She rolls over, and looks up at me with a grin that's equal parts satisfied and smug. "You're not bad yourself, Hotshot."
I pull her off the bed and into the shower, where the hot water hits us both. She immediately wraps herself around me like a wet, naked octopus. I wash her hair and she groans at the scalp massage. She soaps my chest with way more attention than the task requires. Her hands keep drifting lower, and mine keep drifting to her tits.
By the time we're theoretically clean, I'm hard again and she's on her knees with the water running over both of us.
She looks up at me with those brown eyes and my cock in her hand and asks, "We don't have anywhere to be today, right?"
"Nowhere." I brush a wet curl off her face. "I'm all yours, Freckles."
She smiles and wraps her lips around me. I brace one hand on the shower wall; all I can think about is how I used to believe I wasn't capable of this.
Of any of this. Not the sex, I've always been good at that. But the rest. The morning after. The shower. The way Mollie is looking at me like I'm the center of her world.
Mollie finishes me off in the shower because she's a goddamn overachiever. I kiss her lips and wonder how I got so fucking lucky.
We get out and dry off. I pull on boxers and sweatpants. Mollie steals my favorite hoodie for the millionth time. She looks ridiculous in it. The hem hits her mid-thigh, and the sleeves hang past her fingertips. She's swimming in dark gray cotton; it fills me with a deep sense of male satisfaction that she’s wearing my clothes.
Note to self: throw out all of Mollie’s clothes so she has no choice but to wear mine.
We end up back in bed because neither of us is ready to face the world yet. She curls into my side with her head on my chest. Gordie, who has apparently been waiting outside the door this entire time with the patience of a saint, jumps up and claims the foot of the bed. His big head settles on my ankle and he sighs like he's been through an ordeal.
"Poor neglected baby," Mollie coos at him.
"He's fine. He has his own bed."
"He has trauma from being excluded."
"He has a chew toy and a memory span of four seconds."
She pinches my side and I laugh, grabbing her hand and threading our fingers together. We lie there for a while, warm and quiet. This is nice.
"Alex," she says.
"Mm."
"Where do you see this going?"
I look down at her. She's tracing one of the tattoos on my ribs with her free hand.
"You want the diplomatic answer or the real one?"
"The real one. Obviously."
I take a breath. "I want to marry you, Mollie. I want kids with you. I want you in this house permanently, not as my roommate and not as my secret. I want Gordie to be our dog instead of my dog. I want your Converse by the door for the rest of my life."
She lifts her head and looks at me with wide eyes. "Alex."
"You asked for the real answer."
"I did, but you went from zero to white picket fence in about three seconds."
“And I mean every word. I can’t wait to give you my name."
She puts her chin on my chest and studies my face. "Easy, Hotshot. One thing at a time."
"Fair enough." I tuck a curl behind her ear. "So let's start with one thing. Move in with me. For real this time. Not because your apartment burned down, or because Beck asked me to take care of you. I want you here because you want to be here. This is your home, Freckles."
She's quiet for a second. Her fingers trace the tattoo on my rib one more time.
