She’s still laughing after I’ve put the supplies in the bathroom and walked back to my bed to scoop her up.
“He could, y’know. He’s got that mysterious but sweet thing going on.”
Don’t I know it. Women love Henry.I turn the shower on to the correct pressure and temperature and step us in, gently putting her back on her feet. I reach for the shampoo and she huffs. “Nathan, I can do this myself.”
“Why would you do that when I’m here to do it for you?” She doesn’t fight me as I methodically move my fingers through her hair, coating every strand in suds and washing them away.
My fingers sink into her shoulders, her body lulls, and she leans back into my chest, sighing contently. It’s quiet and peaceful here, a stark contrast from earlier, well, until I pick up the conditioner bottle, squinting at the tiny instructions. “Where the fuck does this go?”
She folds over laughing. “The ends.”
I scrub her from head to toe and when we’re done, I wrap her in the biggest, fluffiest towel I’ve got. Stassie flips from tame and passive to irritated quicker than anyone I know, but by the way she’s snuggled into my chest, you wouldn’t know it.
I grab her a Titans T-shirt from my drawer and pull it over her head, pulling on some boxers myself before laying her down on the bed and climbing in beside her.
I couldn’t care less about the loud party outside my door. I flick off the lights and lie down beside her, wrapping my arms around her, when she immediately shuffles toward me. She drapes her body over mine and immediately falls asleep, soft snores tickling against my chest.
Instead of going to sleep myself, I lie in the dark, listening to her breathing and trying to devise a plan to make her not want to do this with anyone else.
And I come up with absolutely nothing.
SEVENTEEN | ANASTASIA
It’shard to be happy about having the best sex of your life when the guy you did it with is impossibly annoying.
“Look at my neck, Nathan!” I fume, catching my reflection in the mirror when we step out of the shower. I didn’t even think to look last night, but the hickeys are incredibly bold and angry looking this morning, standing out against my neck. “I look like leeches have attacked me! Who are you? Fucking Dracula?”
“I’ll buy you a scarf when I go to Target,” he says nonchalantly, examining his handy work. I watch him in the mirror, the unmistakable look of pride on his face. “Stop being dramatic.”
“Stop being dramatic? If you hand me a scarf, I will strangle you with it,” I shoot back, unraveling my towel to dry myself. “I have to teach kids this morning. Do you know what kids notice? Absolutely everything.”
“You are so full of rage for someone so small and cute,” he teases, kissing the ugly marks on my neck.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His hand travels across my bare stomach, and he pulls my body close to his. The towel hanging on his hips does nothing to hide how eager he is for me not to go to work. His voice is low and dark as he whispers into my ear. “I want you again.”
“Mhmm. I can tell.”
“Quit your job so we can go back to bed.”
Why am I getting wet from four words?
Why did I consider quitting my job for a split second?
Is this what being dicknotized feels like?
“We don’t all have a trust fund, Hawkins,” I say, snapping out of it and wiggling out of his grip, muttering expletives under my breath.
I’m still muttering threats about covering him in hickeys when he ushers me into his car, and he’s still smiling like a fool.
Last night was something else. I don’t know whether it was all the built-up sexual frustration or the excitement of the game, but the man knows how to use his dick for the greater good.
I don’t think I slept. I might have passed out from the exhaustion of being railed so well. This morning when I mentioned the dull ache between my legs as we climbed into the shower together, he asked me could he kiss it better.
And he did. Twice.
“Want me to come up?” he asks as we pull up to my apartment building so I can get changed before work.