He releases me, slips a rose in my hand, and strides out of the bedroom, shooting me one last heated glance before clicking the door shut behind him. I look down at the rose, twirling it in my hand as the world around me blurs. I’m not even capable of considering where he was hiding it this entire time. My heart is firmly lodged in my throat while I try to process his words. They’re currently wading through the animalistic arousal convoluting my body and struggling to make their way to my brain. Was he just fucking with me? Or am I really about to tear apart my entire bathroom instead of taking a well-deserved bath? Because I did have plans with that showerhead, and Zade’s name tends to break free of my tongue when I make myself come. I don’t want him to witness that. I rock on my toes, deciding if I should just go kick his ass again instead. But my bones are weary, sweat is trickling into places that only my loofah should be touching, and I’m well and truly horny now. Kicking his ass will somehow turn into him gaining entrance to mine, and I’m too tired to put myself in that situation. Whatever. He can look just this once, but at least the dickhead can’t touch me from behind his stupid screen.