Page 96 of Long Story Short

I shift slightly in his lap, not pulling away, just getting more comfortable. I slide my hands from his chest and up to his shoulders before cupping his cheeks in my hands.

“Thank you,” I mutter, my thumbs swiping over his cheekbones.

He gives me a hesitant smile as he leans into my touch. There’s something so vulnerable about the way he looks at me right now—like he’s let down every single one of his walls for me. “For what?”

“Everything,” I immediately respond. “For that, for being you. Just…for everything.”

He presses his lips to mine softly, and there’s something about this kiss that blows all the other ones out of the water. It’s the tenderness of it in the aftermath of what happened between us. He doesn’t rush it or forgo kissing me at all. He presses his mouth against mine like even after everything we just did, he still can’t get enough of me.

And that pulls at my heart—makes me feel things I’m terrified of feeling.

“Anything for you,” Tyson mutters as he pulls away just enough to get the words out before he kisses me again.

The kiss is slow. Intentional.

He continues to take his time, all while sliding us off the bed, carrying me to his bathroom, and turning on the shower. Even as we step into the hot stream, his mouth is on mine, like he needs the air from my lips instead of his.

I don’t know how long the kiss continues in the shower before he eventually pulls away.

“Can I help get you cleaned up?” he asks, his voice hoarse. Something about the raspiness makes me blush, remembering how much he spoke to me while inside me. He didn’t hold back, letting me know how good it felt for him, and even though he just gave me two orgasms, my body heats at the memory.

I nod, my heart doing that squeezing thing again. I’m just not used to this side of sex—the aftercare. It almost feels more intimate than the sex itself.

Tyson gently grabs me by the elbow and pulls me underneath the warm water.

“Is the temperature okay?” he asks, and I nod.

It feels perfect. The hot water hits my skin, easing the lingering tension in my muscles.

I watch closely as he lifts a bottle of soap from the shelf in the shower. His eyes stay trained on me as he squirts the liquid into his palm before setting the bottle back down. He rubs his hands together, creating a soapy lather as I stand underneath the water, my gaze pinned on him.

Tyson takes a step closer to me, our bodies almost touching as he begins to lather the soap against my skin. He takes his time, running it over my shoulders, my arms, over my stomach. His movements are unhurried as he grabs a washcloth from the corner of the shower. He holds it underneath the stream before bringing it back to me, running it over where his hands just were. His blue eyes flick to mine for a moment—almost like he’s checking in—before he continues to gently wash me.

Down my abdomen, until he moves it between my thighs.

He takes his time fully cleaning my body. Every now and then, he leans in to kiss me. Just when I think he might be done, he reaches for a bottle of shampoo and works it into my hair.

My eyelids flutter shut as he massages the shampoo into my strands. His fingertips are firm against my scalp. It feels so good that I let out a small moan.

He takes his time rinsing the shampoo from my hair before pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I don’t have any conditioner,” he admits, trailing his lips against my skin. “But I’ll make sure to get some here for next time.”

I smile as he wraps his arms around my middle and pulls me to him. My back is to his front. I don’t miss how, despite the orgasm he had minutes ago, he’s hard all over again. “Next time?”

He moves my hair from my neck and kisses the spot below my ear. “Yes, next time. It’s past me just wanting to give you inspiration. I’ll never get enough of you, Josie. We can do this at your place or mine, just as long as whatever this is”—he nips at my ear softly—“doesn’t stop.”

His words settle over me, feeling both heavy and light at the same time. Both scary and a relief.

For a moment, I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m still mulling over his words, wondering how so much has seemed to change in such little time. I stand there in his arms as I try to gather my thoughts. I love that he gives me time to do so. He doesn't rush me at all. I lean into him with the water cascading over us and his chest pressed firmly to my back, wanting him to know that even if I can’t find the right words, I’m feeling the same as he is.

Because it’s true.

I’ve felt it.

That shift.

The one that’s gone from enjoying spending time with him and wanting to have fun with him for writing purposes to something that feels like more.

I put my hands over his as a way to have as much connection with him as possible.