The water was hot and perfect against my skin, and I sighed at the pleasure of it as it sluiced over my skin. He pulled a folded white washcloth off a high shelf, holding it up to the shower head until it was wet. Then he squeezed some sort of shower gel onto the cloth.
The scent reminded me of him. Fresh and woodsy and utterly masculine. Knowing my skin would smell like him all night seemed right, somehow. Because he’d claimed me, and I was his.
“Turn around,” he said, and I obeyed, facing the wall. He slid the cloth over my back, the soap slick and smooth as he gently washed me. He nudged my shoulders, so that I would lean forward, allowing the rain showerhead to wash the soap away. With his foot, he nudged my ankles apart, then slipped the washcloth between my thighs.
I winced at how tender I felt, and he must’ve noticed, because he leaned down, kissing softly against my back. Comforting me as he washed my skin.
He brought the washcloth up my front side, wiping across my breasts. I stood upright again, backing up against him.
He was hard again-or maybe he’d just stayed that way. I wiggled my ass against him and he pulled me tightly, hugging me to his body in a way that was more affectionate than sexual. He murmured something, dropping the wash cloth and turning the water off.
We stood like that, skin-on-skin, our bodies dripping, for what seemed like forever. It was like he wanted to commit this moment to memory, remember what my body felt like.
Or maybe like he was trying to find his restraint, reel in his lust and give my body time to be ready again.
He pulled my hair over my shoulder, then kissed along my jaw, near my ear.
His touch, his kisses, were calming. Relaxing. I wanted to melt into him. Sigh at the luxury of this moment.
Eventually, he pushed open the shower door and we stepped out. The heated tile floors were warm against my feet. Landon pulled a robe off a hook over the door, slipping it over my shoulders and tying it at my waist. He smiled at me, meeting my eyes with the sort of look that made me want to say I love you.
But I bit back the words and instead just followed him to his bed. He pulled the covers back and we both slipped in, burying ourselves in his luxurious white comforter.
He pulled me against him, covered us up. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the last time I’d been this relaxed, this happy.
But as I nestled against him, I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t involve Landon.
“I hope I wasn’t too rough,” he said softly.
“It was fine,” I said.
‘You sure?”
I rolled onto my back and looked at him. “It was more than fine. That was the hottest sex of my life. Don’t you dare feel bad about it.”
He grinned. “I just didn’t want you to regret walking through that door.”
“Do you wish I hadn’t?”
His eyes lit up, and he moved my hand lower, until I was touching him. “Hell no. I want to find another wall to fuck you against, but it’s probably best we wait until tomorrow.”
I laughed as he released my hand, and shoved his shoulder. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s such a line.”
“Is it a line if it’s true?”
“Don’t screw with me,” I said, my voice almost wavering. It was so hard to walk this line with him. To have him insinuate that I meant more to him than anyone else, and yet know that it was a dangerous thing to do, to trust him. To give him my heart.
“I’m not. I rarely have the same woman twice. Let alone…” his voice trailed off. His hand slid down my ribs, resting at the curve of my hip. “I wake up wanting you. I go to sleep wanting you. I want you as soon as I’m done having you.”
“Annie bought me a dildo,” I blurted out.
His eyes lit up, amusement there. “What?”
“When I flew to Dallas. She said she didn’t want me to miss you.”
“And?” He quirked a brow, staring at me. Waiting for my response, his stare intense.
I just stared back, teasing him with my silence. Knowing that his imagination was running wild.
“And I used it. And pretended it was you.”
He groaned, rolling onto his back. “Jesus now I can’t picture anything else.”
I grinned. “I see no problem with that.”
“You’re a tease.”
“I don’t think a tease would’ve done what we just did.”
He yanked me over him, rolling me to the other side of the bed and yanking me up against him. So that we were spooning, and his hand rested on my hip. “You’re not ready for another round,” he said, “So I suggest we talk about something else before I ignore all reason.”
“Like what?” I said.
“Like anything.”
We sat quietly for a while, the only disruption the occasional car passing by on the road below, their headlights sliding across the wall. He’d left the curtains open from earlier, when he’d stared down at me in the driveway.
“I think you should go to the wake,” I said, finally breaking the silence. Beside me, he stiffened. I almost regretted bringing it up.
Almost. Because he needed to go. Needed to heal. Even if I had to push him to do it.