“You’ve already made me sore for days,” I tease.
His laugh brings me so much joy. “Oh, you are definitely feeling better. I’m glad. I cannot stand seeing you so sad.”
While he strokes the coconut oil over my body, I cannot stop staring at him, watching the way he caresses me so gently and with such care. When he scoops up some sand from the bottom of the lake and uses it lightly to help remove the paint, he is even more careful.
“You okay?” He checks in with me a few times, and all I can do is nod.
My skin is tingling by the time he’s done washing me down, and it’s not long before we are standing waist deep in the lake and he’s dousing me over and over, erasing the awful parts of this day.
Later, when he’s inside me, making love to me like the world is going to end, I cannot help whispering to him, “I needed that. And I need you.”
“I’ll paint your body every day,” he promises.
“And I’ll let you.”
