Chapter 1: Steam and Self-Doubt: A Bathroom Confrontation
The steam hit me first, a thick, vanilla-scented cloud that wrapped around my face the second I pushed the bathroom door open. It was probably weird that I knew it was her scent, specifically. Vanilla and something darker, like warm caramel. It clung to everything.
Catriona stood with her back to me, one towel wrapped around her head, another around her body. She was staring at the fogged mirror, but she wasn’t looking at her reflection. She was looking through it. Her shoulders were hunched, and her fingers, gripping the edge of the sink, were white-knuckled.
I’d seen that pose before. The ritual of dismissal. A sigh she thought I couldn’t hear, then the quick, cruel pinch of her own hip through the towel fabric. A flinch, like she’d been burned by her own touch.
My jeans felt suddenly too tight, the denim rough against the ache that had settled there the moment I heard the shower start. It was a Pavlovian response at this point. The sound of running water meant Cat was naked, wet, and thinking too much.
“See something you don’t like?” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be.
She jumped, whirling around. The towel around her body slipped an inch. I watched the movement, the flash of damp, flushed skin above the terrycloth. Her eyes were wide, a stormy grey-blue in the humid air. “Aidan! God. Knock much?”
“I did. You didn’t hear.” I took a step in. The tile was slick under my socks. “You were busy being mean to my favorite roommate.”
“Your only roommate.”
“See? Number one by default. Stop insulting her.”
She rolled her eyes, but it was a weak performance. Her arms crossed over her chest, hiding herself. It was the hiding that got to me. The constant retreat. Like she was a treasure everyone else was too stupid to see, and she was determined to keep herself buried.
I moved closer until the heat from her body mixed with the steam from the shower. I could see the individual droplets of water clinging to her collarbone. I wanted to lick them off.
“You keep hiding like that,” I murmured, the words rough, “and I’m gonna have to prove how fucking perfect you are.”
She scoffed, but it caught in her throat. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s just facts. This?” She gestured vaguely at herself with one hand, the other holding the towel closed at her chest. “It’s not… it’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” I closed the last of the distance. My hands came up to cradle her face. Her skin was hot, impossibly soft. “It is a lot. A lot of what I’ve been thinking about for months.”
I kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was all the frustration of watching her vanish inside herself, the anger at the invisible critics in her head, the raw, greedy want that kept me awake on the other side of the wall. My lips were demanding on hers. She froze for a second, stunned. Then a small, broken sound escaped her, and she melted.
Her hands came up, tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer. The towel around her hair came loose, damp dark curls tumbling down around her shoulders. I backed her up until the cold tiles of the shower wall met her shoulder blades. She gasped into my mouth.
I broke the kiss, trailing my lips down her jaw, to her throat. I tasted clean skin and shower water. “See?” I breathed against her pulse. “Perfect.”
“You’re just saying that,” she whispered, but her head tilted back, giving me better access.
“I’m not saying anything.” My hands slid down, finding the knot of the towel at her chest. With a gentle tug, it gave way. The fabric sighed open, then fell to the floor between us.
She went rigid. Every muscle in her body locked. Her arms snapped down to cover herself, but I caught her wrists, gently pushing them back to her sides.
“Aidan, don’t—”
“Look at me.” My voice was quiet but absolute. “Not the mirror. Me.”
Her eyes, wide and terrified, lifted to mine. Her breath came in short, shallow pants. The vulnerability in her face was a physical force. It shook me. But beneath the fear, there was a flicker of something else. A need.
I let my gaze travel down, slowly, taking my time. Letting her see me see her. The full, heavy curve of her breasts, the deep pink of her nipples pebbled in the cool air. The generous sweep of her waist, the lush flare of her hips. The dark, neat triangle of hair between her thighs. Every inch of her was soft, powerful, real.
“You believe the shit in your head,” I said, my thumbs stroking the insides of her wrists where I held them. “But my eyes work just fine. And my hands…” I released one wrist and brought my hand to her breast, cupping its full weight. “They don’t lie.”
She whimpered. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Look at me, Cat.”
She forced them open. A tear escaped, tracking through the condensation on her cheek.
“I want you,” I stated, simple and plain. “I have for so long it’s a permanent condition. You think this,” I squeezed her flesh gently, “is a problem? It’s the fucking solution.”
I dropped to my knees on the cold, wet tile. The hard-on in my jeans was a painful throb. I ignored it. I pressed my face against the softness of her stomach, breathing her in. Vanilla. Caramel. Her. My hands slid to the backs of her thighs, urging them apart.
She resisted for a second, a tremor running through her. Then, with a sob that was half defeat, half surrender, she let me in.
I kissed the inside of her thigh. She was trembling. “Aidan…”
“I’m here.” I kissed higher. Her skin was like silk. “I see you.”
My mouth found her center. She cried out, her hands flying to my hair, gripping hard. She was already wet, her taste clean and musky and uniquely hers. I lathed her with my tongue, learning her shape, her responses. Her hips jerked. Her thighs tried to close around my head, then fell open again, powerless.
I worshipped her with my mouth until her cries were continuous, until her legs shook, until her fingers were clenched in my hair almost painfully. I felt her coiling tight, teetering on the edge.
“Please,” she begged, the word shredded.
I pulled back, looking up the length of her body. She was glorious. Flushed, panting, wrecked. “Please what?”
Her eyes opened, glazed with pleasure. “You. I want you.”
I stood up, my own body screaming. I fumbled with my belt, my button, my zipper. My cock sprang free, thick and aching. Her eyes dropped to it, and I saw the familiar flash of doubt, of ‘I can’t’ in her face.
I stepped into her, nudging at her entrance. “You can. You will.”
I pushed inside.
The breath left her in a long, stunned groan. She was unbelievably tight, hot, welcoming. I had to go slow, letting her adjust, my own control fraying with every inch. When I was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, we both went still, panting against each other’s mouths.
Her eyes were open, searching mine. This was the moment. The crack where everything could fall apart.
I began to move. A slow, deep roll of my hips. Her head fell back against the tile with a soft thud. “Oh, God.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. I hooked my hands under her thighs, lifting her, changing the angle. She wrapped her legs around my waist, locking her ankles. The new position drove me deeper. She cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
The pace built. The sounds were obscene—skin slapping, her frantic gasps, my ragged curses. Steam still swirled around us. The mirror was completely fogged now. No reflections. No critics. Just this. Just us.
I felt her tightening around me again, her inner muscles fluttering. “Come on,” I urged her, my thrusts becoming harder, less controlled. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent scream first, then a raw, shattered cry. Her whole body convulsed around me, milking me, pulling my own release from the base of my spine. I drove into her one last, hard time, and came with a groan that felt torn from my gut, spilling into her pulsing warmth.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of our breathing and the drip of the shower. I leaned my forehead against the cool tile beside her head, spent.
Slowly, sensation returned. The cold floor under my knees. The damp chill of my clothes. The perfect, heavy weight of her in my arms.
I softened inside her and carefully lowered her legs. She winced as I slipped out of her body.
A profound silence settled between us. It was different now. Charged. We looked at each other, really looked, in the aftermath.
Then her eyes flickered down between our bodies, to where my release was already leaking from her. The doubt flooded back into her expression, swift and cruel.
She wrapped her arms around herself again, a shield going back up. “You should… you should get a towel,” she said, her voice small.
I cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at me. “Cat.”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Look at me.” When she did, her gaze was guarded, already distancing herself. “That was… Cat, that was everything.”
She gave a tiny, cynical shake of her head. “It was just sex.”
“It wasn’t.” I took a deep breath. “And I didn’t use anything.”
That got her attention. Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I didn’t use a condom.”
A long pause. The air grew colder. “Why?”
“Because you’re on the pill. I’ve seen the packet.” That was true. But it wasn’t the real reason.
She studied my face, suspicion hardening her features. “That’s a risk. For you.”
I shrugged one shoulder, not breaking eye contact. “I’m clean. Got tested last month. You?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I am.”
“Then it’s just us.” I let my thumb stroke her bottom lip. “No barriers. Nothing between us. That’s what you want, right? Proof it’s real?”
It was a gamble. A huge one. But I saw the exact moment my words clicked into place in her mind. Her rule. Her twisted, painful logic. If he wants you, really wants you, he won’t need to hide.
Her breath hitched. The suspicion melted, replaced by a dawning, vulnerable hope. It was more terrifying than her doubt.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against my chest. Her voice was a muffled whisper against my wet shirt. “Stay.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a test.
I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight against the chill, against the world, against the voices in her own head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And in that steamy, vanilla-scented bathroom, with the evidence of our connection drying on her thighs, I meant it. The problem was, I hadn’t yet realized what that promise would cost, or what it would awaken in the beautiful, broken woman in my arms.
The problem was, I hadn’t yet realized what that promise would cost, or what it would awaken in the beautiful, broken woman in my arms.
We stayed like that until the steam cooled and the shivers started. Not just from the cold. A tectonic shift had happened, and the aftershocks were rippling through us both. I grabbed a dry towel from the rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. She pulled it tight, a silken barrier once again, but her eyes were different. Less guarded. Wider. Like she’d been cracked open and wasn’t sure how to close the seal.
“We should…” she started, then shook her head. “My room.”
We moved down the short, dark hallway, our footsteps silent on the worn carpet. Her room was a mirror of mine but softer. Fairy lights, messy stacks of novels, a deep navy comforter on the bed. It smelled like her. It always did.
She let the towel drop and slid under the covers in one fluid, shy motion. She watched me, her gaze tracking me as I toed off my wet socks, unbuttoned my jeans, let them fall to the floor. I stood there for a second in just my shirt, letting her look. Letting her see the effect she had on me, still evident. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
I lifted the covers and slid in beside her. The sheets were cool, but she was warm. She turned onto her side, facing me, and I mirrored her. We didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t empty; it was thick with everything we’d just done, and everything we hadn’t said.
My hand found the curve of her waist under the covers. Her skin was impossibly smooth. I traced the dip, the rise of her hip. She watched my hand move, her breathing shallowing.
“You’re staring,” she whispered.
“I’m memorizing.” My fingers drifted over the swell of her stomach, the softness there. I’d never been allowed to touch like this, with no goal but the touch itself. It was a privilege so acute it hurt.
She bit her lip. “It’s… a lot to memorize.”
“I’ve got a good memory.”
My hand drifted lower, over the generous curve of her hip, and pulled her gently toward me. She came willingly, her body aligning with mine. The heat between us was instant, a banked fire flaring back to life.
I kissed her again, slower this time. A rediscovery. Her mouth opened under mine, and a small, desperate sound vibrated against my lips. It was the sound of a hunger that matched my own, a hunger that had less to do with bodies and everything to do with a deep, echoing need to be seen. To be wanted.
I rolled onto my back, pulling her on top of me. She straddled my hips, her weight a perfect, grounding pressure. Her hair fell around us in a dark curtain. In the dim glow of the fairy lights, she looked like some mythic creature. A goddess unsure of her own divinity.
“You believe me yet?” I asked, my voice rough. My hands slid down from her waist, over the incredible, lush hills of her backside. I gripped her there, fully, claiming the soft, abundant flesh.
She shook her head, a stubborn negation, but her hips rocked against me. “Actions,” she breathed, “speak louder.”
It was an invitation. A challenge.
I flipped us, carefully, so she was beneath me. Her eyes were dark pools, watching, waiting. I kissed down her neck, her chest, taking my time. I wanted to erase every doubt, every cruel word she’d ever heard or thought. I wanted my mouth, my hands, my body to be the only truth she knew.
I nudged her legs apart with my knee and settled between them. She was already wet for me again. I slid into her with a groan that came from my bones. This time was different. Slower. Deeper. An affirmation.
Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer. “Aidan,” she gasped, her head tipping back into the pillow.
I set a rhythm, my thrusts measured and relentless. Each one pushed a soft cry from her lips. I watched her face, captivated by the play of feeling across her features—abandonment, disbelief, a dawning, shocked pleasure.
I shifted, pulling her hips up, changing the angle. My hands kneaded the soft flesh of her thighs, then traveled back up. I leaned over her, my mouth next to her ear.
“This,” I growled, my voice thick with desire, “this is what I’ve thought about. Every night. For months.”
I pulled back onto my knees, my hands guiding her onto her side, then gently, firmly, turning her over. She went willingly, a soft gasp escaping her as she settled onto her stomach. I looked down at her.
The sight stole my breath.
The deep navy of the sheets against her dusky skin. The magnificent, sweeping line of her back, the dip of her waist, and then the glorious, full rise of her hips. That ass. That big, sexy, perfect ass I’d fantasized about for so long, now right there, offered to me. A gift I was terrified of mishandling.
I leaned over her, bracing myself on my forearms, my chest against her back. I kissed the nape of her neck. “You’re so beautiful, Cat. It fucking hurts to look at you.”
She trembled beneath me. I reached between us, guiding myself into her from behind. The sensation was tighter, deeper. She cried out, her fingers clutching the sheets.
This position felt more vulnerable, more exposed. There was no hiding her reactions, the way her body jolted with each thrust, the helpless, muffled sounds she made into the pillow. I wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her to me, anchoring her. My other hand slid under her, finding the wet, swollen bud of her clit.
She shattered instantly.
Her orgasm wracked her, a series of violent, beautiful convulsions that milked me, dragged me over the edge with her. I drove into her one last, deep time, my release pouring out of me in a wave of blinding, possessive heat. I collapsed onto her back, spent, our slick skin sticking together.
The room came back in pieces. The soft twinkle of the lights. The sound of our ragged breathing. The smell of sex and her vanilla scent.
I rolled off her, gathering her limp body against my side. She was silent, her face buried in my chest. Minutes passed. I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep.
Then, a tremor went through her. A hiccup. Then another.
She was crying.
Silent, body-shaking sobs she tried desperately to stifle against my skin.
“Hey,” I whispered, my heart seizing. “Cat. What’s wrong?” I tilted her chin up. Her face was wet, her eyes red-rimmed and hopeless.
“Why?” The word was a broken thing. “Why would you… why would you want that? With me? You could have anyone.”
There it was. The core of it. The splinter she couldn’t dislodge. My words hadn’t fixed it. The sex, even without a barrier, hadn’t fixed it. It was bigger than me. It was a war she’d been fighting in her own head for years.
I held her tight, my lips against her hair. “Because it’s you,” I said, simple and fierce. “It’s only ever been you.”
She cried harder, but the sobs changed. The sharp, painful edges softened into something like relief. She clung to me as if I were a raft in a stormy sea. I held on just as tight, knowing the water was still churning, knowing the storm was far from over.
I had promised to stay. And now, feeling her tears soak into my skin, I understood the first part of the cost. It wasn’t about proving my desire anymore. It was about dismantling, piece by painful piece, the prison she’d built for herself. And I had no idea if I was strong enough to be the wrecking ball, or if I’d just get crushed by the falling debris.