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I slapped his butt on the way by.
“Are you going to feed me while I’m soaking in the tub?”
“We’re going to feed each other. It’s a tub built for two.”
“I didn’t take you for the romantic type.”
“You don’t know everything about me,” Tate insisted.
That made me pause. I thought I knew everything, but maybe I didn’t. And now I damn well wanted to find out.
I climbed the stairs, Tate following. The ache in my knees and thighs intensified, not to mention my ass. A-fucking-mazing.
I glanced over my shoulder as I hit the last step. The heat in Tate’s gaze was undeniable.
But this time, we finally made it up to the third floor.
I headed straight for the bathroom and the white clawfoot tub that sat under the skylight. Pillar candles were littered throughout the space, in every nook, so I went about lighting them, turning off the overhead chandelier.
While the bath filled, I glanced at the full-length mirror that sat opposite it. I hardly recognized myself.
It had been so long, not just since I’d had sex, but since I’d been happy.
And that’s what I saw.
Not the beard burns, or the love bites that Tate gave me, but happiness.
Casting agents have told me that my eyes are my most unique feature. Not just the color, but how expressive they are. I thought it was them blowing smoke up my ass, but in this moment, I believed it.
I’d never admitted out loud that I was in love with Tate, but if anyone looked at me now, they’d know the truth.
And that rush of emotion took over again.
Just as Tate walked in, I leaned against the counter to hold myself up.
I took my time looking him over, noticing the differences between us. His body was bigger than mine, broad, where I was lean. He rocked the hairy chest better than any man I’ve met, while I was smooth all over. Not to mention, Tate had the defined pecs, biceps, and abs that come from all the swimming and weight training he liked to do.
And then I finally got another good look at his long, thick cock and hairy balls, and yeah, he was a beautiful man.
And all mine.
For now.
That niggling doubt at the back of my mind was a bitch to get rid of. I couldn’t really blame myself. Tate and I had been up, down, and spinning around each other for ten years. God only knew what would happen next.
But one thing I did know. We were older, and hopefully wiser.
And despite my fear, I wasn’t running away.
He walked up to me, and without saying a word, pulled me into his arms and planted a claiming kiss on my lips. As possessive as his earlier words.
Every nerve ending in my body sparked to life.
I kissed him back and started to doubt that we would make it into that tub at all.
Demanding Tate was an incredible turn on. Not that I’d always give in, but, you know, him going alpha male on me was sexy as fuck. Past lovers, ones who weren’t in the biz, were sometimes hesitant, given my Hollywood persona. I was often the one who made the first move. Which was fine.
But deep down, I wanted more. I wanted to be seen, to be needed, just I was, not for my celebrity.
