The shower water turned lukewarm, but neither of them cared. Derek turned it off eventually, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and wrapping it around Stiles first—gentle, almost reverent. He dried her off slow, starting with her hair, patting it down so it didn’t drip everywhere, then down her arms, her back, careful around her tits like they were fragile even though he’d just been devouring them. He knelt to dry her legs, lifting one foot then the other, thumbs brushing her skin in soft circles. Every touch made her heart skip—god, this man, so rough one minute, so sweet the next. Like he actually cared.

“You’re all clean now,” he murmured, standing up, towel around his own waist.