“We’re going to have to give it a rest,” he says in a mournful tone. Even as I go to protest, he shakes his head and nuzzles my neck before whispering. “I do, means the rest of our lives. We’ve got time.”
Even as he says it, I feel the desperation building for us both to keep that reality mixed with his fierce need to protect us. I cling to him as he continues to wash me before working on himself. It’s when he glances over that his expression falls. “Don’t, baby. Please don’t. The minute you start thinking that way…” he shakes his head. “We have to be and stay united on this, okay? We can’t apologize for loving each other, or we’ll give others the power to condemn us.”
“Right,” I nod. “You’re right.”
I’m graced with another breathtaking smile as his long, wet lashes mat together under the steady spray. “Concentrate on us tonight, and don’t let fear or doubt destroy a second of it.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“You’re safe with me…” He traps my hand, squeezing my fingertips together before pressing them to my temple. “Here,” he rasps out before flattening my hand over his heart, “here…” He glides it down his muscular chest and navel before cupping his cock. “And most definitely here.”
I can’t help my grin as I wrap my hand around his hardening length and pump him.
“Don’t start,” he scorns, “you need to rest.”
“I need you.”
“You have me, Beauty.”
“Is this real?” I rasp out, love drunk, spent, blissed-out, but already yearning for more.
“Real in every fucking way,” he declares vehemently.
“When did you know you loved me,” I ask.
“I knew something was happening between us hour one.”
“Me too.”
“The girl that met me at the bar was a far cry from the cocky bitch previewed on the phone.”
I lift a brow. “That was also me.”
“Yeah, but she no-showed.” He palms my cheek. “And this version showed up in her place, searching for something I also wanted for myself.”
“What?”
“The type of love that defies rationality, that trumps all reasoning, that’s uncontrollable.”
“We have that.”
“We do. The best part is, I didn’t have to want to be the guy for you. I already was.”
“So, you’re saying it’s fate?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, pushing soaked hair away from my face, “and every other thing that pulls two people together.”
I can’t help my smile. “Careful. You’re starting to sound a lot like your superstitious mother.”
“I might not buy into it all, but I love that about her and inherited a few traits from her.”
“Like?”
“Sometimes, I can get irrational due to my emotions. My mom’s the same way and has been her whole life. Instead of trying to change it, she found someone who accepts and loves her more for it and has thrived because of it.” He exhales and grabs the shampoo, pouring it into his hand. He runs it through his hair before I take over, digging my nails into his scalp.
“What traits did you inherit from your dad?”
“My temper,” he admits, “and that’s where it gets tricky.”
“Are you afraid of it?”
“On the day-to-day, no, but my dad is. He’s afraid I’ll do something I can’t take back.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “Honestly? I’m a little afraid of it when it comes to you.”
He stills my hands.
“I would never hurt—”
“Jesus, Easton, don’t even finish that.” I press in, ensuring he hears me as he rinses his hair. “Unconditionally,” I remind him. “I love all of you,” I whisper on a shaky breath, “I really, really fucking love you and will continue to, come what may. I can handle your bad moods,” I laugh, “I met you in a bad mood.”
“Good,” he murmurs, “because you promised me you would.”
I rake my lip. “So, don’t let what I’m about to say put you into one, okay?”
He sighs. “Out with it.”
“I’m a plan girl, you know that. So, when we walk out of that door tomorrow—and after we face whatever consequences that we have waiting—what then? Like, where will we go?”
“Depends,” he replies easily.
“On what?”
“On what you want,” tilting his head back, he rinses his hair of conditioner while keeping my stare.
“You do realize when we leave here, reality kicks in.”
“This is fucking reality,” he snaps defensively. “We just got married.”
“I know,” I snap back. “But you’re a fucking rock star, and I’m a reporter, and we don’t live in the same state.”
He turns off the water, his back to me, and I clasp his shoulders as he lets out a harsh exhale. “I was going to talk to you about all this tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t get upset. I just want to figure this out.”
“I know, I’m not,” he concedes easily while grabbing a towel and glancing over at me. “Tell me what you want, and we’ll go from there.”
“The paper is a legacy I want to uphold. I can’t just abandon that.”
“Is that truly what you want?”
“Yes. Dad’s always given me the option to go my own way, but I love every aspect of it.”
“Then that’s what you’ll have. I don’t expect you to follow me around the globe, Natalie. It will be hard on us to be apart at times, but I’ve grown up in this world and knew what not to do from the get-go. That’s why I made damn sure not to sign a record contract and to own and distribute my own music. I’ll never be any label’s fucking dog, which grants me luxuries off the leash that a lot of others don’t have. Because I made it that way, I tour when I want to, and break when I want to. Which means I’m not chained to anything but the tour dates I set myself.”
“Okay.”
Securing a towel around his waist, he takes the towel from my hands and begins gently running the soft fabric over my skin. I revel in his attentiveness as he bends, and I grip his shoulders as he looks up at me.
“Your dreams don’t and won’t come second to mine. I want to be the man that stands beside you or behind you when you need me to. I can and will be there for you when it matters most to you.”
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”
“I have, a lot, and honestly don’t give a damn where I live, as long as my wife is there when I get home.”
“You would move to Texas?”
He turns sharply. “You. Are. My. Wife.”
“I know that, but—”
“No, you don’t. Nothing comes before you now, not even my career. All I have to do is make music. I lived as a rock star’s son. I don’t have to live that lifestyle to fulfill my dreams. I just have to make music. In fact, I would prefer the opposite. I don’t want to be homesick on the road. I don’t want to spend endless months apart from you. Not even weeks. Not even a fucking week. That’s what I don’t want.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes,” he says. “And I won’t be sacrificing anything to change zip codes, Natalie.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
“Okay,” he brushes his knuckles down my cheek and presses a slow kiss to my lips. “I’ll fulfill the rest of my obligation to this tour, and we’ll figure out what to do from there.” He swats my ass with a towel. “And I know you think I’m funny about money, but owning my masters and writing my own songs means that every time I sell a song or get airplay, I collect the majority of the money. Because I made it that way, and as the album did what it did, we can have more than one home.”
I wrap my hair turban-style in the towel. “That would be…incredible.”
“We could have a spot in Seattle close to my parents and build a home in Texas, close to yours. Fucking anywhere.”
“Anywhere,” I repeat.
“As long as we’re together.”
“Agreed. But I make my own salary and will be contributing. I’m no squatter.”
“Fine,” he says with a shrug, “see, not so impossible.”
“You’re making it seem easy.” I cup his shoulder as he turns to me. “Just promise me, if there’s any part of this you can’t live with, you’ll speak up.”
He lifts a brow. “Have we fucking met? You’re such a pain in the ass. I know we’ll have plenty to fight about.”
“And you’re a real Sunday picnic.”
“This is going to be epic,” he grins.