Her fork clatters against the plate. “What’s all this?”
“What does it look like?” I flip open one of the books, scanning the table of contents like a scouting report. “Homework. I need to know what’s happening to your body so I can help you through it.”
She freezes, her eyes wide.
That look, filled with equal parts surprise and emotion, finds its mark before I can brace for it.
“What’s wrong? Did you really think I wouldn’t care or want to be involved?” I ask quietly.
Her throat works as she swallows. “Honestly? I wasn’t sure. You’ve always been content to play the field. You’re not known in the league as the Big O for nothing.”
I step closer until her knees brush my thighs. “For a time, maybe I was. But then I found someone worth settling down for. And I’ve been trying to convince her to take a chance on me ever since.”
Her gaze darts away, the walls she’s always hiding behind slipping for half a second before she deflects. “So… cooking. I didn’t realize you could do it.”
Instead of pursuing the conversation, I let her off the hook.
For now.
I shrug as a hint of a smile quirks my lips. “I’m learning. Give me a little time, and I’ll be whipping up culinary masterpieces for you to sample.”
We fall into an easy rhythm over dinner, the tension between us easing but never quite disappearing. Every brush of her hand, every laugh that slips out, winds me tighter. By the time she leans back with a contented sigh, I can’t keep my distance for another minute.
After dinner, I scoop her into my arms before she can argue.
“Oliver!” she says with a laugh, swatting my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I read that rest and relaxation are key.” I carry her into the bathroom. “So, I’m making sure you follow doctor’s orders and get plenty of it.”
I set her on the marble counter, and the gasp that slips from her lips hits me square in the chest. The sound is faint, barely there, but it lodges deep, twisting something inside me I didn’t even know was waiting to unravel.
Her fingers grip the edge of the counter, knuckles pale against the cool stone, and for a moment, all I can do is stare as uncertainty flickers behind her lashes. Heat builds beneath my skin until my pulse thunders in my veins.
I turn toward the shower and twist the handle, letting the rush of water fill the silence. Steam rises, curling in lazy, ghostlike tendrils that blur the edges of the room.
When I turn back, she’s still sitting where I left her. Her eyes have softened a fraction, the wariness dimming but not completely gone. It lingers in the way her shoulders tense and she stills, as if bracing for something she can’t name.
That quiet guardedness tugs at me. I want to ease it from her body, piece by fragile piece, and prove that she doesn’t have to fight so hard to be strong. Not when she’s with me. Every instinct I have is telling me to reach for her and strip away whatever walls she’s still hiding behind until all that’s left is trust.
I take a step closer, letting the distance shrink between us as the sound of water fills the charged silence before peeling away her clothing. Each layer falls in a hushed whisper against the tile until a pile of fabric pools at our feet. Rina is stunning under the golden glow that spills from the light fixture overhead.
Even though her hair is pinned up, a few rebellious strands escape, tumbling down to frame her flushed cheeks. They catch the light when she moves, a halo of warmth that has everything inside me tightening.
I bend close enough for my lips to brush the delicate slope of her shoulder, tasting the faint sweetness of her skin. I hover there, unwilling to rush, allowing the moment to stretch. Right now, she’s mine to memorize. Every soft sound, every tremor, every quiet surrender.
And I plan to take my time doing it.
Steam thickens around us as I strip down and step beneath the spray with her. The water hits her first, cascading over her shoulders in shimmering streams before sliding down the smooth lines of her body. Droplets cling to her skin like liquid glass, pooling in the hollow of her throat before tracing lazy paths over her curves.
I find myself unable to look away. Every shift, every small rise and fall of her body, every flicker of movement, sears itself into my soul.
I lather my hands, letting the soap work into a smooth glide, before tracing them along her sides. She feels both fragile and unbreakable, and it makes me want to handle her with the utmost care.
My hands map the curves of her body, memorizing them with lingering touches. She shivers when I cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over the tight peaks. It’s a quiet sound that echoes off the tile before arrowing straight through me. I lean in, pressing my mouth against the column of her neck.
“God,” I murmur against her ear. “You’re gorgeous.”
She tilts her head back, eyes closed, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears. Tension leaks from her muscles and every line of her body relaxes as I roll the hardened tips between my fingers.
