Zain squeezed my hand, still holding it.
“Back when we all lived in the same two-bedroom apartment, we had to share rooms,” Zain explained. “The girls were in one, me and Finn were in the other and Micah carved out his own small space in the corner of the living room.”
“Sounds cramped,” I said.
“Just after Chris joined us we hit it big, so we decided that wherever we lived next, we each had to have our own space. Luckily our first album was such a huge success we could afford a place like this.”
I could only imagine how stressful it must have been, to live in such close quarters with so many people. I was lucky that, although my apartment was tiny, it was all mine.
My face itched, and I scratched at it unconsciously. A clump of dried flour got stuck under my fingernail. I wrinkled my nose.
“You said you also have a private bathroom?” I asked hopefully.
“Right over there.” Zain nodded to another closed door. “Let me wash my hands first. You’re probably going to be in there a while, considering how much goop you’re covered in.
“And whose fault is that?” I called out as he laughed his way to the bathroom.
I took a minute to look around some more. There were several guitars resting in their stands, a chest of drawers and a set of double doors so wide I had to assume they opened into a walk-in closet.
I wandered over to the living room area. There was a sofa and a matching comfy looking armchair, along with a coffee table. A handful of papers were strewn across it. It looked like music sheets. I picked one up. I knew next to nothing about music and wouldn’t have been able to read music notes to save my life. I’d have to ask Zain to play it for me.
I put the sheet back on the table. Zain’s bedroom was a little sparse, but there was one big piece of art on the wall, an abstract paint splash on white canvas. I eyed it, wondering if it meant anything or if it was just for color.
“Your turn,” Zain said as he came out of the bathroom.
Before I could ask about towels, he pulled me into another kiss. It was thorough and probing, the press of his lips against mine sending a tingle through my every nerve ending. When we finally parted, I saw his eyes were heated and dark, the pupils blown wide open.
“Did washing your hands make you horny somehow?” I teased, running my hands up and down his chest.
“Youmake me horny.” He grabbed both my hands in one of his to stop them from wandering too far. “You better stop that or I’m going to ravish you right here and now.”
“What’s stopping you?” I said coyly.
“I don’t want to get a mouthful of caked-on flour.”
I supposed that meant it was my time to shower.
For all that it was just an adjacent en-suite, Zain’s bathroom was huge. Not big enough to fit a jacuzzi tub or anything, but there was a regular free-standing claw tub as well as a glass-walled standing shower.
I had to wonder how nice it must feel to have so much money you could live in a place like this. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous. My apartment felt claustrophobically small sometimes.
Zain had thoughtfully laid out towels for me already. I unbuttoned my blouse and stepped out of my jeans. I held my clothes out to examine them. They were dusted with flour, but some vigorous shaking got rid of most of it. It was really just my face and hair that had taken the brunt of Zain’s attack.
I turned on the water and stepped into the shower. I soaped myself up using a bottle of Zain’s combo body wash and shampoo. His scent filled my nose. That tingle between my legs returned. Even just the smell of him was enough to get me hot.
I’d been teasing him when I asked if washing had made him horny, but now here I was, breathing in deeply to catch more of that delicious scent as my insides throbbed.
I scrubbed as quickly as I could while still making a thorough job of it, then rinsed. Zain’s towel was fluffy and soft as I dried myself off. I used his hair dryer until my hair was only slightly damp. My hair was so thick it would have taken too long to dry it completely.
I contemplated putting my clothes back on. Then I wrapped the towel around myself and exited the bathroom.
“Thanks for letting me use your shower,” I told Zain as I came out. “I feel nice and squeaky clean.”
“No problem—” Zain’s voice died in his throat as he caught sight of me wearing only the towel. His lips curved into a wicked smirk. “Temptress,” he said. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what?” I asked innocently. “I just took a shower like you offered.”
“And decided to come out wearing only a towel?” Zain faked an admonishing tsk. “And you’re always calling me the naughty one.”
