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He laughs, pushes me onto my back, and we fall into it all over again.
59
RAE
MESSAGES: L. Lazarev → Natasha V.
LL:We're done.
LL: Don't contact this number again.
NV:It's the girl, isn't it? The little mouse from the office.
NV:Oh, Lukasha... Haven't you learned what happens to the things you love?
[CONTACT BLOCKED]
By Day 3, I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve done it. Somewhere between “a lot” and “girl, how are you still standing?”
I’m worn down in so many ways. My vagina is whimpering for mercy, my jaw is sore, my nipples are chafed, and my brain is sending urgent, repeated memos about rest and hydration and maybe, possibly, putting on pants at some point this century.
I’ve never been happier.
It’s like I’ve spent twenty-five years walking around with the volume turned down to two, and Lukas cranked it all the wayup to eleven. There’s been an adjustment process, but there’s no denying that, now, every nerve ending is awake, every sensation amplified. Even the ache between my legs feels like a gift. If nothing else, it’s proof that this is real, that I’m not dreaming. A man who looks likethatactually wantsmebadly enough to leave evidence.
We’ve barely left the bedroom. The brownstone has become our own private universe, sealed off from a world that’s no longer relevant.
As dusk settles, Lukas draws me a bath and climbs in behind me. He must have either custom-ordered this tub or bought it second-hand off the orca trainers at SeaWorld, because no other bathing device in the world could possibly contain both himanda second person.
This one does, though. The bathroom fills with sweetly scented steam as I lean back against his chest, suds floating up to my chin.
“Put that thing away, Mister,” I warn him when I feel his penis poke me in the lower back. “This bath is for rest and relaxationonly.”
“That’s what you said about the kitchen counter,” he drawls, “and yet I didn’t hear you complaining when the dessert course was served…”
“Oh, shut up, you.” I splash water at him over my shoulder. “The kitchen counter was your idea, in case you forgot. You literally picked me up and deposited me there like a casserole.”
“You weren’t complaining.”
“I waseating.”
“So was I,” he replies.
My cheeks flush despite the heat of the bath. I pull his arm around me and snuggle up under it. Even with the aroma of the bath bomb I scrounged out of a closet, I can still smell him beneath it. That slightly sweaty musk I love so much. I close my eyes and sag into him.
“This is nice,” I murmur.
“Mm.” His lips brush my temple. “I’d forgotten what this felt like.”
“What?”
“Peace.”
He grabs the bottle of shampoo on the ledge and squirts some into his palm. I expect him to hand it to me next, but instead, he starts working it into my scalp himself.
Before this exact second, I wouldn’t have placed “shampooed by my boss” high on my list of erotic fantasies. I guess I’m gonna have to revisit that list, though, because this is quickly vaulting up the rankings.
It’s just so absurdlyintimate. His blunt fingertips massage in slow circles, caressing from my temples to the crown of my head. I droop back against him and sigh.
