“Okay,” I whisper against his mouth, “but if you start washing my hair, I might never leave.”
The water is hot enough to fog the mirrors and scald the day off my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat crawling up my body where Dario’s leg brushes mine under the surface.
We start out at opposite ends of the tub, trying to act like civilized adults. He’s got his elbows on the porcelain, pretending to be comfortable. I’m busy pretending not to stare at the way the candlelight slicks across his chest. We talk. Or we try. The words run out fast.
Eventually, my foot finds his calf. Accidentally.
He shoots me a look, hungry, warning, a little lost. My pulse thuds. I do it again.
That’s all it takes. He grabs my ankle, thumb dragging lazy circles, and suddenly I am migrating, awkward, grinning, across the tub. Knees sliding around his hips, thighs on either side, water sloshing everywhere, and now I’m in his lap, exactly where I’ve wanted to be since the fucking dawn of time.
My hands on his chest. His hands on my waist, squeezing.
“Stevie,” he rasps, voice cracked open.
I lean in, kiss his jaw, his throat. “I know. I know. Me too.”
I want to fuck him here. In this stupid, glorious spa tub, with steam on my skin and his cock hard against me. I want to lose myself and make him forget his own name.
But he doesn’t move. Not the way I want. He just holds me, eyes heavy, control slipping but not breaking.
“Dario.” My voice is all need, all ache.
He shakes his head, lips barely brushing mine. “Not yet.”
I rear back, confused. “What?”
He kisses me, forehead, cheek, corner of my mouth, everywhere but where I want him. “I want you. God, Stevie, I want you so bad. But not like this.”
“Why the hell not?” I snap, frustrated, rolling my hips just to watch him break.
He groans, hands on my face, holding me together when I want to fall apart. “Because I’ve screwed up everything with you. Letters instead of words. Space instead of skin. The first time… Jesus, we were half-dressed and half-mad, I barely remembered to breathe. I’m not fucking this up too. You deserve more than a quick fuck in a hotel tub because I lost my mind.”
“It’s not rushing if we both want it,” I bite out, but even I can hear the tremble in my voice.
“It’s not about what we want. It’s about what this is.” He traces my bottom lip with his thumb, all slow, all reverence. “You deserve to be worshipped. I want to savor you, not devour you in a bath because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”
My breath stutters. I want to crack a joke but my heart’s too full. “That’s, fuck, that’s so romantic I might punch you.”
He grins, savage. “I’m a romantic criminal.”
I grind down once, just to feel him twitch. “You better make good on that tomorrow.”
He grabs my hips, rocks me against him, once, twice, enough to make me gasp and see stars. “Tomorrow I’m going to take my time. I’m going to learn every inch of you. I want your body wrecked, your mind blank, and my name the only thing you remember.”
I laugh, hoarse and hungry. “That’s a big promise for a man currently blue-balled in a bathtub.”
He kisses me, slow, deep, a claiming, like he can taste forever in my mouth. “It’s not a promise. It’s gospel.”
“Yeah?” I nuzzle into his neck, teeth grazing his pulse. “Guess I’ll just have to test your faith.”
We stay there until the water chills and our skin prunes. He wraps me in a robe and scoops me up, bridal-style, to the bed.
He holds me close, my face smashed against his chest, his heartbeat jackhammering under my ear.
I fall asleep tangled in him, every muscle melted, still wanting more, knowing tomorrow he’s going to make good.
Chapter Thirty-Five
