Unashamed of his arousal, he takes my hand and leads me through to the bathroom. Once we’re inside, he opens the cubicle and turns the shower on, then, while the cranky system kicks into gear and the water heats, he turns back to me and kisses me again.
The sun is rising above the fields, and its lemon-colored rays slant through the window, warming us while we kiss. I never had this with Peter. I never realized, but my relationship with him was practical and unromantic, as if we were roommates who occasionally hooked up once a week because there was nothing better to do. He never kissed me like this, as if he couldn’t bear to tear his lips away from me. Never lookedat me as if I was something precious. Never handled me like a delicate artifact, as if he was afraid of damaging me.
Caesar opens the door and tests the water, then gestures for me to go into the cubicle. Ohhh… I hadn’t realized how tiny it was. I squeeze up against the tiles, squealing because they’re cold. He gets in and closes the door behind him, and we both laugh as we find ourselves pressed up against one another, with barely room to turn around.
“Cozy,” he says, moving me so I’m under the hot water. “Let’s do you first.”
“The system can be temperamental,” I warn him, tipping back my head. “Be warned.”
He chuckles, then squeezes some shampoo onto his hand and begins washing my hair. His fingers glide through the strands, gentle and firm, and I shudder.
“I didn’t realize my scalp was an erogenous zone,” I whisper. It doesn’t help that his chest hair is teasing the ends of my nipples, either.
“Promise me you won’t dye it.” He washes the suds free, then adds some conditioner. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I promise,” I say, a little shyly.
He grabs the bottle of shower gel and tips some on his palm, then rubs his hands together, his eyes on mine. Then he dips his head and kisses me while he begins to soap my body.
He takes his time, skating his hands across my skin, and massaging the lather into the places where I’m coated with mud. It takes ages for him to get it all off.
“I think you’ve got it all,” I tell him about five minutes later.
“Need to make sure,” he states, sliding his hand over my belly and between my legs.
“I don’t think I had any down there,” I mumble, my breath hitching as he strokes me.
“Au contraire. You’d be amazed where it got.” He smirks, slipping his fingers down into me, and I groan, clutching hold of him as I close my eyes so I don’t fall over.
“Ahhh… stop…” I summon my willpower and push his hand away. “Seriously, this shower can be cranky in the morning. Let’s get you clean.”
“Spoilsport,” he grumbles. But he’s happy to let me start work on him.
I turn him so his back is to the spray and soak his hair, then wash it, enjoying the feel of the short strands on my fingers. Next I move to his body, and I take my time cleaning the spots of mud off his neck, arms, and face, kissing him at the same time.
I move down to his chest and spread the lather across his ribs. “Your nipples are filthy,” I inform him, circling the tips of my fingers over them.
“Really.” He rolls his eyes.
“Covered in mud. I’ll make sure they’re clean though… Oh!!!!” I squeal loudly as the water suddenly turns absolutely freezing.
“Jesus!”
We both fumble for the tap, but it’s a whole five seconds or so before we’re finally able to stop the icy-cold spray.
“Fuck me.” I scowl. “I need to get a new water heater. Talk about a passion killer.”
“Nah. Nothing could kill my passion for you.” He smiles, opens the door, and grabs the towel. I wait for him to dry himself, but to my surprise he wraps the towel around me instead and briskly rubs my arms.
I look up at him, my emotions tangling inside me. He doesn’t notice and concentrates on drying my back and arms. I let him, swallowing hard to make sure I don’t cry. He’s so nice to me. I can’t bear to think he might be angry with me if he finds out about the baby. Oh, how did I get myself into this mess?
He dries down my body and gently over my stomach, and I press my lips together. Our lovemaking made a baby. A whole new person. Is that unlucky? Or is it actually an amazing, marvelous thing?
It’s impossible not to think about Caesar holding a newborn, a tender look in his eyes as he glances at me.
I swallow again, conscious of nausea rising inside me. Maybe it was the shock of the cold water, or the sharp pang of wistfulness, but it hits me fast, rushing up inside me like a geyser.
“Ohhh…” I press my fingers against my mouth, my eyes widening in alarm. “Sorry…”
