“What time do you need to be back?” he asks, his voice rough, like gravel.
His hand skims up the side of my body, resting in the dip of my waist.
“I—I don’t know.”
I never did end up rebooking my flight, but it’ll take us about five hours to get back to Aberdeen and some time to return the car, and then I’ll need to collect the stuff I left back at my hotel. It would probably make more sense to fly out tomorrow.
“Hmm.” Jacob’s hum vibrates through me, against my skin. He leans over, his lips brushing mine lightly. My eyes slide shut as I enjoy the prickle of his morning stubble against my cheek, but he pulls back quickly.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. He swings his feet off the bed and walks into the bathroom. “Maggie texted,” he calls from inside. I hear the water turn on. “They want to say bye to us before we leave.”
“Okay.” I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “I didn’t ask, but do you need to get back in time for anything?”
“No,” he says. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I grab a hair tie, twisting my hair into a bun. The back of my neck feels dewy, damp, heated from last night’s exertion. “I’ll just need to shower when you’re done.”
There’s a long, stretched moment of silence.
And then Jacob’s standing in the entrance to the bathroom, one hand on the doorframe. “Or you could join me?”
He’s not wearing anything. Without a towel wrapped around his waist, he’s all warm skin and muscled thighs, and I’m walking toward him before I even know it. His hand grabs mine, leading me into the shower. The water pelts my back, the pressure a touch higher than comfortable, but it feels nice, easing some of the aches, the places where I’m now sore.
Jacob reaches for the soap, working it into a lather, and I’m greedy, watching him spread it along his chest, his arms. He passes it to me, and I’m barely breathing as his eyes scan over me, his face etched with want, but something softer too.
Something I’m afraid to name.
I turn away, picking up the shampoo, and I feel him behind me, closer, his leg slotting between mine.
“Can I do it?” he asks.
“What?”
“The shampoo? Can I—”
I twist over my shoulder. “You want to wash my hair?”
His throat bobs. “Yes. Please.”
I give him the bottle, and with one hand on my waist he turns me back around to face him.
“Why?” I ask, but then his fingers slide against my scalp and I almost moan. No one’s ever done this for me before. My head is cradled in his palms, and he’s massaging it in small circular motions that make me want to melt.
“Because I want to,” he says, the words plain. Simple. His thumbs move to the top of my head, pushing back my wet bangs.
“They’re new,” I say, and his eyes catch mine, his lashes long and spiky, water beading and dripping off his chin. “The bangs, I mean.”
The corner of his mouth rises. “I like them,” he says, and then he turns me again, my back nestled against his front, maneuveringthe two of us to stand at the perfect angle so he can rinse the suds out of my hair.
When he’s done, he keeps me against him, and my head falls back on his shoulder.
His lips skim my jaw, and after a moment, I break from him, taking the soap in my hands.
He releases a breath, a soft sound of protest, but he stills when I run the lather down his back. I press my thumbs into his shoulders, hard, and his head falls forward as he lets out a grunt, a deep sound of satisfaction. One I’m now familiar with, but have only heard when we’re both in bed.
“Good?” I ask.
And he nods, letting me continue, my hands trailing down the rest of his body, washing him, and it’s only later, when we step out, when Jacob wraps me in a towel, giving me another to wrap around my hair, that I realize it.
