After a luxuriously long time spent soaking, scrubbing, and shaving, I got out of the shower, dried off, and proceeded to apply product to my hair, moisturize my face, and floss and brush my teeth. Thoroughly brush my teeth. May I never go another day without a toothbrush.

Anxious butterflies fluttered in my gut, the unknown hanging over me, but I felt more human than I had in a week. I dressed in cotton yoga pants and a lavender tank top. The scent of clean clothing was like heaven. I finally exited the showers, carrying my jacket, a sweater, clean socks, and my not-so-clean shoes with one hand and my combat belt with the other, the back pouch weighed down by orb-Hoshi.

As I crossed the fitness room, the sound of running water filtered in from the men’s showers. No way Aaron or Kai would take this long to clean up. They’d probably been in and out in ten minutes—five to shave, five to shower.

Swerving toward the room, I flipped my belt over my shoulder and rapped on the door. “Aaron? Kai?”

A muffled male voice answered me, and a moment later, the door opened. Ezra held it with one hand, and in the other was a toothbrush, its bristly end in his mouth.

He also wasn’t wearing a shirt.

My gaze dropped, seeking out his injuries. Not only were the stab wounds healed, but the tearing of his scars caused by Eterran’s exit from his body had transformed into pink lines. The scars would probably be thicker than before, but not by much.

Health assessment complete, I greedily drank in the sight of his jeans clinging to his lean hips, the black waistband of his boxers peeking out, before allowing my attention to return to his face. His pale eye had survived without any additional damage, the scar that ran down his forehead to the hollow of his cheek mostly unchanged.

He canted his head, inviting me into the shower room.

Eyebrows arching with bemusement, I set my things on a nearby weightlifting bench and walked barefoot onto the tile floor. The room was identical to the women’s showers: a bank of sinks opposite a wall of lockers, with a bench in the middle. On the other side of the door, several shower stalls were hidden by heavy plastic curtains.

One of the curtains was open and steam floated out, the shower heating up before Ezra got in.

He hurried to the sink and spat out his mouthful of toothpaste. I waited patiently—I could wait patiently all night long with such a mouthwatering view of his thickly muscled arms.

“Sorry,” he said after rinsing his mouth. “I just need a hand since you’re here.”

My eyebrows arched again. “What sort of hand?”

“I can’t reach to wash this off.” He turned around, showing me his back. Shiny silver lines dotted with runes ran down his spine, most of the array already wiped away.

Ah. Elisabetta’s and Miles’s work, I assumed. “Sure. Got a cloth?”

“I already put it in the shower. One sec.”

He headed for the running shower, and I followed behind him. In the stall, he reached through the spray, water splashing over his arm, and grabbed a white washcloth from the little shelf under the taps where his soap and shampoo waited. He held the cloth under the spray to soak it, then handed it to me.

I bit my lower lip as he turned around. Pressing the cloth to his back, I scrubbed away the lines with slow precision. Very slow. Was I taking my sweet time? Oh yes, I was.

A memory flitted through my head—standing in the shower with Zak, washing dragon blood off his back. I’d been breathless over his appeal, but nothing I’d felt then compared to the way my heart drummed in my chest right now, each beat shuddering inside me.

I wanted to throw the cloth away and put my hands on him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. I wanted to—

Realizing my hand had stopped moving, I lowered the washcloth. “Okay, you’re good.”

He swiveled to face me. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Reaching out, I touched one of his scars where it crossed his hip. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” He watched my hand as I traced the scar up to his sternum, then stretched out his arms to display the other, fainter scars that crisscrossed his bronze skin. “A lot of wear and tear, huh?”

“At least you’re still in one piece.” I looked up into his mismatched eyes. “So you’re feeling good now?”

“Yes?”

“Healthy and hale again?”

“More or less.”

“Not going to collapse or anything?”

“No.”

“Good.” I chucked the washcloth into the shower, not caring where it landed, then hooked my fingers over the back of his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.

His lips melded against mine and his hand sank into my damp hair. I pressed into him—and he stepped back, bumping the wall.

“I need to shower,” he said, his smooth voice rumbling in a way I very much liked. “You’re all clean and I’m—”

I dragged his mouth back to mine and kissed him again, tasting his minty toothpaste.

“Then get in the shower,” I breathed against his lips. “I’m not stopping you.”

He hesitated—and I opened my lips against his in invitation. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned softly, fingers raking over his shoulders.

Two feet away, the shower pounded against the tile floor, steam drifting around us. I dragged my hands down his chest, over his tense, delicious abs, and found the waist of his jeans.

The breath rushed from his nose when I popped the button. His fly was down an instant later, and I shoved the jeans off his hips. As they slid down, he shifted back and stepped out of them.

In nothing but his boxers, he swept me into him and kissed me again. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed my hips into his, a few thin layers of cotton separating our bodies.

He rumbled wordlessly, one hand sliding under the back of my tank top. His other palm ran up my side and over my breast. His thumb stroked me through the thin fabric of my top and sports bra, and I arched into his touch, needing more. So much more.

Tearing away from him, I grabbed my shirt and yanked it up over my head. I was still dragging it off my arms when he pulled me back into him. His mouth covered mine, his hot hands running up my sides, over my breasts, then down to my hips.

I shoved my pants down my legs, then threw them and my shirt onto the small bench. Bra and underwear followed.

Ezra watched my every motion with ravenous intensity. His hands were on me before I’d gotten my underclothes safely on the bench, his fingers sliding over my skin. He kissed me, brief and hungry, before his mouth claimed the soft spot under my jaw.

I reached between our bodies. His breath caught when I wiggled my fingers under the waistband of his boxers. I took him in both hands, stroking and caressing until he was panting for air.

Then I pushed his boxers down. As the last piece of fabric between us disappeared, he swept me up off my feet. My bare legs clamped around his waist as he stepped under the shower’s spray.

I gasped as the hot water hit us. It cascaded over our naked bodies, but its heat was nothing compared to the molten lava inside me.

I clutched Ezra. Kissing him. Touching him. My hands dragging across every muscle, every scar, every inch of his gorgeous bronze skin. His hands were occupied with holding me up, taking my weight with easy strength, but his mouth was busy—kissing down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbones.

He boosted me higher, one hand bracing my back, then his mouth was exploring my breasts with luscious, devoted attention. Lips and tongue. Tasting and sucking. I arched in his hold, quivering and breathless, hands in his hair, legs clamped tight around his waist.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I was moments from flying into a million pieces, I squirmed my legs free and slid down him.

His hard length pressed between my thighs, and I moaned as I rubbed against him. He grabbed my hips and stopped my movement, breathing hard.

We stared at each other, his eyes burning and starved for more.

I seized the bar of soap. He continued to hold my hips as I lathered up my hands and pressed them to his chest.

He leaned down. As I ran my hands over his shoulders, rubbing the soap across his skin, he kissed me, slow and hot and consuming. I soaped down his arms, caressing every muscle, and when I pressed closer to run my hands over his back, his fingers tightened.

He pulled my hips into him, then guided them away. Back and forth, back and forth, the length of him sliding between my thighs, rubbing against me. Slow, erotic, unbelievably sensual. I whimpered breathlessly against his mouth but he held the slow, torturous, mind-melting pace.

Kissing with languid, flirting tongues. Hips moving in a slow, unhurried glide. Sweet torment that bordered on agony. We moved together, mouths locked, bodies pressed tight, and the steaming water rained down on us, washing away our fears and stress, our insecurities and doubts, the pain and struggle we’d endured to get here.

Then, as the teasing pleasure ramped higher and our mouths locked with growing urgency, he lifted me off the tiled floor. My shoulders met the cold shower wall as he braced me against it and slowly lowered me again. This time, instead of sliding between my thighs, he slid inside me.

My whole body quivered, muscles clenching, lungs gasping as hot pleasure swept through every nerve. I held him, legs hooked over his hips.

“Tori,” he rumbled. His arms tightened as he pinned me against the shower wall, hands gripping my ass, fingers pressing hard into my skin. His muscles bunched, then his hips moved.

His strength supporting me, I could do nothing but hold him—and it was torture, it was bliss, it was pleasure and agony and everything I’d dreamed of and more than I’d ever imagined. Where I would’ve rushed with frenzied lust, he moved slow and steady and strong. So damn strong. Every thrust sent me spiraling, and I clung to him, pleasure building at a delicious pace.

Building higher. And higher. His mouth dragged at my throat as I panted and moaned. My legs shook. I couldn’t take it.

“Ezra,” I gasped.

His fingers dug into my ass—and he thrust hard into me. Faster. Stronger. I grabbed his hair, and then our mouths were locked, breath rushing, chests heaving. I was rising and falling and spinning out of control, my whole being consumed by the feel of him inside me.