Page 59 of Carrick
“Okay.”
But when he turned and disappeared through the side hallway, something tugged at my spine.
The ache he left in me wasn’t satisfied yet.
The need was still there. Simmering. Pacing.Restless.
I should’ve gone to my own room.
Should’ve closed the door and let the moment stretch like a memory.
Instead—
I followed him.
Soft steps on old wood floors. No warning. No announcement. I found the guest room door ajar and slipped through without a sound.
I heard the water before I saw him. The hiss of hot spray on tile. Fog just beginning to creep across the mirror. His clothes were in a heap on the bench outside the stall.
He was already inside. Steam curled around the glass, thick and inviting.
I didn’t hesitate. I stripped fast—tank top, overalls, every last layer—heart thudding faster with every inch of skin I bared. And then I slid the shower door open.
Carrick was facing away, hands braced against the wall, standing under the spray, water cascading over his broad back and shoulders in thick rivulets. His hair was soaked, darkened, and the tattoos on his ribs gleamed as his muscles flexed beneath the heat.
He turned the moment the door clicked shut.
And when he saw me—naked, flushed, stepping into the stall like I had every right to be there—his brows lifted in quiet surprise.
After a long moment, he reached over and turned the valve that activated the secondary shower head that sat opposite the one he was using. I stepped under the spray, water scalding and perfect as it slid down my skin.
“Didn’t ask,” I said softly.
He looked me over, his jaw ticking once.
“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”
And he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for me. Just let the tension bloom between us—sharp, thick, and so heavy I could barely breathe.
I didn’t care. I was done pretending this was casual. I wanted more.
More of him. And I was going to take it.
Steam wrapped around us like a second skin. Carrick didn’t touch me. He didn’t need to. He just stood there—soaked, still, silent—watching me like I was a question he already knew the answer to but wanted me to ask, anyway. One hand braced on the tile, muscles flexing under the spray, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold something back.
That look on his face? It wasn’t lust. It was restraint.
Tension pulled tight as wire stretched between us and waiting to snap.
I stepped closer, water cascading down my spine, the heat dizzying. My skin prickled under his gaze, but I didn’t lower myeyes. Didn’t hide. I reached up and cupped the side of his neck, his pulse pounding hard beneath my fingers.
“I’m not done,” I said.
His breath came out slow. Controlled.
“You want more.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
