Page 174 of We Drank the Dawn

Putting some in his palm, he circled his arms around me, lifting his hands to the back of my head. Slowly his fingers scraped into my scalp as a strained whimper lifted from my lips. Peter’s face was so serious as his thumbs swiped the hair over my ears and squeezed at the nape of my neck.

“You’re so beautiful, Sarah,” he whispered.

I reached out to steady myself against the wall, my knees turning to jelly.

Gently, he nudged me backward under the water, lifting my chin with his finger so the soap could run down my back. He kneaded my hair, letting it all wash away.

Then he sudsed his hands with a bar of soap.

Just the sight of him preparing his soapy hands sent desire cascading through my body like an electric flow, waking every nerve with a jolt of anticipation.

“Hands up,” he whispered.

I lifted my hands above my head, my world pitching sideways.

Peter reached up, sliding his hands from my wrists down to my shoulders and around my back. His hands caressed my neck, his thumbs swiping bubbles over my jaw and under my ear. His pace was slow, measured, and by the time he was meticulously washing my shoulder blades, I realized this was his way of watching me shower. Of seeing me in this moment. So I stood, waiting, trying not to let my impatience shine through. Trying not to launch myself at him until he was ready to proceed.

Every breath he took hitched, like he couldn’t quite finish his inhales. I couldn’t breathe either as heat gathered low in my torso, hotter and hotter, with every little brush of his fingers on my skin.

His hands left my body as he soaped them up again.

And this time, when they came back, they landed on the swipe of mud across my chest. He rubbed small gentle circles, spiralling outward until I was moaning his name and grabbing his shoulders in order to stay on my feet. His hands grew less careful, starting to hurry. They went from deep study to quick skimming, rushing to touch anything and everything—all of me, all at once.

And when I lifted my leg for him to wash it, he grabbed my thigh and wrapped it around his waist, slamming me against the wall with a groan.

SIXTY

Peter

Ilost my patience.

What had started as a gentle wash escalated into hot passion within seconds. Sarah pushed against me, her thigh clenching as I consumed the desperate sounds coming from her lips. Our mouths and hands were open, roaming, and greedy. And every single time she moved I grew dizzy with need.

My tongue swept over hers as I kissed her deeply, squeezing her tighter as she melted in my arms.

She dropped her leg, launching up to anchor herself around my neck.

Somehow, in all the movement, we knocked the curtain behind us, which caused a cool wave of air to enter the shower.

And a very strange smell.

Even though I was still kissing Sarah, the smell pulled me out of the moment.

Annoyed, I lifted my head. Maybe my brain was just playing tricks…

Sarah clamored for me, her dazed voice slurring, “Wait—come back down here.”

“Hang on.” I tapped the curtain again, and sure enough, there was the smell.

I took a deep drag of the air, instantly recognizing it.

A campfire.

I blinked, confused.

Sarah stood up straighter, releasing her hold on me. “What’s wrong?”

“I smell a campfire.”