I reach into the shower stall and turn on the faucet, adjusting the temperature dial. Drawing in a breath, I linger for a moment with my hand beneath the spray as it turns from cold to temperate to perfectly warm against my skin. My thoughts circle back to everything Dean said to me earlier. I care about you, he'd said, like it should have been obvious.

A giddy feeling bubbles in my stomach, a mixture of excitement and relief at his admission. Beneath it is a faint undercurrent of fear that I'm trying hard to quell. My heart is on board, but my brain needs a little longer to catch up.

In the background, the front door slams, followed by the sound of Dean's footsteps echoing through the apartment. I close the shower door, wiping my hand on the towel, and perch on the edge of the bathroom counter, waiting. Seconds later, he appears in the doorway to the bathroom and tosses his black nylon duffel on the floor, shrugging off his suit jacket with a nearly inaudible groan. The upside of him being obsessively organized is that he's always prepared for any possible scenario, down to storing a full change of clean gym clothes in his trunk.

His gaze rockets back to me, doing a double-take like he just noticed what I was wearing, and his expression turns wolffish. "I like the robe."

I glance down at the black satin robe, tied at the waist in a bow. It's short when I'm standing, hitting about mid-thigh, but it's downright scandalous now that I'm sitting and wearing nothing underneath. I bought it months ago but had been saving it, waiting for the right occasion.

He unbuttons his rumpled dress shirt and slides out of his pants, hanging them on the wall hook, and shoots me a knowing glance. Probably because I'm seizing the opportunity to drink in every toned inch of his body and I'm making no attempt to hide it. I never really thirsted over the male physique before Dean, and I've definitely never had a nearly irresistible urge to lick someone's washboard abs until now, but here we are. I want to trace every taut ridge of his six pack like an ice cream cone.

Then I remember what I need to do.

It's a miracle I remember anything, really, with him standing before me in nothing but black boxer briefs and a bulge I can't even pretend not to notice.

I hop down and pull open the top drawer to the bathroom vanity, rummaging through its contents until my fingers land on the narrow plastic package I'd stashed away. Nerves thrumming, I pull it out, handing it to Dean. "Here."

He glances down at the bright blue toothbrush, lips curling into a cautious grin. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah," I say, suddenly a little breathless. "I bought it after you gave me the one at your place."

Translation: See? I am trying, even if I'm scared.

Dean's grin broadens, and he leans in, planting a kiss on my cheek that sends a rush of warmth through my body from head to toe. His stubble brushes against my skin as he pulls away. "Thanks. Good timing." He turns, tearing open the packaging and tossing it in the wastebasket.

I lean against the wall, watching as he runs the toothbrush under the tap and grabs the toothpaste from the holder on the counter, squeezing the iridescent blue gel onto the bristles. It feels incredibly domestic, somehow, but it's also comforting in a way I didn't expect. I like having him in my bathroom—in my space. The realization surprises me, because I always resented it with Travis.

"On another note..." I clear my throat. "Birth control."

Toothbrush crammed in his mouth, Dean freezes, glancing back at me through the mirror with a cocked eyebrow. I probably could have timed this conversation better, but scheduling has never been my strong suit.

Dean resumes brushing his teeth as I continue, "I had a checkup recently, so I had my doctor put me on the shot. You know, so there's nothing to remember." Neither of us need to say it, but we both know I'd forget to take a daily birth control pill. It would be inevitable.

His eyes widen briefly, and then his expression darkens. It's an expression I know well by now, one that makes my breath catch and thighs clench. He begins to brush his teeth with a newfound ferocity, veins visible along the length of his toned arms.

Tossing the toothbruth aside on the counter, he spins around, closing the distance between us in two long strides. He pins me to the wall, wedging a knee between my legs—high enough to hold me in place but not high enough to reach where I want it most. Desire flickers in my core and I squirm against him, greedily seeking more contact, but he doesn't give. His eyes trace my face before dipping to my neckline, heating my skin. He lifts his gaze to meet mine, but his expression is hard to read.

"I don't want to misinterpret what you're saying here, Brooke."

"I'm saying we don't have to use a condom. I mean, I got tested and I'm sure you get tested regularly, but we still can use one if you think—"

His mouth tugs affectionately and he holds up a finger, gently pressing it against my lips. "I have been tested and yes, I'm clean. But only if you're sure."

"I'm one thousand percent sure," I whisper. "I want all of you, with nothing between us."

A cross between a growl and groan rumbles in his bare chest, and his lips crash down on mine. My breath knocks out of my lungs, stolen by the sudden rush of mint and manliness. As if catching himself, he immediately softens the kiss, sliding a hand up my neck to cradle my face. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls away. There's tenderness in his expression that I didn't expect to see. He looks like he might say something, but instead he inclines his head to the stall, where the water is still running.

He huffs a low laugh. "If I don't stop now, we won't make it to the shower."

Dean steps aside, letting me pass by him to reach the shower first. He pushes the shower door open, holding it for me as I slip out of the robe and step into the warm stream of water. Shedding his boxer briefs in one easy swoop, he follows me inside and shuts the door, enclosing us in the stall. We shuffle around for a couple moments, rearranging ourselves so we're both partially under the spray. While the shower is oversized—definitely bigger than average—it still makes for close quarters with his broad frame.

I pass him a clean washcloth and he washes his face with my favorite high-end facewash, turning to rinse off. More proof I'm crazy about him? I'd kill anyone else for even looking at my Drunken Elephant Jelly Cleanser. Hell, I had to do three sponsored posts to afford the whole regimen. And those magnetic eyelashes nearly ripped mine out.

Patting his face dry, he surveys the shelves of products with a look of resignation. I've seen his shower and it's almost as well-stocked as mine, but the scents definitely skew a lot more masculine than anything I have to offer.

Hair products aren't as much of an issue, and he quickly washes his hair without complaint. Then he looks at the array of body wash, body scrubs, and shower creams again with no shortage of dissatisfaction on his face.

"These flavors belong in fucking bakery, not a bathroom," he grumbles.

"What'll it be?" I ask. "Coconut-Lime-Coolada, Vanilla Cupcake, or Pink Peony Bouquet body wash? I think there might be some Brown Sugar Body Buffer left, too, if you'd like some exfoliation."

Dean shoots me a wry look. "What do you think?"

"Pink Peony it is, then." I reach for the glittery bubblegum bottle on the far shelf. Before I can grab it, he takes hold of me by the waist, tickling me as he spins me around so my back is pressed against his chest—and other things are pressing up against my ass.

"I missed you," he murmurs. His lips brushing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear, sending a trail of sparks runing down my spine.

One hand palms my breast, finding my nipple between his finger and thumb, while his other hand slips lower. When his fingers slide against where I'm heated and wanting him most, a strangled whimper escapes through my lips. There's a knowing in the way he touches me, an understanding of exactly what to do and how to do it. I arch against him while he continues to tease me, bringing me closer to the edge with each skillful movement, but he doesn't take things any further. Then I realize why.

"Let me finish washing you off so you'll fuck me already," I finally manage. I'm practically begging.

Dean lets out a hum of assent and releases me, taking a quarter-step back. This time, I reach for the Coconut-Lime-Coolada and lather the pale green gel between my hands, soaping up his neck and shoulders. He hangs his head, his eyes drifting shut as I massage the suds along the sculpted planes of his skin. There's a quiet intimacy to it, a newfound closeness created by the act.

My fingertips glide along his firm pecs, tracing the peaks and valleys of his chiseled abs, finally traveling below his waist. I skip the main attraction entirely, focusing on lathering up his legs first before bringing my attention to his impossible to ignore erection. The muscles in his stomach tense as my palm slides over his shaft, providing far more care and attention that cleaning requires. I stroke him, reveling in the low, masculine sound he makes in response. But he stops me before I can get too carried away, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back up to face him.

He pins both of my hands overhead with one hand, handcuffing them in place them between his strong fingers. Tilting his head, he brings his lips to mine briefly before pulling back. Watching for my reaction, he reaches between my legs with his free hand, plunging two fingers inside easily. The sudden rush of pleasure elicits a gasp from me that echoes off the shower walls, and a smirk forms on his lips in response. He curls his fingers inside, finding the perfect spot, while he presses against my clit with his thumb. The combination makes my vision blur, knees going soft. Completely at his mercy, I lean against the tiles for support as the euphoria continues to build.

When he suddenly withdraws his touch, I almost protest in frustration, but I'm stopped short when his hands wrap around the backs of my thighs. He lifts me effortlessly, wrapping my legs around his waist, while his hardness presses against my center in the most exquisite tease I've ever experienced. I try to shift my weight to better align our bodies, but he's got me pinned.

Water pours down around us, filling the air with steam. Absurdly, I almost want to ask if he's too tired for this position, but the rock-hard length digging into my pubic bone tells me fatigue is not an issue.

His long lashes dip, eyes hooded as he peers down at me. "I'm going to fuck you nice and slow later. But right now, I'm not going to go slow. Or be nice."

"Yes, please."

Mouth hovering over mine, he hoists me higher and presses the head of his shaft against my entrance, prodding without entering. The split-second of anticipation nearly kills me. When he slams inside, filling me completely, we both cry out. It's an immense relief, combined with the most insatiable need I've ever experienced. It's like his body was made for mine, and I never want it to end. My nails dig into his muscled shoulders, urging him on, but he stills.

"Fuck." Dean draws in a deep breath with his dark brow furrowed. A few heartbeats pass, and then he exhales slowly, giving a small nod. "Okay, I'm good."

Something about it is so endearing, I can't fight back a smile. There's an immense sense of satisfaction in knowing that I do that to Dean; that I bring him so close to losing control. But my upper hand vanishes when he tilts his hips, hitting places that only he has ever reached. Places that, up until him, I didn't even know existed.

"Oh, god." My eyes roll back in my head, and everything goes fuzzy. He can tell, too, because he braces me in place as he does it again. And again.

Time loses all meaning and soon, the only thing I'm aware of is my body wrapped around Dean's while he murmurs filthy things in my ear.

"Mine." His mouth dips to the curve of my neck, teeth scraping the skin in the perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

I gasp. "Yes."

A delicious ache grows in my core as he continues to move against me, his pace steady and relentless. The friction between us is almost too good to bear. It's a divine paradox, I'm desperate for release and praying it never ends.

"Harder," I beg, clinging to him.

Dean complies, drawing back and thrusting even deeper with each stroke. The ache in my center swells to a breaking point, and my eyes slam shut. Behind my eyelids, I see stars. His name is a gasp across my lips as I come, toes curling and thighs squeezing around his waist.

Just as I begin to come down from the high, his grip on my ass tightens. He thrusts hard one last time, holding there as he throbs inside of me with release. His shoulders fall with a sigh, forehead resting on my shoulder. I bring my hand up to rest over his heart, feeling it thud against my palm.

Carefully, he eases me back down until my feet touch the wet floor. He picks up my hand, kissing the fingertips gently, and fatigue reappears on his face. "Now it's time for that nap."

"Deal."

Moments later, we towel off and get dressed in a fatigued stupor. I do a half-assed job of squeezing out my hair before giving up and deciding to leave it damp. It'll soak the pillows, but Dean claims he doesn't mind. Truth be told, I think he's too tired to care.

We collapse onto my bed, and I roll over so we can both get under the fluffy white covers. The mattress heaves under Dean's weight, warmth radiating from his body as he shifts closer.

He throws a heavy arm around my waist, pulling me snug against him. "You're it for me, Lululemon."

I'm starting to let myself believe it.

Oof. Note to self: don't leave off on a sex scene, because if life happens and you have a hard time writing, it's the hardest place ever to pick back up from.

Hopefully that was worth the wait!

In case you missed my announcement here or on Instagram, I've been dealing with some health issues offline. But the good news is, I think we have figured it out and I am feeling much better, so hopefully updates will be a little more regular from here on out.