by Claire Kent
They lay in limp, replete satisfaction for a while. But eventually Amy began to feel too icky, so she got up and limped to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray.
The water felt incredible, invigorating, and deliciously indulgent.
She’d rinsed off and started soaping up when the curtain opened and Owen appeared. He gave her a nonchalant quirk of his lips and stepped under the shower with her.
“Don’t hog all the water,” she grumbled, gently pushing him away from where he’d been blocking some of the spray.
He chuckled and didn’t resist her relocation of his body. Just grabbed the soap and started lathering up himself.
She was checking out the red marks on her hips and thighs, where she knew she’d have bruises in the morning, when Owen noticed her scrutiny.
“Did I hurt you?” he demanded, moving her hands away so he could look too.
“Don’t get excited. Just a few bruises.”
He frowned deeply. “You should have told me—”
“Don’t be stupid, Owen. You didn’t hurt me. We just made love. A lot. There tends to be evidence on one’s body.” She blushed a little—to her annoyance—at saying “made love” rather than “have sex,” which was the way they normally referred to their carnal activities.
But she didn’t regret saying it.
It was true. She knew it now.
His wet face still looked concerned as he turned her around and scrutinized every scratch, bruise, and mark on her body.
“I’ve got fair skin,” she said eventually, although she was touched by his obvious protectiveness. “Things show up more.”
“I suppose,” he agreed, his face relaxing. Then a familiar heat flickered in his eyes.
“Don’t say it. I can see what you’re thinking. Some sort of caveman impulse it starting to emerge at seeing how you’ve marked me.”
He gave her a teasing growl and pulled her into a kiss.
She kissed him back leisurely, too worn out to be passionate or sexy. And then she sighed in pleasure as Owen pulled away, turned her around so that her back was to him, and started to give her a backrub.
She let him massage her neck and shoulders, closing her eyes and moaning softly as her sore muscles loosened up. Then she relaxed even more as he began to shampoo her hair, his strong fingers against her scalp both sensual and soothing.
When he’d rinsed the shampoo from her hair, Amy turned around, prepared to give him the same treatment. But he didn’t let her. Without a word, he just pulled her into an embrace.
They hugged for a long time, their wet skin slipping against each other’s as the water pounded down on them.
Finally, Amy looked up at Owen’s familiar face. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“For what?”
She just smiled and reached up to press a kiss on his chin.
Out of habit more than anything else, she glanced down toward his groin. He usually got hard when they showered together, although—had she thought about it—Amy would have known better to expect any physical response at the moment.
“Uh,” Owen began dryly, following her gaze to his lack of erection. “I hope you weren’t getting your hopes up.”
Amy laughed and slid one of her hands down to fondle his soft cock. “Nope. I’d already told you—remember?—there’s no way we’re having sex again this weekend.”
“Good. Because, no matter how nicely you touch it, it’s not going to be doing anything for a while.”
Repressing her giggles, Amy let him slip out of her fingers.
She wanted to hug Owen again. Wanted to squeeze him with all her might. Never wanted to let him go.
“I’m getting out,” she said at last, her voice changing back to normal. “Did you want to stay in here any longer?”
Owen shook his head and turned off the water. “No. I’m done.”
Stepping out and reaching for a thick, soft towel, Amy started to dry herself off. “I’m not sure how long I can stand up. I’m going to bed, and I’m not planning to move for a really long time.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. We’ve got leftover Thai food from last night. We can have that later.”
And that was what did it. His dry, prosaic comment about dinner.
Amy felt a wave of irresistible emotion rise up in her chest—made up of tenderness, familiarity, need, and absolute trust—and there was no way she could hold it back anymore.
She knew how she felt. Knew how he felt.
And it was stupid that both of them were still hesitant about saying it.
So she stopped towel-drying her hair and let the damp towel fall to the floor. Stood in the middle of the bathroom naked and told Owen, “I love you.”
Owen had been drying his legs, but he froze at her words. Naked, bent-over, and staring at her in astonishment, he looked as undignified as she’d ever seen him.
She hid a smile, not even nervous now that she’d finally said the words. “Did you know that?”
Owen’s mouth fell open, and he finally managed to straighten up. It took him a moment, but he recovered enough to say in a semblance of his characteristic, ironic voice. “I was hoping maybe you did.”
He was trying to act cool, but she could see both hot excitement and shattering relief, pulsing just beneath the surface of his composed face.
Amy reached for her bathrobe and pulled it on over her shoulders. She was feeling almost giddy, but she tried to hold herself back from dancing a jig of pure exhilaration. “Well, I do.” She held her breath to hear his response.
He didn’t answer immediately. He just kept staring at her with a blaze of joy in his blue eyes.
Finally, Amy frowned at him in annoyance. She wasn’t afraid of his not returning her feelings, but she certainly didn’t want to have her declaration left hanging in the air. “Well?” she demanded.
Finally, he broke into warm chuckles. “I love you too.”
Her whole body relaxed into a near slump at hearing the words at last. “I don’t know what we’re going to do when you go back to London, but maybe we can work something out.”
His smiled deepened. “I’m going to talk to my supervisor on Monday. Maybe I don’t have to go back.”
She gasped. “What?”
He arched his eyebrows. “They like me, you know. I think they might be able to find a longer-term position here for me.”
“You’d stay here?” Her voice broke on the last word.
“Of course.” He was frowning at her now, looking a little confused. “Didn’t we just admit we love each other? I’d really rather not live on separate continents.”
“But I thought…” She trailed off, so blown away she could barely speak. “Thank you.”
He gave a half shrug. “I love you a lot. I thought you understood that.”
“I do. I mean… Me too.” She felt like she might cry again. Or maybe collapse to the floor. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
His smile was soft and fond now. “I was waiting for you.”
She straightened up suddenly with a sharp inhale. “What? What do you mean?”
“I was waiting for you. I was trying to give you what you wanted and not pressure you into more. Until you were ready.”
“But…” Her mind whirled, trying to understand the last months of their relationship through this piece of information. “For how long?”
“For a while.” He stepped over and pulled her bathrobe closed more tightly. “You were a lot slower than I was.”
She sucked in another gasp. “Are you trying to imply that you beat me somehow because you figured out you loved me first?”
He laughed and pulled her into a tight hug. “Of course, I beat you, love.”
She was nearly strangling on a bizarre mingling of outrage and delight. She finally gave up and dissolved into half-laughter and half-tears.
When she raised her head, she was so happy and so exhausted she could barely support herself. “Do you think w
e can we go to bed now?”
“Sounds good to me.”
They returned to the bedroom and crawled into bed together. There, they shared a silly, fatuous embrace under the covers.
Amy really was exhausted after a long, draining, and emotional afternoon. Which was the only excuse for what happened next.
Owen had just pulled her backward into his arms so that he was spooning her from behind. His body felt warm and strong and solid, and the stressful uncertainty about their relationship was finally, blissfully ended.
She felt so full and happy that her eyes began to burn, and she choked on a few happy sobs.
“You aren’t crying, are you?” Owen held her tighter, even though his voice was both wry and aggrieved.
“Nope,” she lied.
“Good. Because, after the afternoon I’ve just had, that would be more than I could handle.”
“No crying here,” she snuffled. “I’m just happy and ready for a nap.”
“Me too.”
Amy smiled.
“On both fronts,” he added, gently nuzzling her ear.
She choked up again—since he was letting her know, in his own Owen-like way, that he was as happy as she was.
Since he was clearly in an affection mood, Amy asked, “So what’s your fantasy?”
Owen cleared his throat.
“Well?” she demanded, curiosity buzzing through her chest. “You aren’t going to tell me?”
He didn’t answer immediately. In fact, Amy was starting to resign herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to spill his secret when he finally admitted, “To tell you the truth, it just happened.”
Amy was really tired, and that might explain her slowness. “Oh. You mean you’d had a fantasy about making me come seven times.”
His tone sounded like he was rolling his eyes as he spoke. “Not that.”
Amy thought for a moment. Realized what had just happened, how their relationship—how everything—had just changed. “Oh.”
Evidently, his deepest fantasy had been the same one that she’d had.
She felt such a thrill at the knowledge that she had to hug something. Since he was spooning her, the only part of him she could reach were his forearms, so she grabbed them and squeezed them to her chest.
But all she said was, “That’s pretty sappy. But at least it saves me the trouble of fulfilling some weird, creepy sexual fantasy.”
“Oh, no. I’m sure I’ll think of something else. I won fair and square, after all.”
Amy laughed softly and hugged his forearms to her chest again. She was actually looking forward to whatever fantasy Owen managed to conjure up.
They were silent for a long time, until Amy had a random thought.
She giggled out of the blue at the thought and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.
Owen, who was still awake, eyed her warily. “What are you laughing about?” he asked, in a decidedly suspicious voice.
“Nothing.” She pulled up one of his hands so she could kiss it. “I was just thinking that I was totally wrongheaded about hesitating in the whole saying ‘I love you’ thing.”
“Okay. But why exactly does that make you so happy?”
“Well, you might think you beat me to the love-realization thing, but it really takes far more strength and courage to confess your feelings first.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So?”
“So that means I won after all.”
About the Author
Claire has been writing romance novels since she was twelve years old. She has a PhD in British literature and, when she's not writing, she teaches English at the university level.
She also writes romance novels under the penname Noelle Adams (noelle-adams.com). If you would like to contact Claire, please check out her website (clairekent.com) or email her at [email protected].
Other Books by Claire Kent
Escorted
Breaking
Nameless
Christening
Incarnate