Mylegs are trembling so hard I have to grab onto his shoulders.
He laughs and tightens his hold on me, one arm is wrapped behind my back, the other has a handful of my ass. He pulls back from the wall and carries me directly under the spray of the water.
"Hey!" I protest, but it's a weak, breathy sound.
"I still need a shower, and you need a rewash after..." He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
I lose my breath again. After he came all over me.
How the hell can I still be so damn horny?
"You are insufferable," I say, but my voice is breathy.
He laughs, the sound a husky rumble against my ear. "But you love me."
God, I do. I love this arrogant, charming, dangerous, ridiculously handsome man. I love him so much it hurts.
"I do," I whisper. "Which is why I'm going to kill you if you drop me."
"Never," he vows.
Chapter Thirty Five
Antonio
I tug my shirt over my head and reach for the clean one folded on the dresser, still half-damp from the shower steam and the fact that my head is full of her.
Behind me, Elsa sits at her vanity with a towel wrapped around her, hair twisted up, skin flushed from the heat, shoulders bare. She’s doing creams and serums like it’s a completely normal day.
As if we didn’t just lose our minds in the shower and say things we’ve never said to other people before.
Elsa loves me.
A smile moves over my face. It’s the most precious gift I’ve ever been given, her love.
I dress slowly because I can’t seem to make my hands move faster when she’s in my line of sight.
She dots something under her eyes, taps it in with the pad of her finger. Then she reaches for a big tub of moisturizer,scoops up a generous amount, and lets the towel pool in her lap.
My mind empties of all thought.
God.
I love how comfortable she is like this. How she just exists in her own skin without flinching. Without the reflex to cover up, to shrink down, to apologize for taking up space.
I clear my throat like that will fix what’s happening in my body.
“You know,” I say, voice rough, “most women are… modest after sex.”
She glances at me in the mirror, brows lifting slightly as she starts working the moisturizer over her shoulder.
“Mm?”
“Shy,” I clarify. “Eager to cover up. As if I haven’t already seen everything.” I take a step closer, stopping behind her chair, not touching. Just watching. “I like that you don’t do that.”
Her mouth curves, faintly amused, and she keeps rubbing the cream into her skin with slow, thorough strokes that make my mouth water. I track her hand with my eyes, imagining my lips following the same path down her arm, and then over to her other arm.
She doesn’t stop her routine. She just answers like it’s obvious.
