Page 119 of Shattered By Grace

Tristan’s fingers worked through the strands, ensuring every last bit of shampoo was gone before he reached for the conditioner. He smoothed it through, stealing soft, lingering kisses as he went. Each brush of his lips sent a shiver through her, a stark contrast to the warmth surrounding them.

By the time he was done, Victoria wasn’t sure what had unraveled more: the tension in her muscles or her restraint.

“Don’t move.” Tristan turned, reaching for the body wash and a loofah. The sound of the bottle clicking open sent a fresh wave of anticipation through her.

Lathering the loofah, he stepped back to her, his touch firm yet unhurried as he guided her just out of the water’s stream. His hands moved over her arms first, slow, deliberate, before gliding lower. Across her collarbones. Down the curves of her chest.

His movements lingered, circling around her breasts, teasing, his fingers scraping lightly over her sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of heat straight through her.

Victoria’s breath hitched, her body arching into his touch on instinct. Tristan’s lips curled at the sound, his voice a rough murmur against her temple. “Relax, love. Turn around. Let me get your back.”

She obeyed without thought, her mind slipping into a haze of warmth, steam, and him.

His fingers traced down her spine as he swept her wet hair aside, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. A featherlight kiss landed there, a whisper of heat against her skin. Immediate goosebumps.

Slowly, he started washing her, his touch reverent, like she was something to be unraveled, savored. His hands slid lower, over the dip of her back, then lower still.

Tristan let out a quiet hum of appreciation, his voice sinful as he whispered against her ear, “You have a fantastic ass, Victoria.”

A shudder rolled through her, heat pooling low in her stomach. His fingers danced lower, between her thighs, teasing over the most sensitive part of her, and Victoria nearly forgot how to stand.

Victoria’s breath hitched, her body melting into his touch as he traced slow circles over her skin. The loofah had long since been forgotten, slipping from his grasp as his bare hand skimmed up her stomach, across her ribs before finally cupping her breast.

A soft moan escaped her lips, her back pressing against his chest as she leaned into him. The heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath against her damp skin…it was overwhelming in the best way.

Tristan’s fingers flexed, his grip tightening just enough to make her breath stutter. His other hand…oh God, his other hand dragged lower, teasing over her hip, brushing between her thighs in a featherlight touch that sent sparks of pleasure dancing up her spine.

She whimpered, her fingers gripping his forearm, as if that would stop the slow, torturous way he was unraveling her.

“Tristan.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in desperation.

His response was a low, satisfied hum, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “What is it, love?”

His fingers teased over her again, pressing just enough to make her thighs clench, her body instinctively seeking more.

“Tell me.” His voice was a dark promise, his mouth trailing down the side of her neck, tasting the droplets of water clinging to her skin.

Victoria swallowed hard, her head falling back against his shoulder, surrendering to the way he was breaking her down, stroke by stroke

Just as her body was wound tight, teetering on the edge of release, he stopped.

A strangled sound slipped from her lips in frustration, disbelief, sheer need.

Tristan chuckled, the sound dark and full of wicked amusement. His breath ghosted over her skin as he murmured against her ear, “You’re still dirty, love. Turn around.”

Her legs felt unsteady, her body still aching for what he had so cruelly taken away, but she obeyed. Barely catching her breath, she turned, only to find his gaze burning, consuming, utterly unapologetic.

He was glorious.

Every inch of him was carved perfection, drops of water trailing over hard planes of muscle, disappearing into the low-slung jeans that were long gone now. But it wasn’t just his body that had her heart hammering against her ribs, it was the way he looked at her. Like he owned every shudder, every hitched breath, every inch of her that still trembled from his touch.

Wild-eyed and desperate, she reached for him, needing to feel him beneath her fingertips. But just as her fingers brushed his skin, he stepped back.

That wicked smile spread across his lips, slow and devastating. “Ah, ah, love,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement, “we’re not done yet.”

He’s about to fuck me up.

Tristan picked up the discarded loofah from the shower floor, each motion designed to make her squirm. He poured morebody wash into his palm, lathering it between his fingers before grabbing her wrist, guiding her closer to the cool tile wall.

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