I kicked off my shoes near the door. “I liked the way we decorated it when I first moved in. Why change a good thing?”
And I also didn’t have the time to spend on doing anything to the place. It was small, functional, and, thanks to Grayson’s insistence when I first moved in, cozy.
The apartment had been part of my payment when I first started working at the bakery. And when I eventually purchased the bakery, I was finally able to call myself both a homeowner and a business owner. I also changed the name to Sweet Dreams and put my own stamp on the café when I remodeled.
I walked the three steps it took to get to the kitchen. “You want anything to drink?”
He followed me, crowding me against the bench. “Let’s talk about this payment you owe me.”
My body tingled at the rumble in his voice, and my hands went around his neck. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to have that hanging over my head.”
He leaned down and placed a kiss on my exposed collarbone. My head fell back, and the movement thrust my chest out. Knowing a golden opportunity when it presented itself, Grayson pushed my long-sleeve shirt up, so it bunched around the top of my breasts.
He then pulled my bra cups down, his mouth descending as soon as the way was clear. My hands went into his hair, and I held him close. His mouth wandered, making its way up to my neck.
When he brushed my hair back, he chuckled, ripping me out of my fog. “I think we need to shower first.” He held up his hands that were now sticky from the batter still clinging to my strands.
I tilted forward, resting my forehead on his chest. His arm came around me as soon as I made contact. “Argh, sorry, that’s not the seduction I had planned.”
Batter wasn’t exactly the vibe I’d been going for.
“You’re in luck, then, because being in the same room is enough for me to want you. And a little batter won’t throw me off.”
If we wanted to make it to the shower, we’d have to go now, because when he said things like that, I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself.
We stumbled into the small bathroom, pulling off clothes with fumbling hands along the way. There was no way to close the door while we were both standing inside, but it didn’t matter. I’d long ago stopped trying to close the door, tiring of having to stand on the toilet for privacy that I didn’t need.
I lived alone, and only Willa and Grayson knew the code to the key lock. And Willa had seen me in worse positions than on the toilet. As for Grayson, I never thought he would ever set foot in Humptulips again.
The shower was temperamental, and I turned it on with a silent prayer that it was having a good day.
Grayson’s body encased mine, his hands roaming my front. I smacked the pipes a few times, causing a loud groan to reverberate through the wall.
“Is that normal?” he panted, the noise enough to put a stop to his explorations.
“If I get a groan, it’s a good sign. If there’s silence, my shower is pouting, and we can kiss any hope of warm water good-bye.”
The lukewarm instead of ice-cold water I encountered was a relief and meant there was a good chance we’d be having a warm shower today. “It’s only lukewarm, but some days that’s the best it’ll get.”
Grayson didn’t seem to mind, following me into the small cubicle without hesitation. We were plastered to each other, the only way to fit inside.
He helped me get my hair wet, brushing his hands through my sticky strands, banging his elbow against the wall a few times. “Where’s your shampoo?”
I grabbed it off the small shelf above the sink and handed it to him.
Is he going to wash my hair?
When he squirted a blob of my biggest indulgence—expensive shampoo that made my hair soft and smell great—into his hand, I tilted my head back. I loved it when someone else washed my hair.
When it was my turn, I took my time, making sure every inch of Grayson’s body was clean. I ran my soapy hands up his sides, then down his back and over his firm buttocks and lower.
He braced against the wall behind me, the tendons in his arms standing out from how tightly coiled his body was. I reveled in the way his body responded under my touch and took my time.
At least I did until he caught my hand with a growl and turned the water off. “No more teasing,” his pained voice commanded.
He grabbed the towel hanging off the back of the door and dried first me, then himself. His movements were jerky, and we were still wet once he wadded up the towel.
I reached for it, but he threw it on the ground, and I had to fight the urge to pick it up. The floor was swimming in water, and the towel would be soaked.
