“It’s just a different kind of soap,” I point out. “It’s not dirty.”
He grumbles something I don’t catch, so I collect some of the foamy suds from my head and wipe them across his cheek. Lawson’s eyes come alive as he backs me into the wall, wrestling my arm down as I try to cover him in more shampoo bubbles.
“Stop it,” he gripes.
“Nah. But thanks.”
“Christ.” He grunts, grabbing my arm again when I get free. “Oak.”
I flick his forehead, snickering at his scowl. “Admit I’m right and I’ll stop.”
Lawson slips an arm around me, snagging my hair and tugging my head back. My breath whooshes out of me, my heart beating fast as he pins me to the shower wall with his bulk, nearly equal to mine. He stops as quickly as he started, no doubt feeling my cock swelling against his hip. His eyes ping from my face down to my neck, my pulse firing rapidly beneath his gaze.
“Does it feel the same for you?” he asks.
“Does what?” I respond roughly, not following, all of my attention on Lawson’s wet body crowded against my own.
He leans forward, warm lips brushing lightly against my neck. My eyes slip shut, a whisper of breath leaving me.
“This,” Lawson says in answer, brushing his lips against me again, his stubble bristling. “Does it affect you the way it affects me?”
Ah, fuck.
“Yes,” I admit, any part of Lawson touching me as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.
He hums, a pleased sound. When he slips a hand between us, reaching for my cock, I have to stop him, much as it pains me.
“Law… You can’t get me off when there’s a houseful of people a mere fifteen feet below us enjoying their dinner.”
“No?”
My groan is half laugh. “No.”
He hums again, his touch feathering away. “You kinda taste like shampoo.”
After a beat, I boom a laugh.
My heart rate settles as we finish rinsing off, Lawson stepping out of the shower ahead of me. It gives my body some much-needed time to cool down.
Once we’re dressed, me once again in his clothes, he raises an eyebrow. “Dinner?”
I huff. “Why not?”
With my hair as dry as it’ll get, we head downstairs. The dining room is still packed, although the food is dwindling this late in the dinner hour. A couple of the ranchers are heading out, and no one pays us much mind as we join the fray. Mealtimes are always a bit hectic.
Ash seems to be the only one who catches our arrival, his eyes bouncing quickly from me and my damp hair to Lawson’s equally damp locks. His smile flickers, eyes going wide. Lawson doesn’t notice, sitting down and tugging me into a chair next to him. He spoons a heaping portion of pasta onto my plate before reaching for a platter of breadsticks.
“Evening, Oakley,” Marigold says from down the table, her voice light. “Lawson dear.”
Lawson tosses his mother a nod, preoccupied with filling our plates.
“Evening,” I tell her, smiling as casually as I can.
She looks amused, and I glance Lawson’s way again. I don’t think he even realizes how obvious we are.
Or maybe he doesn’t care?
Hope blooms in my chest, and I take a bite of the breadstick he passed me, the top covered in garlic, parsley, and parmesan.
