I take a step back, and Dax turns the knobs again. Water burbles out with a little less intensity than before, and he takes a few seconds to adjust the taps. “There,” he says, running a hand under the water. “That should do it.”
He holds out his slippery hand, and I take it, letting him pull me under the spray with him. Warm water sluices down my body, and I sigh as he glides his hands down my arms and back up again, palms fitting perfectly over the curves of my shoulders.
“That feels good,” I murmur.
I’m not sure if I’m talking about the water or his touch. Steam billows around us, and I glance down at my pink-tipped toes looking small and fragile with Dax’s feet on either side of them. I tip my face up again and let the warm droplets patter across my forehead.
Dax smiles and brushes a damp hank of hair off my forehead. “You okay with sharing the shower, or would you rather take turns?”
Something about experiencing this with Dax seems right. It’s not just The Test, either. It’s a closeness that has nothing to do with my experiment and everything to do with being utterly overwhelmed by what just happened between us.
“I’m not used to sharing,” I admit. “But I want to with you.”
God, that sounded cheesy. But Dax doesn’t laugh.
“Turn around,” he says.
I must look startled, because he smiles and shakes his head. “Not for that,” he says. “Turn around, and I’ll wash your hair for you.”
“What?”
He grins and grabs a green bottle from the rack hanging around the showerhead. “That’s assuming you can handle generic Dollar Store shampoo touching your perfect hair.”
There’s a challenge in his voice, but also something soothing, warm and gentle like bathwater. I pivot on the slippery shower floor, conscious of Dax moving behind me. There’s a click of the bottle top opening, followed by a billow of cedar-scented steam filling the small space.
“That’s it,” he murmurs as his hands close over my scalp. His fingertips start to move, massaging soft, languid circles along my skull. He lifts my hair off my shoulders and works his way down, massive fingertips kneading the spot where my head meets the top of my neck. I groan as his thumbs work that spot for several heavenly moments, loosening something inside me.
My shoulders go limp with bliss.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “That’s the spot.”
God, it’s like a massage and a hair appointment all in one, with the bonus of a hot, naked tattooed guy in charge of it all. I didn’t know that was a thing.
I close my eyes as he works his way down, gentle as he lathers the shampoo into a fragrant cloud around my head. He takes his time, careful to swipe the suds from my brow. He’s murmuring something low and soothing, but I can’t make out the words. It could be a lullaby or a recitation from a welding manual for all I know. Whatever it is, it sounds as good as this feels.
I lean back against his chest, letting Dax tip me back to rinse the froth from my hair. The shower nozzle must be handheld, because he’s guiding the spray along the back of my head. My eyes stay closed, but his fingertips feel like a dream threading through my hair, kneading my scalp until I’m on the brink of purring like a housecat.
“That feels delicious,” I murmur.
“That’s the idea.”
I sigh and let him keep massaging. The suds are probably long gone, but he hasn’t stopped touching me. Hasn’t stopped threading his fingers through my hair, skimming his palm over my shoulder to brush away bubbles.
What is it about this that’s so much more intimate than what we were doing fifteen minutes ago?
Bent over the bathroom counter, I was sure I’d reached maximum pleasure. I thought that was the best I could possibly feel.
I was wrong. So damn wrong about everything.
Why can’t I stop smiling?
Chapter 10
Dax
“Okay, we’re coming up on another corner,” I shout. “Hold on tight!”
There’s a hoot of delight from behind me, and I glance across the parking lot to see Lisa standing on the curb, beaming in a yellow sundress. At her request, I’ve offered to fulfill her sister-in-law’s lifelong dream of riding a motorcycle.
