27. Lily Calloway
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LILY CALLOWAY
Sleep hates addicts. At least that’s my theory on the matter. While everyone else is well rested and off to explore Mexico, Lo and I have to drag ourselves out of bed.
My frozen muscles barely even stir when a burst of water douses me in the lukewarm shower. I raise my half-asleep arms to scrub the shampoo in my hair, and I find myself leaning a hip against the coldness of the tiled wall for extra support.
Being late sleepers means having the room all to ourselves. We haven’t had sex (and aren’t planning to) but the privacy is nice for a little while.
As I rinse the shampoo, the bathroom door creaks open. Even though I know Lo is the only one still at the hotel, I cling to the tiled wall, wondering if the fog will magically hide my naked body.
I spot Lo through the shower glass door, not enough mist to conceal me. And if I can see him, surely he can see me. I even catch a glimpse of his sharp cheekbones and devilish smile, his eyes flitting up to mine for a brief moment. Then he turns to the sink.
My mind switches into imagination mode. Thinking about all the ways he can do me.
“Morning, love,” he says, watching me through the mirror. He combs two hands through his disheveled brown hair.
That’s so not helping.
“You could have knocked,” I tell him as he pulls off his T-shirt. His muscles ripple down his chest, and he even has those defined ridges that lead towards his cock. “Or, you know, announced your entrance like they do on Downton Abbey .”
He steps out of his drawstring pants, now completely naked. He walks towards the glass shower door and stops. And then he knocks on it.
I have petrified by the tiled wall.
“It’s Loren Hale,” he says, a smile spreading across his lips. “May I come in?”
“We can’t…” I hesitate. No. I do not want to finish that sentence.
“We can’t shower together?” he says in disbelief. “Says who?” No one. Definitely not me.
“You may enter, but I have to warn you the water is being stubborn. There are moments where it’d rather be cold despite my demands.”
He opens the glass door. Don’t look, Lily. My eyes plummet against command, and once I’m staring, I can’t stop. Sensitive-filled places pulse as I imagine him inside of me. His fingers press against my chin, lifting my gaze.
“If I have to, I’ll take a shower with my bathing suit on,” he tells me.
I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay. I won’t look.” But even as I say the words, I impulsively glance down. Shit. The magnetic force pulls and my eyes betray me for a split second. I look back up, and I throw my hands in the air. “That’s the last time! I swear!”
His lips rise in amusement before he sidesteps to grab the washcloth and soap off the ledge. I now have a perfect view of his butt.
“Same goes for my ass,” he says with a small laugh, his back still turned to me. The lightness and humor in his voice relaxes my shoulders.
“I like your ass,” I tell him as he rotates to face me, a washcloth in hand .
“I know you do,” he murmurs. He laces his fingers with mine and draws me to his body. My thigh brushes his cock, and a breath catches in my throat. “You’re okay, Lil,” he whispers. That’s not what it feels like.
He runs the cloth along my arms and in between my fingers, soaping my skin. I am hypnotized by the slow, lingering movements. And then the cloth dips to my belly and rises to my breasts, circling each one with meticulous care. I stagger forward a little and grip onto his arm.
“Easy,” he breathes. “Think of this as a test.”
“Showering with you?” My eyes widen.
“Showering with me,” he confirms with a nod, “without sex at the end. I’ll wash you and then you can wash me, okay?”
I don’t know what comes over me. I just…don’t think this is real. So I reach out and pinch his arm.
He flinches. “What the hell?” And he retracts his hands. No, come back!
“I-I was making sure this wasn’t a dream,” I explain. “I’m sorry!” I lean down and plant two soft kisses on the reddened skin.
His chest rises and falls with full-bellied laughs. “You’re supposed to pinch yourself, dummy,” he tells me.
Oh, right. I squeeze the skin above my elbow. Ouch, that does hurt.
He draws me back to his chest, and his hands slowly skim my arms, lighting every part of me. His eyes flicker to mine. “Am I real enough for you?”
Dear God, yes.
He talks easily as he returns to soaping my body, as though he didn’t just blanket me with Loren Hale seduction. “Today we can do touristy stuff alone together. Whatever you want.”
It’s our first vacation where Lo is sober and I’m in recovery.
Our last trip by ourselves, we spent the weekend in Prague.
We never even made it to a museum or Prague Castle.
Lo wouldn’t let me wander the streets alone, so our time was spent in the hotel bar where I could pick up a guy and he could drink without us dying in the process.
Now the memory just seems sad. We missed out on all the good aspects of traveling.
“We should see the Mayan ruins,” I say, excitement bubbling in my stomach. “Oh and turtles! I want to see turtles.”
“Sounds like a date.”
A date . A date in a foreign country with my boyfriend. A date in foreign country with my sober boyfriend. It sounds amazing.
And then the washcloth descends and all my thoughts whoosh right from brain. I hold onto Lo’s arms as he rubs the cloth on the spot between my legs. It aches for a deeper touch, for my body to burst with that familiar euphoria. But I remember something: This. Is. A. Test.
I plan to pass it. No matter how hard it is. I focus on his eyes and not his hands. “Hey boyfriend,” I say easily, testing out the word. I rarely say it aloud to his face. Maybe it will distract me.
“Hey girlfriend,” he replies. “You okay?” His brows rise, a little teasingly. I think he understands my physical state better than I do at times.
The washcloth ascends, leaving my tender flesh, and I nod in reply, words escaping my head.
The water beads our skin and caresses us in its warmth, provoking me to take him every which way.
But I won’t. My sex life is in his hands.
I won’t jump him. I won’t hike a leg around his waist. I’m restraining myself. Willingly.
I feel a little good with the fact.
And then the shower chooses to have a manic episode, the water spurting in ice-cold sheets.
Holy shit!
I shriek and spider Lo’s body to avoid the chilly spray. So much for not jumping him .
His feet slide against the wet tiles, and he almost falls. But he catches his balance and rights himself, his arms wrapping around my hips to keep me from toppling.
I just realize that my arms are flung around his shoulders and my leg is most definitely midway up his waist. The position is not so innocent. But any arousal is smothered by Lo. He is laughing his ass off, his voice echoing in the boxed shower.
He cannot stop. Seriously.
“It’s not funny. This shower is a demon,” I tell him.
He tries to hide his smile, but fails. “If you’re scared of a little cold water, how are you going to pet snapping turtles?”
“I’m not petting snapping turtles,” I say, lowering my leg to the floor. “I only want to pet the cute ones.”
He passes me a bottle of shampoo from the ledge. “Oh, so the ugly ones don’t get any love from you? They’re left out all alone, cold, un-petted?”
I frown deeply. He’s right. I should pet all of them.
Even the scary ones. “Okay, I’ll pet the snapping turtles, but only if someone holds their muzzle.
” Before I run my fingers through his hair, I soap his abs with the cloth and follow the taut ridges across his body, being methodical but not too focused on where this could lead—which is nowhere . I tune into our conversation instead.
“I don’t think turtles have muzzles,” he says with another laugh.
“Snouts?” I ask, a little confused now. What do you call the nose of a turtle?
“That’s a pig.” We debate the existence of a turtle’s nose and the difference between Mayan and Aztec ruins while we finishing washing, and then we both step out of the shower and dry off.
After a long moment, I realize that I’m okay.
That I’m more excited about spending the day with him than I am about having sex.
I don’t know if I’ll feel this way tomorrow.
But today…it feels nice.