Page 64 of When The Mountains Held Us

She beckons me forward with a lazy wave, her eyes still closed, and I watch in real time as the weight of the day drains from her. Her shoulders relax, dropping down from where she held them taut against her ears. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths, each inhale tempting me with a peek of the swell of her breasts.

I drop to my knees beside the tub, content to sit and watch as she unwinds from the day. Her eyes flutter open, and she rolls her head to the side, studying me with those eyes that look more gray than blue, darkened by something heavier than the dim light of the bathroom.

“I’m on my knees here, darlin’. Have you figured it out yet?”

She hums in contented agreement. It’s like she knows how attuned I am to her already, and a small kernel of pride swells within me.

She has to know how gone I am for her. My hands twitch at my sides, yearning to reach out and touch her, but I don’t. Not yet.

She suddenly sits up, suds sloshing over the side of the tub and dripping onto the heated tile floor. The swell of her breasts sits just above the surface of the water, and it takes all of my restraint and then some to keep my eyes on her face.

A smirk tugs at her lips, and that playful look alone pulls the invisible string connecting us taut. She tilts her head back, her eyes closing as she wets her hair. Her back arches as she exposes her breasts completely to me. My cock is painfully hard, and I quickly adjust myself before she can catch me.

If I wasn’t already on my knees, the sight of her like this would have brought me to the ground in a heartbeat.

When her hair is soaked through, she sits back up and looks at me, a question in her eyes. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and I’d give anything to crawl inside her mind right now.

“Shampoo?” I ask, needing to busy my hands with something else before I reach out and take what I know we both want. Grabbing the bottle from the corner of the shower, I squirt a generous amount in my hands before kneeling behind her. “May I?”

There’s a tentative pause before a shy nod. Placing my hands on the back of her head, I pause again, hoping and praying she doesn’t change her mind and push me away. She tenses for a brief moment before relaxing, and I start to massage her scalp with deft fingers, lathering the shampoo and leaving nothing untouched. A small moan escapes her at the feel of my hands, and I marvel at the silky texture of her hair. The way it slips and slides through my fingertips makes me want to wrap it around my fist and tug.

When I finish, she slides forward and tilts her head back again. I rinse the suds out, focused on the task at hand, and try like hell to keep my eyes from wandering to her exposed breasts. The feel of her hair is hypnotizing, and I find myself running my fingers through it like a pianist caressing the keys of his instrument, long after the shampoo is rinsed out.

It’s only when I notice her watching me that my hands freeze, still tangled in her hair. We watch each other, quietly observing the pieces of each other we haven’t allowed ourselves the time to notice until now.

I allow my eyes to travel down her face to her chest, finally taking in the full sight of her, nipples peaked against the chill air. I tamp down the urge to lean forward and capture one of them in my mouth and caress it with my tongue.

She’s watching me with a rapt fascination, her breaths coming out faster now, her legs sliding together and stirring the water around her.

She’s turned on. She wants this as badly as I do, and I can’t take the anticipation anymore.

I bring my hand around to the front of her throat and hold it there, not squeezing, just enjoying the feel of her smooth skin and the possessive nature of my touch. She swallows, her lips parting slightly, her eyes darkening to a storm-cloud gray.

I need to stop this now before things go too far and I scare her back into that shell she only recently emerged from.

We’re both too raw right now, too amped up from the events of tonight and from the bated tension that’s been rippling between us all these weeks.

With her eyes still on me, I lean in and press my lips gently to her forehead, loving the smoothness of her skin beneath them and wondering if the rest of her skin feels just as smooth. I bet it does. It takes everything in me to pull away, stand, and back away to the door of the bathroom.

Her eyes follow me, a silent question sitting in the slight arch of one brow, those piercing irises staring straight into my soul. Is that a look of disappointment in her features?

Does she know how much that small act of leaving her side is killing me? I’m sure it’s written all over my face, but hopefully she can see past my desire long enough to notice the restraint I’m using and the reason behind it.

I don’t want to rush her into anything she might not be ready for. This isn’t a conversation we’ve had yet, and I don’t want to push her too far too fast and potentially ruin this thing between us before it even starts.

When she first came to town, she was a shriveled-up mess of a girl, tiptoeing around everyone like she owed us her servitude. That stops tonight. She deserves to be here. She deserves to be with a man who allows her the space to be her authentic self without judgment or fear of repercussion. I don’t care if I have to shout it from the top of the highest mountain until she finally accepts it. I’ll scream until my voice turns raw and hoarse, and then I’ll scream it some more.

She deserves way more than a fleeting moment of mutual satisfaction fueled by the intensity of the emotions running between us tonight. She deserves to feel safe, to have her body worshiped in slow, languid touches and frenzied kisses.

But tonight is not that night. It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like her to walk in. I can wait a little longer.

“There’s a towel in the warmer.” I motion to the small towel warmer in the corner of the bathroom. “I’ll give you some privacy.” I know that if I don’t leave now, there is no chance in hell I’ll make it out of here without touching her. Without another word, I spin on my heel and head into my bedroom.

The gentle sloshing of water sounds from the bathroom, and I bite back a groan at the mental image of Oakley emerging from the suds, glistening and dripping. Padding back to the doorway, I keep my gaze on the floor as I rap my knuckles against the doorframe.

“Come in.”

Her angelic voice rolls over my skin, and I will my cock to stand down as it jumps in response. I stand awkwardly in front of her, rubbing a palm across the back of my neck and trying not to stare at the sight of her wrapped in one of my huge towels.