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My cock pressed painfully against my jeans.

Isabella turned slightly beneath the spray and swept one hand over her stomach, then around the generous curve of her ass.

Fuck.

Her backside was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined while she’d been wrapped in my arms on the mountain.

Round. Full. Perfectly made to fill my hands when I finally got hold of her properly.

Her soapy palm moved over one cheek and then the other, fingers sliding briefly between them as she washed.

A low grunt escaped me.

I froze.

Isabella didn’t turn.

Maybe the shower had covered it.

Any decent man would’ve backed away and given her privacy.

Apparently, torture had burned the last of the decency out of me.

Or maybe I’d never had enough to begin with.

Either way, I stayed exactly where I was, forearm still braced against the doorway, watching a naked woman bathe in the house of God and knowing damn well I was going to Hell with a smile on my face.

She picked up the soap again and worked it between her palms.

Then one knee eased outward.

My entire body went still.

Her hand slipped between her thighs.

Sweet fucking Jesus.

She cupped herself to wash, fingers moving through the dark curls between her legs before sliding carefully through the folds beneath them.

My cock went from hard to fucking painful.

Her fingers moved again, circling through the soap and water between her folds.

I imagined dropping to my knees in front of her.

Imagined replacing those fingers with my tongue.

Imagined holding her thighs open while she leaned back against that yellow wall and learned exactly what a man on his knees could do for his goddess.

Another sound rumbled low in my throat before I could stop it.

This time, Isabella chuckled.

My attention snapped to her face.

She had turned just enough to look at me over her shoulder, amusement dancing in those pale blue eyes.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me bathe?”