Page 72 of Dear Mr. Brody

He met my gaze with a half cringe, half smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Sex and fucking are two different things.” Christ, I didn’t think his face could get any redder. “In my opinion, we’ve already had sex.”

“Oh…”

I stepped toward him, bringing us chest to chest, and lightly grasped the back of his neck. “I’ve made you come, Van. More than once. The definition of sex doesn’t have to fit neatly inside a box.” Steam spilled through the open shower door as he breathed against my lips. “Sex can be whatever you want it to be.”

“I want it to be everything just… not yet.”

Everything.

His skin brushed against me with every deep breath he took, his lips grazing mine once before he reached between us and unclasped the button on my jeans. Our skin, no longer chilled, was damp from steam and sweat as we undressed each other. Hot water poured over us as we stepped into the shower, and Van tipped his head back under the spray. I took a second to admire him in this unguarded moment, admire his dick, heavy and hard between his legs.

“Still nervous?” I asked, resting my hands on his waist, he blinked at me through wet lashes.

“No.” Van pressed a palm flat against my sternum and dragged it down my stomach. “Maybe.”

“All we have to do is shower. I’ll even wash your hair.”

I grinned as an easy laugh relaxed his shoulders.

“Wash my hair?”

“Turn around,” I said, and he raised his brows. “I’m serious.”

I couldn’t tell if he was curious or worried, but he did as I’d asked. The shampoo bottle sat on a small shelf behind me. I grabbed it and poured a decent amount into my hand. He groaned as I worked up a lather into his hair with my fingers and leaned into my touch.

“Jesus… you’re good at this,” he said, his muscles loose as I massaged his neck and shoulders with my soapy hands.

“You’re welcome.”

He dipped his head under the water again, washing away all the suds before he turned around. “It’s your turn.”

We switched spots, the hot water on my cool skin like needles, at first. I lowered my head once he had a handful of shampoo. His touch was cautious, but after a few seconds he found his confidence, his fingers gently scratching along my scalp and down the back of my neck. Glancing up, I smiled at his thoughtful expression.

“What’s that look?”

He laughed, smearing the shampoo down my chest. “I was concentrating.”

“Concentrating is just another word for thinking, you know.” I reached past him for the body wash.

“I was thinking about how sweet you were with Anne tonight,” he said and held out his hand like we did this every day. I filled it with soap, and he ran his palms over my chest and arms as he spoke. “You didn’t have to listen to all of her weather facts, but you did.”

“She’s a cute kid.”

“She likes you.” Van’s hand paused over my heart, and I wondered if he could feel the rapid rhythm beneath my skin.

“I wasn’t sure how tonight would go,” I admitted, and he smiled as I popped the soap bubble on his jaw. “It’s a relief knowing I didn’t fuck it up.”

“I’m glad you stayed for dinner.”

“Me too.”

He grasped the nape of my neck, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“I read what you sent me,” he said and kissed the corner of my mouth. “The stories about your dad.”

“Shit… you did?”