Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
ASPEN
In the shower, Emmett takes charge, spinning me away from him and reaching for the body wash.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you up,” he says simply.
“What, are you going to wash my hair for me too?” I’m teasing, of course, but my heart still trips over itself at the idea.
He lowers his mouth to my shoulder, nipping the curve of my neck. “Just try to stop me.”
Rough hands glide over my wet skin. The slow and tortuous movements are painfully intimate and only make me want him again. Every inch he covers works me back up in the tenderest ways and when his knuckles graze the side of my breast, I whimper.
Somehow he manages to sound innocent when he asks, “What’s wrong, Angel?”
Only his dick bobbing and bumping me from behind gives away his intentions.
“Nothing,” I lie.
As much as I want him, these moments light me up in a different way, making the heart in my chest feel like it’s glowing just for him.
After he gets me cleaner than I think I’ve ever been, his hands move to my hair, strong fingers massaging shampoo into my scalp.
The noise I make is absolutely indecent.
“You know when people joke that if they won the lottery they wouldn’t tell anyone but there would be signs.”
“Sure.” He chuckles. “I think I’ve heard that before.”
“This is what I would blow my winnings on.”
“A naked man in your shower?” he deadpans.
“No, someone to wash my hair for me.” His fingers massage my scalp, and I practically melt under the pressure. “This is my heaven.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it.” His lips press to my temple, and he turns me under the spray to rinse the suds out. “We’ll have to make it a regular thing.”
I laugh, and my hands fly to my mouth, but it comes out loud.
Emmett scowls, but his eyes give him away. It’s not the same scowl he wore so frequently in the hospital. There’s a warmth in his eyes, and he looks less . . . hopeless. Now that I’ve seen it, I like him smiling best, but I can’t deny, he’s just as devastating grumpy.
“Sorry. That sounded so ungrateful. I’d like that—really.”
His scowl deepens, and he steps closer. “But?” he asks.
“It’s just that no one has ever washed my hair—outside of a salon. It just feels a little too good to become a real thing. ”
“So, I’m your first?”
“Out of all of that, that’s your takeaway?”
He nods, his scowl slipping into a grin.
Then Emmett makes good on his promise.
The shower turns hazy with steam and laughter and the kind of pleasure that leaves me boneless against him. Every time I insist I can’t possibly take any more, he proves me wrong with endless patience and devastating focus.
“There’s nothing you can’t do, Angel,” he whispers against my mouth, and I believe him.