lips together to stop the grin. “Mmmm-hmm.”

He shaves my leg so carefully, I want to die. He crouches down so his cock is hanging between his legs. Those shoulders are right in front of me. Begging for my attention. I want to touch him so bad, but I stop myself. I’m enjoying his attention too much to f*ck it up.

And he is paying very close attention to my leg. It’s not even like there’s much stubble because I just shaved two days ago. But he is careful and deliberate as he drags the razor down every curve of my calf.

When he’s done, he looks up at me and says, “Next.”

I repeat the process with the gel and I have to bite my lip to stop imagining how good it would feel if he’d do this part too.

“It’s supposed to be fun, Chella,” he says, still working.