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Then I felt his hand.

Gentle. Moving through the water like a current, his fingertips barely grazing the curve of my hip.

He took a soft sponge and started at my shoulder, dragging it over my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. He went slowly, carefully, almost like he was worshipping me.

My skin was still burning in places from the spanking, but his touch was cool and warm all at once, like a soothing balm, and maybe like a fire brand or a tattoo somehow too.

He brushed wet hair from my neck and dragged the sponge down between my breasts. I exhaled again, shakier this time, trying not to fall apart after everything I’d endured.

His knuckles grazed my nipple, and I felt it tighten instantly, shame and desire crashing together so fast I couldn’t tell them apart. I opened my eyes, just slightly, and met his gaze in the reflection of the glass wall across from us.

He was just watching me. Not like a man who had just punished me and claimed me. But like a man whocherishedwhat he’d taken, and it shattered me a little because I didn’t know how to brace myself against it.

“I should hate you,” I whispered, not sure if I meant it.

“You don’t,” he murmured. “You just don’t know what it means to be cared for.”

I bit my lip.

His hand slipped under the water and trailed along my thigh, then up higher, until his palm cupped my pussy gently, like he was just reminding me he could. Not taking. Just… holding.

My hips shifted. My breath stuttered.

His other hand brushed over my stomach, then up to my chest, fingers spreading wide as he ran his thumb softly over my nipple.

The moan that slipped from my lips was quiet.

But it wasn’t weak.

It washonest.

Because everything hurt and everything felt good, and I didn’t know how to be angry when he touched me like that. Like I was something precious. Like I was breakable and he was trying to make sure his hands, which could crush a man with one blow, stayed gentle now.

His hands explored every inch of me, over my thighs, my belly, the insides of my arms, my neck, my jaw. With every soft touch, I felt myself loosen further, melt deeper into the water, into the moment, intohim.

I should be scared of what that meant.

Right now, though, all I felt was safe, and wanted.

And ruined in a way that felt nothing like destruction.

His lips brushed the back of my shoulder, soft as a whisper, and I let out a sound I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t pain or protest, but something like ayes.

The water rippled as I shifted, turning toward him slowly, steam drifting between us. My skin slipped against his hand as I moved, and I heard the way his breath hitched slightly, controlled still, but not unaffected.

Neither of us was.

His shirt was damp at the edges. His sleeves were rolled up and he was watching me with that same expression that made my heart stutter.

I licked my lips and asked the question that had been pulsing at the edge of everything since he said those life-changing words.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

His eyes didn’t even flinch. They stayed locked on mine.

“Whyme, Nikolai?” My voice was soft now, not snarky or angry. Not even a little bit sassy. Just… small. “I’m a mess. I push people away. I get in trouble just to feel something. I lie when I should be honest and mouth off when I should shut up. I?—”

He lifted his hand from the water and placed it gently under my chin, stopping the spiral.