The thought tugged at the corner of my mind, but I pushed it down before it could unravel me. Because the truth was, I liked waking up to this. To her. And maybe that scared the hell out of me more than anything.
I could have stayed like that forever, but the clock on the nightstand taunted me with reality. Work. Meetings. A schedule that didn’t care if I’d finally managed more than three consecutive hours of sleep. With a sigh, I slid carefully from the bed, reluctant to leave her warmth behind, careful not to wake her, and padded toward the bathroom.
The bathroom lights flicked on, glaring too bright against the early hour. I ignored the reflection staring back at me in the mirror and headed for the shower. Moments later, steam clung to the mirror as I swiped a hand across the glass, revealing my reflection. Water still dripped down the back of my neck, running in slow rivulets along my shoulders, and the towel around my waist clung low against my hips.
I was bent over the sink when the door eased open. “Nathan?”
Her voice was soft, still husky with sleep, and it did something to me that no amount of coffee could replicate. I glanced over my shoulder, and there she was, framed in the doorway in one of my black t-shirts, the hem skimming the tops of her thighs.
I swallowed, suddenly parched. “Morning.”
She padded in, her bare feet whispering against the tile, and leaned against the counter beside me. “How are you feeling?”
I gave a short nod, reaching for the razor. “Better.”
She crossed the bathroom to me, her hand brushing my forearm. “Are you sure about me being here? I mean,everything’s been moving so fast since Louisiana. If you want space, or—”
“No.” The word is sharp and immediate. I set the razor down and looked at her fully, needing her to hear it. “I want you here, Elise. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Her expression softens, and her gaze drifts to the sink. Her brows lifted. “Shaving already?”
“Routine,” I said simply.
Something mischievous sparked in her gaze. “What if I did it for you?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “You want to shave me?”
She bit her lip, suppressing a grin. “Why not? Unless you don’t trust me with a razor near your throat.”
I should have said no. But with her standing there, hair messy, wearing my shirt like it was hers, her eyes shining with challenge, I found myself nodding. “Fine.”
Elise moved to stand in front of me and I lifted her and placed her on top of the sink.
She took her time spreading shaving cream along my jaw with deliberate, featherlight strokes. Her thumb was steady against my chin. The intimacy of it startled me. I’d had people tend to me before—barbers, stylists, but never like this. Never with such tender concentration, as though this small act was a privilege.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
“Bossy,” I muttered.
She smirked, her gaze flicking up to mine. “I learned from the best.”
The razor glided smoothly over my skin, her hand guiding the angle, her body pressed lightly into me as she leaned forward to reach. I rested my hands on either side of her thighs. When she stretched a little more, I couldn’t help it. I slid my palmsalong the backs of her legs and tugged her gently onto the edge of the counter.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop. Now she was perched on the sink, knees bracketing my hips, and I trapped her fully between my legs, holding her there. She steadied the razor with impressive composure, but I didn’t miss the way her cheeks flushed, or the way her thighs tightened against me.
“You’re distracting me,” she said, her voice low.
“That’s the point.”
Her mouth curved, though she bit it back quickly, focusing again on the careful scrape of the blade. When she finished the last line along my jaw, she dipped the razor in the sink and set it aside, then wiped the excess cream from my face with a towel.
Her touch lingered longer than necessary.
“All done,” she whispered.
I caught her wrist before she could pull away, pressing her palm flat against my cheek. My stubble was gone, skin smooth beneath her fingers, and for some reason the look of pride, tenderness, and possession in her eyes undid me more than anything else could have.
“Thank you,” I said, softer than I intended.
