He puts me down by my bed, but he doesn’t let go of me all the way. “How are you feeling?” he asks, gently removing my shoes.
“Terrible.”
“Let’s wash this day off of us.” He points me to the bathroom and I nod, scooping up a T-shirt and fresh underwear before I go to the bathroom and undress, getting into the shower that’s as hot as I can stand it.
The light dims in the bathroom and the shower door opens. I feel Tyler behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “Is this OK?”
I turn and he’s just outside the stream of the water, his eyes holding mine. He’s naked and I want to look at every part of him, but instead I pull him close to me under the stream, letting it flow over our skin.
We stand like that, just holding each other, for several long minutes as the shower washes everything away. My hurt and humiliation, images of Jet Black and Teal, and too many shots that made my brain pound and stomach churn.
My muscles uncoil under the water and Tyler kneads his fingers into my back. My face is pressed to his chest and my lips are inches away from his pierced nipples, but I’m not looking for the roller coaster thrill of sex right now.
I want intimacy. I want our connection to be real.
I want Tyler.
I run my hands along his back and then down the tattoos on his arms, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath them. He grabs a bottle of body wash and squirts some in my hands, stepping just out of the stream of water so that I can wash him.
My hands skim across his chest and flat stomach, the soap suds lingering as they ooze below his waist and down his legs. I keep my eyes on his, though, learning his reactions, and I don’t feel brave enough yet to touch him where I’m most curious.
Instead, I turn his shoulders away from me for access to his back and I soap and lather it. I work my fingers into the muscles at the top of his shoulders and along his spine, letting my hands slide down past his waist to feel his ass in my hands. The slippery soap helps my fingers skate across his skin.
When he turns back to me, his eyes are darker, more intent, and his erection grows. He leads me out of the shower stream and ducks under it himself, letting the soap slide off his body as he squirts body wash in his own hands and begins washing me.
Shoulders, arms, hips. Breasts, ribs, stomach. I falter as his thumbs graze my nipples but his brown eyes, flecked with gold, hold mine. They beg me not to look away.
I let his hands work, soft and insistent, touching and exploring. When he turns me away from him I feel lost without his gaze, but I close my eyes and imagine he’s still fixed on me, his hands working the tension from my shoulder blades and lower back. His hands cup my ass and the back of my thighs.
My body is on high alert, humming with energy as I give myself over to him completely. I let him touch and wander, and when he pulls me close to him beneath the spray, I feel him hard against my belly.
Where is this going?
In every other relationship, I could tell you exactly what was next—sex, obviously. Simply insert Tab A into Slot B and move with it for a while. Release. Repeat.
But this feels completely different. It’s calm and caring and tender. It’s gentle and exploratory. It doesn’t have a clear destination, and for once, I’m OK with that. I’m willing to follow where Tyler leads.
Tyler sluices the water over my hair and down my back, gentle strokes that melt me deeper into him. I feel almost weightless in this space with the sound of the shower drowning everything else out, the low lighting in the bathroom letting my eyelids droop, the scent of Tyler’s body wash filling the air around us.
I pull his body more tightly against mine, reveling in the connection that is deeply physical but not overtly sexual. Although I am naked, my breasts are pressed against his chest and he can’t see most of my body. I can’t see his, beyond his shoulders and arms that hold me.
But I can feel every inch of him, and I want to explore it. Desperately.
Tyler finally turns off the water. He cracks open the steamy shower stall and pulls two fluffy towels off hooks, bringing them back inside the damp warmth of the enclosure. He opens a towel and wraps me in it like a burrito, one hand toweling my hair to keep the drips at bay.
Finally, he lets go of me and begins toweling himself off and I look—really look. I’m stunned by the beauty of his body. Long and lean like a swimmer, with a light dusting of hair on his legs. Tyler rubs the towel over his hair and then catches me staring.
I give him a small, appreciative smile.
I pull my towel off and tip my head upside down to scrub most of the water out of my hair, then wrap the towel around my body under my arms, tucking the end of it between my breasts.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much.”
Tyler nods. “Mission accomplished.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom and up the steps to his bed loft. My clean T-shirt and panties are still in the bathroom, and I’m not sure whether to go back downstairs or wait to see where he leads us next.
Tyler turns down the thin sheet on my side of the bed. My what? One night and I’ve already established a side in my brain. Even though the loft is cooler, it’s still too hot without air conditioning. He turns on the fan and I’m still standing, my towel wrapped around my naked body.
“Would you—do you want to be here? With me?” Tyler’s forehead is creased with worry and he looks self-conscious. I take a few steps toward him, twining my arms around his neck and feeling my towel untuck itself and fall to the floor.
“Yes. If you want me.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tyler breathes deeply, as if he’s inhaling my scent. “Stay here. Please.” He dips his head for a tentative kiss and I answer with passion, feeling Tyler’s towel drop and the air from the fan rush across our naked, still-damp bodies.
Tyler scoops me up and deposits me on the bed, climbing in next to me. His mouth moves on mine and my tongue traces the ridge of his lower lip, my teeth grazing his tongue as he becomes more insistent.
We lie together, lips and hands moving on each other, but without venturing too close to our intimate places. Instead of my hands, I let my body explore him, skin to skin, as I feel him hard against me. By some unspoken agreement, I don’t let my hands wander.
Finally, Tyler breaks our kiss and stills. I’m tangled in his arms and the sheet, my leg between his, nearly every part of my body touching some part of his. “Stella.” His eyes reflect sweetness and sadness.
“I’m here.”
“I’m glad. You’re killing my resolve, you know that?”
I smile, a naughty gleam in my eye. “All part of my devious plan.”
“It is?” For a moment, Tyler takes my comment at face value and his eyes pinch with worry. “You don’t have a plan. Do you?”
I shake my head. “You’re everything I never planned. You’re not the bad boy I thought. You’ve been nothing but generous and kind to me. And you’ve wanted nothing in return.”
My head is still cloudy from the last of the alcohol in my system but I want him to know how much I appreciate this care.
“Not true. I’ve always wanted something,” Tyler says, and pulls me tighter against his chest. “From the moment I met you, Stella, I wanted you.”
He hesitates and I feel a “but” coming.
“But?” I ask finally.
“I want the whole package, not just the parts of you you’re willing to share with other men.”
I flinch, feeling the word easy rear its ugly head for the second time tonight. “Everything is a tall order, Tyler.”