“You should… change your clothes first,” Kane said, his voice thick and low, like he was fighting something primal.

I looked down. My soaked shirt clung to my skin like a second layer, see-through and shameless. My cheeks burned. Werewolves were hypersensitive to their mate’s scent—mine was probably driving him mad right now.

“It’ll dry soon,” I mumbled. “Better just get this done.”

Before he could argue, I covered his eyes with my palm. “No peeking!”

Kane didn’t fight me. He just let out a slow breath, eyelids fluttering shut under my touch.

After adjusting the water temperature—not too hot, not too cold, just enough to avoid triggering his werewolf...