He looks down at me. “Ditto.” He reaches to the back wall, where there’s a nook in the beige tiling, and picks up a bottle.
“Is this where you show me your 3-in-1 shampoo and body wash from Target?” I ask with amusement. The shampoo bottle is covered in gold leaf and actually looks more expensive than my entire skincare routine.
“May I wash your hair?” His eyes are dark and urgent as he pours the shampoo into his palm.
“You may,” I say, flicking my hair at him. “But she’s an unruly bitch and doesn’t do as she’s told.”
“Reminds me of someone else I know,” he says smoothly, and then massages his strong fingers into my scalp, and my body gives up the battle.
What follows is one of the most intimate and sensual experiences of my life.
Whenever I’ve heard people talk about showering together as ‘romantic’, I’ve recoiled at the thought. Sharing a shower with another person sounds like more hassle than it’s worth, not to mention how cold you would get waiting for them to be done under the spray.
With Gray, that’s not the case at all.
I’ve never been in a shower with a boyfriend, or anyone before, but Gray makes it wonderful.
His fingers push through my hair, all the way down the full length of it, like he’s worshiping me. The shampoo is sweet-smelling and soft, like silk, and he lathers it through my hair reverently.
The head massage he gives me almost brings me to orgasm again, and he seems to find my enthusiasm both amusing and puzzling. By the end, he’s lathered up my whole body, rinsed me off, and gone totally silent.
He gives himself a perfunctory yet thorough wash, then shuts off the water.
Stepping out of the shower, he holds up a hand to me to stop me from following him. Leaning around the corner, he pulls a long robe from a shelf. It’s the fluffiest thing I’ve ever seen, and he hands it to me, waiting for me to put it on.
“I might need a towel for my hair, too, or I’ll drip all over your floors,” I say as I tug it over my shoulders. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever had against my skin, but then I go still, glancing at him nervously. “That is, if you want me to stick around. I can leave as soon as?—”
“You’re staying the night.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“It’s late. You don’t have to sleep with me. But I dragged you all the way out here. Get some rest. You obviously need it, and I have plenty of beds to choose from. You can be like Goldilocks and try them all out.”
I’m so astounded by the offer that I can’t speak as he pulls out his own robe and another towel and nods his head toward the living room as he walks out.
I tie my own robe around my waist, pushing my hands into the deep pockets, and sigh.
It would be dangerous to get used to this kind of life.
I follow him out, drying my feet quickly on the end of the robe so I don’t track footsteps all over his floors. When I emerge, he’s standing in the living room with the towel, and I reach for it, ready to wrap it around my head.
“Let me dry it,” he says, the same intensity in his gaze, and I can’t help laughing.
“You sure have a thing for my hair.”
“What color is it naturally?” he asks. “I like it red, but I’m just curious.”
“Kind of the same, but more brown,” I reply. “It used to be bright purple, if you can believe that.”
“I can. Do you change your lipstick to match it, too?”
“Hah! Every time.”
He ruffles the towel through my hair, doing a more thorough job than I ever manage myself. Usually, when I take the time to wash it, my hair goes fluffy as hell and starts curling, but the high-quality shampoo has made the curls a lot more defined.
He scrunches it up with the towel and runs his fingers through it one last time before he arranges it down my back.
“Leave it down. Please. I like looking at it.”
