Sarah’s POV
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged,voice low and rough.
"Come on," he murmured, "let’s get cleaned up."
Before I could respond, he scooped me into his arms with ease, carrying me toward the bathroom as if I weighed nothing.
My pulse roared in my ears, anticipation spiraling as the door swung open and warm light spilled over us.
He set me down gently, reaching for the shower controls. Water began to stream from the showerhead—a soft, steady rhythm.
Then it hit me.
The wound.
My eyes snapped to his shoulder, to the bandages I’d nearly forgotten in the haze of everything that had just happened.
"Wait!" I blurted, reaching out instinctively. "Your stitches—you’re not supposed to get them wet."
He stilled, hand
