Page 36

Brooklyn

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

When he mentioned his lack of experience with true intimacy in a relationship and I took the lead with the idea of starting with a shared shower, I lived a brief illusion where I thought I’d have to guide him.

I forgot who I’m dealing with.

Athanasios may not have had relationships, but as he himself says, he’s a control freak. The moment we entered the bathroom, he quickly understood what I was trying to do: take a step beyond the physical.

He sat me on the sink counter, turned on the shower, and adjusted the water temperature. When it seemed satisfactory, he picked me up and carried me into the shower, which, I estimate, could easily fit about twelve people.

“I’m going to bathe you,” he announced, as if daring me to say no.

There’s no chance I’d stop those big hands from touching my body.

I watch as he squirts some liquid soap into his palm, rubbing his hands together before running them over my arms and abdomen.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, relishing the sensation.

“Feels good?” he asks.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I need to rethink how I categorize you in my head. You’re not just a control freak; you’re a dominator, too.”

He pauses, his hands still, and I open my eyes.

“What led you to that conclusion?”

For the first time since our post-sex conversation began, I smile. “You can’t even relinquish control over a simple shower.”

“Look at me,” he says, and I obey. “Is that what you want? To share control? Because I don’t think it is.”

I swallow hard, trying to disguise how much it shocks me that he can read me so well.

He’s used to dictating the terms of his life, and now that I’m part of it, he seems to assume we’ll live under his rule.

The truth is, I want that.

I don’t yet know how much I’m willing to yield, but if I’m honest, it feels good to have someone making decisions for me sometimes. I don’t aspire to be dead weight, but having a shoulder to lean on is comforting. Being strong all the time is exhausting.

“I trust you,” I say instead, not committing to a more definitive answer.

I hope he understands the weight of that statement for me. I hope he grasps how, after everything I’ve been through, trusting again is terrifying.

He doesn’t say anything but pulls me into a kiss. Then, he turns me to face the wall and washes my back, running his hands over my breasts, hips, and ass.

I try to suppress my moans, but I can’t, and he notices.

He moves my hair aside and bites my earlobe. “I won’t hurt you or betray your trust.”

And then, without giving me time to think, he spreads my legs with his feet and enters me.

I press my hands against the wall to brace myself because his thrusts are deep and vigorous. I know this won’t be slow sex; it’s wild, and I arch my body to take more of him.

He growls against my neck and tilts me forward, gripping my hips. His hand slides to my abdomen, finding my pleasure point.

It doesn’t take long for me to come undone, and when he feels my release, he lets himself go as well.

His hands cover mine on the shower wall, and for several minutes, we don’t move, savoring the connection.

When I finally turn to face him, I say, “My turn.”

He looks confused, but I know what I want.

Instead of putting soap in my hands, I squirt it directly onto his muscular body, rubbing and massaging his skin as he did mine. I try to focus on the task, not on the fact that he’s watching me as if trying to decipher my every move.

“It’s rude to stare at people like that,” I joke.

“I can’t stop looking at you.”

I lift my head to meet his gaze. If it were another man, I’d think he was flirting, but Athanasios doesn’t do that. He’s brutally honest.

Despite my nervousness, I smile. “Keep going, Dr. Pappakouris. I like being the one who steals your attention.”

We stay in the shower for several minutes, enjoying the warmth of the water. At one point, I close my eyes, leaning against his chest as he holds me tightly.

I barely notice when he turns off the shower. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he returns to dry me off.

The sensation of being cared for is unfamiliar but not too frightening. I could get used to this.

He carries me back to the bedroom and dresses me in a large, fluffy robe.

I sit on the bed, my legs feeling unsteady, watching him casually let his towel fall to the floor.

I try to keep a neutral expression, but it’s the first time I’ve had the opportunity to fully appreciate his body as a mere spectator, and I doubt my mouth will ever close again.

He’s not just handsome; he’s an invitation to wild, untamed sex.

Tanned, firm everywhere, with a strong chest and arms. But when my gaze travels down his waistline, my hormones go haywire.

His thick, muscular thighs are perfectly sculpted, and between them, his enormous erection stands tall once more.

“Brooklyn, if you keep looking at me like that, we won’t eat food tonight. I could feast on you with no problem, but I need to make sure I meet all your needs. Every single one of them.”

I take a deep breath and avert my gaze because otherwise, I’ll go straight to him. Athanasios is right—while my body is in control right now, not my mind, I need to eat.

“You need to make sure all my needs are met because you’re a control freak?” I ask, responding to his argument.

“That too, but mostly because I want to ensure that the next time I fuck you, you won’t faint from weakness.”

After that declaration, which sends shivers over every inch of my body, he puts on a pair of boxer briefs, struggling to fit his rigid length inside, comes over, kisses my forehead, and leaves.

I spend about five minutes trying to get my neurons functioning again, shocked at myself for the intensity of my desire.

When I finally return to planet Earth, I grab my phone to send Eleanor a message.

I’m sleeping here. Everything is fine.

She replies in less than a minute.

Mom: Just fine?

Me: No. It’s wonderful. Are the babies still asleep?

Mom: Yes. Don’t worry. Enjoy yourself.

Me: See you tomorrow. Love you.