Chapter 7: The shower
The silence in the hallway felt thicker than the lingering smoke in the kitchen. Ella walked ahead, acutely aware of Liam’s footsteps behind her, a soft, deliberate tread on the worn carpet runner. Her skin prickled with anticipation and a low thrum of panic. The bathroom door loomed ahead, slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of white tile.
She stopped just outside, turning abruptly. Liam halted instantly, mere inches away. The proximity was dizzying. His bare chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes, dark and fixed on hers, betrayed the same electric tension crackling through her. The scent of burnt butter clung faintly to him, mixing oddly with his own clean sweat.
"Okay," Ella breathed, forcing her voice steady. "You should... go put on some boxers. Something." She gestured vaguely towards his room down the hall. "Meet me in my bathroom." She hesitated, her gaze flickering down to her own black lace. "I'll... I'll probably find a different bra. Something... simpler." The scalloped edge suddenly felt unbearably provocative. "But," she added, a flush creeping up her neck, "these panties... they're fine, right? For... underwater?" The word sounded absurd.
Liam’s gaze dropped, lingering for a fraction of a second on the delicate lace hugging her hips. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Yeah," he rasped. "Fine. More than fine." He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away to meet hers again. There was no mistaking the heat there now, stripped bare of pretense. "Simpler sounds... practical." He didn't move.
Ella nodded, a jerky motion. "Right. Practical." She pushed the bathroom door open wider. "I'll be quick." She slipped inside, closing the door softly but firmly behind her, leaning against it for a moment, heart hammering against the wood. What are you doing? The voice was shrill, but drowned out by the visceral memory of his arm brushing hers, the stunned look on his face as she’d whisked eggs on the counter, the sheer reckless pull of this.
She moved quickly. The small bathroom felt cavernous, charged. She yanked open the top drawer of the vanity, rummaging past hair ties and stray bobby pins. Her fingers closed on soft cotton – a simple, seamless sports bra in pale grey. She shed the black lace bralette, the cool air hitting her skin making her shiver. The grey bra felt like armor, plain and unassuming. She left the black lace panties on. Practical. Underwater.
The scrub jar sat on the edge of the tub, a heavy glass container filled with coarse, honey-colored granules suspended in thick, amber oil. Mike had laughed when he gave it to her – "Enjoy turning our shower into a slip 'n slide, babe." She picked it up, the glass cool and heavy in her hand. Her reflection in the mirror above the sink looked flushed, eyes wide and bright. A stranger staring back.
A soft knock. Two taps. Her breath caught. "Come in," she called, her voice surprisingly steady.
Liam pushed the door open. He wore dark blue boxer shorts, nothing else. The sight of him, standing framed in the doorway – broad shoulders, defined torso tapering down, the casual intimacy of the boxers – stole her breath. His gaze swept over her instantly, taking in the grey bra, lingering on the black lace panties, then lifting back to her face. A slow, appreciative smile touched his lips, but his eyes remained intensely focused.
"Ready?" he asked, stepping fully inside. The small room instantly felt crowded, filled with his presence, the scent of him replacing the usual clean soap smell.
Ella nodded, clutching the scrub jar. "Yeah. Let's... get this started." She turned towards the shower stall – a standard fiberglass unit with a sliding glass door. She twisted the knobs. Water hissed, then roared as it hit the tile floor. Steam began to curl almost immediately, fogging the glass. The sound was immense, filling the small space, creating a humid cocoon.
She slid the glass door open. Warm, damp air billowed out. "Okay," she said, raising her voice slightly over the noise. "We get in. Keep the door mostly closed once we're inside, or the steam escapes." She hesitated, looking at him. "You... you go first?"
Liam didn't hesitate. He stepped past her, his bare arm brushing hers again, sending a fresh jolt through her. He ducked into the stall, the warm spray immediately hitting his back and shoulders. He turned, facing her, water plastering his dark hair to his forehead, rivulets already tracing paths down his chest. He held out a hand. "Your turn."
Ella took a breath, steeling herself. She stepped over the low lip of the tub, into the stall. Warm water instantly soaked her hair, plastering it to her scalp and neck, soaking the grey cotton of her bra. It streamed down her legs, darkening the black lace. The space was tight. Standing facing each other, they were less than an arm's length apart. Steam thickened rapidly, swirling around them, blurring the edges of the room, the world outside the glass. The roar of the water was all-encompassing, intimate.
Liam wiped water from his eyes, looking down at her. His gaze was direct, unflinching, tracing the water droplets clinging to her collarbone, the way the wet grey fabric clung to her breasts. "So," he said, his voice low but carrying easily over the water's rush. "The famous scrub." He nodded towards the jar she still clutched like a talisman.
Ella lifted it. Her fingers were slick. "Right." She unscrewed the heavy lid. The scent bloomed instantly – warm, earthy, like crushed almonds and vanilla beans steeped in honey. Rich and decadent. She dipped two fingers into the thick, grainy paste. It felt cool and oily. "Okay," she said, holding up her coated fingers. "You apply it... everywhere you want smooth. In circles." She demonstrated on her own forearm, rubbing the gritty mixture against her wet skin. It felt slick, abrasive, luxurious. A faint sheen of oil spread instantly. "See? Messy."
Liam watched her hand move on her own skin, his gaze intense. "Everywhere?" he asked, his voice barely more than a murmur beneath the water's roar.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Everywhere. The word echoed. She met his eyes. Steam curled between them. Water sluiced over his shoulders, over her breasts, soaking through the thin barriers of cotton and lace. The air was thick with heat, scent, and unspoken possibility.
"Yeah," Ella breathed, her voice husky. She held out her hand, the scrub glistening on her fingers. "Show me where you want it."
Liam’s gaze locked onto hers, water streaming down his temples. His chest rose in a slow, deliberate breath. "Start with my back?" he asked, the request deceptively simple against the roar of the shower. "Seems... harder to reach alone." He turned smoothly, presenting the broad expanse of his shoulders and spine, water sluicing down the defined muscles. The damp waistband of his dark boxers clung low on his hips.
Ella stared at the water tracing paths over his skin. Her breath hitched. Just the back. Okay. She scooped another thick dollop of the gritty amber scrub, its rich almond-vanilla scent momentarily overwhelming the steam. She stepped closer, the warm spray hitting her shoulder. Her fingers, coated in the cool, oily paste, touched the space between his shoulder blades.
He tensed instantly, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth above the water’s din. "Christ, that’s cold," he muttered, but didn’t pull away.
"It warms up," she said, her voice tight. She began rubbing in firm, slow circles. The granules scraped pleasantly against his wet skin, the oil spreading a slick sheen. She focused on the mechanics: pressure, motion, coverage. Muscle shifted beneath her palms as he adjusted his stance. Water trickled over her hands, thinning the paste, sending milky rivulets cascading down his back, over the swell of his buttocks, disappearing into the waistband of his boxers. Focus. Just the back.
"Feels... intense," Liam managed, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head slightly, water catching in his dark eyelashes. "Good intense." He braced his hands against the slick fiberglass wall.
Ella worked downward, her fingers tracing the groove of his spine. The intimacy was staggering: the heat, the steam cocooning them, the sheer physicality of touching him like this. Her own skin prickled beneath her soaked bra. "Mike wasn’t kidding about the mess," she said, trying for lightness, noticing the oily residue swirling towards the drain. "This stuff gets everywhere."
Liam chuckled, the sound vibrating under her hands. "Worth it if it works, right?" He shifted again, turning his head just enough to catch her eye over his shoulder. His gaze was dark, unreadable in the haze. "My turn now?"
Her hand stilled on the small of his back. The suggestion hung thick in the steam. He washes you. Your turn. The air felt suddenly heavier, harder to breathe. She swallowed. "Right. Yeah. Your turn." She quickly scooped more scrub onto her hand, offering the jar. "Just... circles. Like I did. Don’t press too hard."
Liam turned fully to face her, water plastering his hair to his forehead. He took the jar, his fingers brushing hers. His focus wasn't on the jar, though; it was entirely on her. He dipped two fingers into the cool mixture, his eyes never leaving hers. "Everywhere?" he echoed his earlier question, a quiet challenge in his tone.
Her stomach flipped. She nodded, unable to speak. Water streamed over her face, blurring her vision slightly. Practical. Underwater. The grey cotton of her sports bra felt suddenly transparent, the black lace panties a stark, clinging contrast against her skin.
He lifted his coated hand slowly, deliberately. His gaze dropped to her collarbone, then lower, to where water beaded on the swell of her breasts above the wet grey fabric. He didn't touch her there. Instead, his fingertips, cool and gritty, grazed the sensitive skin just below her throat. Ella gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound lost in the shower's roar. The sensation was startling: the chill of the scrub, the abrasive scrape of the granules, the immediate slickness of the oil, and beneath it all, the heat of his touch. His thumb brushed the hollow at the base of her neck.
"Okay?" Liam asked, his voice rough, low. His eyes searched hers, intense, questioning. His hand hovered, waiting for permission to move lower.
Her breath shuddered out. She could only nod again, her throat tight. The world narrowed to the steam, the water, the feel of his calloused fingertips spreading the slick, gritty paste in slow, deliberate circles across her upper chest. He worked meticulously, almost clinically, yet the intimacy was searing. Each circle sent jolts of awareness through her. His knuckles brushed the top edge of her bra. Heat pooled low in her belly, a counterpoint to the cool scrub.
"Soft," he murmured, almost to himself, his gaze fixed on the path his fingers were tracing. His other hand came up, scooping more scrub. This time, he brought it to her shoulder, his touch firmer, spreading the mixture down her arm. The sensation was overwhelming – the contrasting temperatures, the friction, the oil, the sheer proximity of his body radiating heat inches from hers. Water sluiced over them both, carrying the paste in milky streams over her skin, her bra, down her stomach.
His hand slid lower, palm flat now, spreading the scrub across her slick abdomen. His fingertips grazed the waistband of her lace panties. Ella flinched, a gasp catching in her throat. Her hand shot out, fingers closing tightly around his wrist, stopping its descent. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic bird. The steam pressed in. His eyes snapped up to hers, wide, questioning, the heat in them banked but instantly flaring brighter at her touch. The shower roared, a relentless white noise underscoring the thick, charged silence between them.
The shower roared, drowning out Ella’s shaky inhale as her fingers locked around Liam’s wrist. His skin felt impossibly hot beneath hers, slick with oil and water. His eyes, dark as wet slate, held hers, waiting.
"Too much?" Liam asked, his voice a low rumble barely audible. He didn’t pull his wrist away. His other hand hovered near her hip, coated in the amber grit. The scrub smelled overwhelmingly sweet and earthy in the humid air.
Ella swallowed, forcing her fingers to unclench. "No. Just... unexpected." Her voice sounded thin. She gestured vaguely towards the jar. "Maybe... shoulders only? For now?" The suggestion felt flimsy, a fluttering flag of retreat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the steady drum of water on fiberglass.
Liam’s gaze lingered on her face, then slowly dropped. He nodded, a curt movement. "Shoulders." He scooped more scrub, his movements deliberate now, less exploratory. His fingertips returned to her collarbone, tracing the ridge with the gritty paste, then moved outward along the strap of her sports bra.
The coolness of the scrub against her heated skin was jarring, then strangely soothing. He worked methodically, his touch firm but impersonal, massaging the coarse grains into the tension knotting her trapezius muscle. Water streamed over them, carrying milky trails of dissolved scrub down her chest, soaking deeper into the grey cotton.
Ella tilted her head slightly, giving him better access. The sensation was undeniably good, releasing the tightness coiled there since the kitchen, maybe longer. Her racing pulse began to slow, lulled by the rhythmic pressure and the steamy cocoon. She focused on the sound of the water hitting the tile floor, the warmth enveloping her legs.
"See?" Liam murmured, his voice closer to her ear now. His thumb pressed into a particularly stubborn knot. "Practical." A hint of his earlier dry humor crept back in. "Even if it looks like we're basting a turkey."
She choked out a surprised laugh, the tension momentarily shattered. "Shut up." She nudged his calf lightly with her knee beneath the spray. "It feels amazing, actually. Mike had no idea what he was buying." The admission slipped out, easy in the shared, absurd intimacy.
Liam chuckled, a warm vibration she felt through his hands. "Mike buys nice things." His fingers swept across her shoulder blade, spreading the oily mixture. He paused, his touch lightening. "Ella..."
She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. Steam curled between them. "Hmm?"
He gestured with his chin towards her upper chest. "The scrub... the oil." He traced a faint, spreading amber stain blooming like a shadow across the grey fabric stretched taut over her right breast. "It's really soaking in. Looks permanent."
Ella glanced down. The stain was undeniable, a dark, oily bloom stark against the pale grey. Panic fluttered. "Oh god. It is staining." She pulled back slightly from his touch. "I thought the sports bra... Damn it. I should get out. Find something else. Or just..." She gestured helplessly at the ruined garment. "This is silk blend. Ruined."
Liam’s hand settled gently on her other shoulder, steadying her. "Ella. Stop." His voice was calm, low, cutting through the steam and her rising fluster. "Don't be silly. It’s just a bra."
She shook her head, droplets flying. "It’s not just... Mike got it for me. It's..." Expensive, she thought. Special. But saying that sounded ridiculous here, now.
"Look at me." His tone brooked no argument. She met his eyes again. They held hers steadily, direct. "We're both adults here. Covered... mostly." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "This?" He gestured between them, at the stained fabric, the steam, the shower. "It’s nothing. Less than you’d see at one of those fancy spas. Facials, massages... people walk around in towels thinner than this." He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Seriously. It's fine. Don’t wreck the moment over laundry."
His logic was blunt, practical, cutting through her anxiety. The spa comparison was absurd, yet undeniably true in a twisted way. The heat, the steam, the sheer physicality... it was spa-like. Nakedness felt almost incidental. Almost.
Ella hesitated, searching his face. There was no leering, only matter-of-fact reassurance mixed with a flicker of impatience. The frantic energy drained out of her. He was right. It was just a bra. Ruined, yes. But replaceable. This strange, charged bubble they were in felt irreplaceable, fragile.
"Okay," she breathed, the word barely audible over the water. She held his gaze. "You're right. Silly." Taking a deep breath, she reached behind her back, fingers fumbling with the soaked clasp nestled between her shoulder blades. The hook resisted, slippery. Her heart hammered again, but differently now. Anticipation thrummed beneath the surface calm.
Liam watched, silent, his expression unreadable. His hands rested loosely at his sides, oil and water dripping from his fingertips.
Finally, the clasp gave. Ella hooked her thumbs under the straps and, in one swift motion, peeled the wet, stained grey fabric down her arms. Cool air hit her damp skin, raising goosebumps despite the steamy heat. She dropped the bra onto the wet floor of the shower stall. It landed with a soft, sodden slap.
She stood before him, water streaming over her bare shoulders, her collarbones, her breasts. Only the thin black lace panties remained. The air crackled, thick and heavy. Liam’s gaze swept down, slowly, deliberately, then lifted back to her face. His eyes were dark, pupils wide, absorbing the sight. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
He simply lifted his hand, still coated in the amber scrub. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. Not towards her shoulder this time. His rough, gritty fingertips grazed the newly exposed, sensitive swell of her breast, just above the lace. The cool paste met her flushed skin, the contrast stealing her breath. His palm followed, warm and solid beneath the cool, oily grit, pressing gently, possessively, against her naked flesh. The roar of the water faded to a distant hum as Ella felt the shocking warmth of his skin meeting hers, separated only by the slick, fragrant scrub. Her breath hitched, suspended, waiting for the next turn of his hand.
Her breath hitched, suspended, waiting for the next turn of his hand. The rough grit of the scrub scraped lightly against the delicate skin of her breast, a stark counterpoint to the shocking warmth radiating from Liam’s palm beneath it. Water sluiced over them both, thinning the oily paste into milky rivulets that traced paths down her stomach, soaking into the black lace clinging low on her hips.
"Okay?" Liam’s voice was a low rasp, barely audible over the relentless drumming on the fiberglass. His thumb moved, a slow, deliberate circle just above her nipple, hidden beneath the grainy amber mixture. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto hers, searching for any flicker of hesitation. Steam curled thickly between them, blurring everything but his proximity, his touch.
Ella felt the tremor start deep inside, a vibration threatening to shatter her composure. His hand felt enormous, possessive, anchoring her in the swirling heat. "It’s... cold," she managed, her voice thin and breathless. "The scrub."
A ghost of a smile touched Liam’s lips. "It warms up." His thumb pressed again, circling that same maddening spot. "Does it feel okay?" He leaned in fractionally, his breath warm against her wet temple. "This will make them softer, Ella. Really soft." His gaze dropped pointedly to where his hand rested. "It’s just a scrub."
Just a scrub. The words echoed, absurd and undeniable. Practical. Necessary, even, for the promised result. The logic was flimsy, paper-thin, but it landed in the humid, charged air. Ella’s resistance, already frayed by the steam and his touch, dissolved. A sigh escaped her, part surrender, part anticipation. "Yeah," she breathed, the word almost lost. "Okay."
She tilted her head back slightly, exposing the line of her throat to the spray. "Go ahead." Her eyes met his again, holding the challenge, the permission. "Make them soft." A faint, reckless smile touched her own lips. "Take your time." She let her gaze drift pointedly down his body, then back up. "We’re adults, after all."
Liam’s answering look was pure, focused heat. "Adults," he echoed, low and thick. His hand shifted, scooping more of the cool, gritty paste from the jar resting precariously on the shower ledge. He brought it back, his touch no longer tentative. His fingers, slick and rough, spread the mixture deliberately over the swell of her breast, his palm molding firmly against her skin beneath the oily layer. He worked in slow, concentric circles, radiating outward from the peak hidden beneath the amber grit.
The sensation was overwhelming: the abrasive scrape, the slick slide of oil, the profound heat of his skin searing through the cool barrier. Ella gasped, her fingers curling against the slick fiberglass wall behind her for support. Her knees felt dangerously weak. Water streamed over her face, plastering her hair flat, mingling with the sweat beading at her temples. Every nerve ending screamed awareness, focused entirely on the rhythmic pressure of his hand, the deliberate exploration disguised as necessity.
He moved to her other breast, repeating the process, his touch just as firm, just as focused. His thumb brushed deliberately over her nipple, now taut and achingly sensitive beneath the gritty mask. Ella bit down hard on her lower lip, stifling a moan. Her head swam. The roar of the water faded into a dull thrumming in her ears, replaced by the pounding of her own blood. His knuckles grazed the damp lace edge of her panties as he smoothed the scrub lower, across her ribs.
Liam leaned closer, his damp forehead almost touching hers. His breath was hot on her cheek. "Soft enough yet?" he murmured, his voice rough velvet against the steam. His circling hand dipped lower, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against her abdomen, just above the lace. His fingers splayed wide, coated in the fragrant grit, tracing the subtle curve of her hip bone beneath the clinging wet fabric. The scrub felt cool, but the intent radiating from him was incendiary. Ella’s breath caught again, sharp and shallow. She couldn’t speak. She could only feel the relentless pressure, the promise in his touch, the precipice they balanced on as his hand lingered, poised to descend further into the final, forbidden territory.