I’m not sure if it’s because he’s in my bathroom making himself at home with my things after a long night and early morning of incredible sex, but I know I’ve never thought him sexier.
I bite my lip as I walk behind him thinking how normal this feels. How domestic and comforting it is. I put my arms through my bra straps as I move, feeling Colton’s eyes on me as I clasp it and adjust myself. I look up at him in the mirror and notice that he has paused, the pink handle of my razor halfway up to his face, a soft smile on his lips.
“What?” I ask, suddenly shy under the intensity of those gorgeous green eyes.
“You own more bras than any woman I’ve ever known,” he says as his eyes home in on the one that I’ve just put on. It’s light pink, edged in black, and does a perfect job creating just the right amount of cleavage.
His eyes flash up to meet mine, and I purse my lips at him. “I can take that several ways,” I tease him. “I can be quite offended that you’re comparing me to all of the other women you’ve been with, or I can be pleased that you appreciate my vast array of lingerie.”
“I’d tell you to go with the latter.” He smirks. “Only a dead man would be able to ignore your penchant for sexy underthings.”
I smile brazenly at him as I hold up a matching thong that is made of lace and very little of it at that. “You mean like this?”
His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. “Yeah, like that,” he murmurs, his eyes tracking my movements as I step into the panties. I make sure to give him a little floor show as I bend over to pull it up over my wiggling hips. “Sweet Christ, woman, you’re killing me!”
I laugh out loud at him as I grab my T-shirt and tug it over my head. “Can’t fault a girl for having a soft spot for sexy underthings as you put it.”
“No ma’am.” He smirks at me as he moves the razor up and clears a clean path of shaving cream under his chin—such a masculine act and so sexy to witness. I lean against the door and watch him with thoughts of tomorrows and the future running through my mind.
I thought I knew what love felt like, but standing here, breathing him in, I realize I had no clue. Loving Max was sweet, gentle, naive, and what I thought a relationship should be. Like what a child sees when they look at their parents through rose-colored glasses. Comfortable. Innocent. Loving. I loved Max with all my heart—always will in some capacity—but looking back at it in comparison to what I feel for Colton, I know that I would have been selling myself short. Settling.
Loving Colton is so different. It’s just so much more. When I look at him, my chest physically constricts from the emotions that pour through me. They’re intense and raw. Overwhelming and instinctual. The chemistry between us is combustive and passionate and volatile. He consumes my every thought. He is a part of everything I feel. His every action is my reaction.
Colton is my air in each breath. My endless tomorrow. My happily ever after.
I watch the line form between his eyebrows as he concentrates, angling his face this way and that. He’s just about finished, little smudges of shaving cream left on his face here and there when he notices me.
As he wipes his face on a towel, I walk up slowly behind him and to the left, his eyes on mine the whole time. I reach out and run a hand softly up and down the line of his spine, stopping at the nape of his neck so I can run my fingers through his damp hair. He leans his head back at the sensation and closes his eyes momentarily. I want so badly to nuzzle up against his broad back and powerful shoulders and feel my body pressed against his. I hate that the horror from his past robs me—and him—of the chance to snuggle up against him in bed or being able to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, nuzzling into him from behind—another simple way to connect with him.
I lean up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his bare shoulder while my fingernails trail up and down the line of his spine. I can feel his muscles bunch and move as my touch tickles his skin, and my lips form a smile against the firmness of his shoulder.
“You’re tickling me,” he says with a laugh as he squirms beneath my touch.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, my cheek now pressed against his shoulder so I can meet his eyes in the mirror, and watch his face tense as I tease my fingernails up the side of his torso. I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips as his face scrunches up to try and prepare for the graze of my fingers over his ribcage—a little boy’s expression on the face of a grown man. I find my purchase and make sure to be extra thorough in my tickling.
“Stop it, you evil wench.” He struggles trying to remain stoic, but when my fingers continue their relentless torture, he wriggles his body away from me.
“I’m not letting you get away.” I laugh with him as I wrap my arms around him and try to prevent him from escaping.
He’s laughing, the razor thrown and forgotten into the sink, his towel dangerously close to falling from his hips, and my arms wrapped around him from behind. Unintentionally, I’ve maneuvered him into the one position I‘d just been thinking about. I know he realizes it the moment that I do because I feel his body tense momentarily and his laughter fades off before he tries to cover it up. Colton’s eyes glance up to the reflection of the mirror to meet mine. The look I’ve seen in any one of my boys’ flickers through them, and it breaks me apart inside, but as quick as it flashes there, it’s gone.
Regardless of the length of time, I know how much that small concession is a huge step between the two of us.