“You always know what I want, don’t you, baby?” He breathes, and it drives me crazy.
I move faster against him, crying out as I press my cheek against the backs of my hands, helpless to stop the water splashing out of the tub from all around us. He’s giving me every bit of him, and yet I’m still desperate for more.
“Touch me,” I beg. “Please.”
His hand moves with an agonizing slowness until it’s between my legs, his fingers resting just above my clit, where he knows I want them.
“Say it again.”
“Please, Colt.” My voice is desperate, strained.
I swear I can feel him smile, even without seeing his face; it’s in the way his body feels against mine. His fingers make contact, moving with the perfect rhythm and my back arches as I cry out. I can barely make out the sound of him chuckling and his chest vibrates against my back.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
The only thought that plays through my mind as I ride the wave of my orgasm right alongside Colt. Through his finishing thrusts and the handful of kisses his pecks along my cheek as he comes down.
It surprises me how easily we transition from messy, splashing sex to sitting across from each other in a tub of freshly-topped-off water, my foot idly tracing up and down his thigh.
If I could bottle and sell the way he’s looking at me, I might be even richer than he is. There’s a tenderness in his eyes, but it’s accompanied by a wanting that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on someone’s face before when they looked at me. I’m not the girl that gets wanted. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m the only other person on the planet. Or atleast the only person for him, and that’s really all I need to be.
“What are your dreams?” I ask him.
“What kind of dreams?”
“I mean, you have the money. You have the big fancy career. You have the cars and the big house with all the art – but for yourlife, what do you dream of for yourself?”
He looks genuinely surprised that I asked him. Maybe it’s not something he’s ever wondered before, or he’s just never been asked.
“I think,” he says, “I’d just like to be happy. See my son happy. Live like a normal person.”
“Are you happy?” I probe.
“In this moment, very.” I smile at that. He tilts his head, questioning. “And what are your dreams, Rowan?”
“I want to really live. Nothing crazy, like skydiving or anything like that, no bucket list kind of stuff,” I tell him, waving my hands. “Just, not with the fear of what my body can and can’t do. Or how it will fail me next. I mean, when we landed here, my first thought was ‘shit, I hope they take my insurance.’ I want to get married, be a mom, enjoy all those little moments.”
His hand rests on top of my foot, giving it a light squeeze. “You deserve that life, Rowan. You deserve reliable health and happiness.”
Heart hammering in my chest, I ask, “Did you ever think about it? Having more kids after Emmett, I mean?”
“I did, for a while,” he answers. “I even thought about trying to adopt one. But the business was taking off and I wouldn’t be around as much as I thought I should.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m forty,” he laughs.
“I’ve heard of eighty-year-old men knocking people up,” I tease. “I think you could manage.”
Laughing and shaking his head, he tells me, “Come here.”
I do as instructed, and he gently turns me until my back is facing him.
Warm water rushes over my head, soaking through my hair, and a second later I feel Colt’s strong hands massaging my scalp. I close my eyes and let myself melt into his touch, letting him work shampoo into my hair.
I let out a contented sigh as he rinses the suds from my hair and works the conditioner in, starting at the ends of my hair and working his way up. I try not to focus on the fact that he probably learned that from another woman at some point in time – according the photos around his house, his hair has never been long enough to need the information for himself.
“God, sex and a scalp massage, what did I do to deserve this?” I joke.
