“No,” he shakes his head and his sad gaze finds mine. “It always felt like an invasion of their privacy.”
Poor man. “They would want you to do that.” I tell him with confidence.
“Some day, maybe.” He shrugs and then stands. “Come on, you’ve eaten. Let’s shower.”
I know the subject is closed. My heart is full and warm knowing that he shared something so personal and sacred with me. We’ve come a long way in the past few days.
We work together cleaning up from breakfast and he takes my hand and leads me up the stairs toward the master suite.
“Is your favorite color white?” I ask.
“No, why?”
“It’s really white in here.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re dying to redecorate the place, aren’t you?”
“Something needs to be done with it.”
“I like your place,” he comments and turns the water on in the walk-in shower, adjusting the temperature.
“You do?” I’m surprised. “You don’t think it’s too girly?”
“At first I did,” he admits with a grin. “But it’s really homey. Comfortable.”
That’s the best compliment anyone could pay me about my home. That’s exactly how I want it to feel.
I’m smiling widely at him, still fully dressed, as he shucks his jeans and pulls towels out for us. He turns to find me watching him and offers me a half-smile.
“What is going through that gorgeous brain of yours?”
“Nothing.” I shrug, the smile still firmly on my face.
“No, that smile is not nothing. What are you so happy about?” He asks, wrapping his arms around me.
“You,” I tell him simply and kiss his chin. “You make me happy.”
“Good, that’s the goal.” He pulls my shirt over my head and slips my panties down my legs. “Now let’s make you clean.”
He leads me into the shower, wets a rag and lathers it up with my body wash and begins to wash me, massaging my muscles.
Pampering me.
“God, that feels good. You have good hands.” I lean into him and close my eyes.
“They like touching you,” he murmurs and spins me so my back is to him and he can wash and rub my back side.
“Seriously, if this music thing doesn’t work out for you, I’ll hire you to be my massage therapist.”
“Good to know I have something to fall back on.” He chuckles and leads me into the water to rinse me off. “Lean your head back.”
He methodically washes and conditions my hair, rubbing my scalp and thoroughly rinsing it clean. When he’s done, I turn to him, take another cloth and lather it up with his cedar-scented body wash and return the favor, washing him.
“I love your tats.” I watch my hands as they soap him up. “Mine are gone.” I wink at him and glance down at my body, the black lines all gone.
“Mine won’t wash off.” He chuckles.
“Good, I don’t want them to.” I spin him around so I can wash his back and his ass. “Okay, now your hair.”
“You don’t have to wash my hair.”
“Why?”
“I’m a little tall.” He smirks.
Hmm. True. He’s so tall, and I’m so short, that washing his hair will be a stretch.
“Lift me.” I back up against the wall and hold my arms out to him.
“Happily, sweetheart.” He plants his big hands on my ass and pulls me up to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, loving how he braces me against the wall, pinned by his lean hips. His happy eyes watch me as I soap up his hair and massage his scalp, making the soapy strands stand on end.
“This is a good look for you,” I tease him. “You could start a new trend.
“Smart ass,” he whispers.
“Okay, you need to rinse.”
Without releasing me, he leans back into the stream of hot water, letting it wash the soap away, then straightens and kisses me, the water from his head running in streams down our bodies.
“I think we’re clean,” I murmur against his lips and roll my hips against his erection. He gasps and bites his bottom lip.
“Let’s fix that.”
“I thought the point was to get clean.” I raise an eyebrow.
Without answering, he lifts me higher and slides inside me. “You’re so wet, babe.”
“Yeah, well, that seems to happen a lot when I’m around you.”
He leans his forehead against mine, our hips moving in a perfect rhythm. He leans back and presses his calloused thumb against my clit, sending me over, my legs clamping around his hips, my pussy clenching around his cock.
“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” he growls as he comes, his hips jerking and thrusting hard. “So damn good,” he repeats while he catches his breath.
He kisses me hard and long and lowers me to my feet.
“I spend a lot of time off the ground with you,” I comment as we rinse and towel off.
“Complaining?” He asks with a grin.
“Nope, an observation.”
I comb my wet hair and blow it dry, throw on some mascara and lip-gloss and follow him into his bedroom. He’s pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt, and I can’t help but be disappointed that he’s covered his tats.
“What’s wrong?” He asks with a grin.
“I wanted to lick your stars,” I pout, making him laugh.