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I chuckle. "You're not joining me?"
This tub could fit both of us, even though he’s massive. Though being that close to him could be dangerous… and I’m still experiencing some delicious zings of achiness in my ass. The type of awareness that may stay with me for a while… though as memories flood my mind, I have to admit… exhaustion aside, I loved what we shared. I’ve never felt so close, so intimate with anyone like that.
"This is about you," he says. "Besides, I don't want to be naked with you in a small space. You need some rest."
I smile. "You say that now." When I was still recovering from our first anal experience, he cleaned me up, which only re-ignited my lust, and we had sex again. And now I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
"Remember when you said ten inches could finish you off? Maybe you were right."
I look up at the ceiling, trying to understand what he means. My mind is too hazy, in a mix of extreme post-sexual fatigue, satisfaction, and body aches. Though the warm water helps. I sense something else in the tub—Epsom salt? I guess the upside of dating a fuckboy is that he knows all the secrets.
"When you were wearing high heels, remember? I asked you if they were ten inches, and you said they were four, but ten inches would finish you off."
I blink a couple of times, processing his explanation. "Oh, that's right."
He touches my neck. "Relax, baby." He kneads my neck, and I close my eyes. For several minutes, he massages my shoulders and neck. I yawn. His touch has the right amount of strength while being gentle and not sexual. He's honestly making me feel better and more relaxed.
I hum again, and my muscles are a lot looser than before. "Are you the ass after-care specialist?"
He chuckles. "Am I doing a good job?"
"Yes." A thread of jealousy works its way through me. I shouldn't wonder, but it's hard not to—how many women have experienced his generous expertise? The touch of his hands before, during, or after sex?
Too many.
He has a past, I know—hell, I know more than I should.
It's not fair to bring it up. But how can I bottle up this anxiety creeping up inside me?
"What is it?" he asks, outlining the area between my brows, where I assume I just frowned. "What's worrying you?"
I open my eyes and clear my throat. Embarrassment washes over me. I bet Allegra never had this type of problem. "It's silly."
"Tell me."
I roll my eyes, mad at myself. "It's idiotic."
He tips up my chin. "Tell me."
Why does he have to be so awesome right now? He could be a dick, and I wouldn’t have to say anything. That’s what would be easier, isn’t it? A small voice inside me says. If he were a jerk. Because losing a jerk is easy… but losing a good, caring man is a different story. "You're doing great right now. And I wonder how great you were to all those other women… and how much longer you'll be great to me."
He flashes me an apologetic smile. "I can't change my past, Hazel. I can guarantee you that I’ve never cared for anyone the way I care for you—and this erases a lot of my previous experiences because those were different. What we have is new for me."
I fidget, playing with the water under the surface for a bit. I move my fingers, flexing and relaxing them. Did I hear him correctly? He cares for me. My stomach flutters. Maybe it’s time I confessed, too. "It's new for me, too. I have a small confession… I kind of hated you for about a year."
He leans closer and kisses my cheek. "I know."
I frown. "You know?" Was he better at picking up social cues than I assumed? My curiosity is piqued.
"I was as miserable as the devil,” he says dramatically.
Miserable. Devil.
Those words echo in my ears, and a memory flashes in my brain.
An entry from my diary.
Sexy as hell and miserable like the devil.
