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When his hands stopped moving, I leaned back against his chest and sighed. His arms encircled me, and his lips hit the sensitive crook of my neck. I felt how hard he was behind me and thought that I should return the favor and wash him, but it felt too good, too relaxing, to stand under the hot water while I practically let him hold me up.
“I could get used to this,” he murmured as his lips teased my ear.
“If that’s an offer to do this again, I accept.” I tilted my head back to look up at him. His arms tightened around my slippery body.
“I should never have walked away from you,” he surprised me by saying. “That was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
The words he chose may have seemed odd, but they suited Dante. He said he didn’t know how to do romance, but he knew how to be direct. It was only my self-doubt that made me seek clarification, because if I interpreted his words wrong, the final piece of my heart would shatter.
“What are you saying, Dante?” I turned in his arms to face him, sliding my wet hands over his dripping chest.
“That I want you. Not for a night. Not for a day. Not for a week. Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. The timing is bad, baby girl. There’s a storm brewing. At first, I tried to stay away from you so I could deal with it, but I can’t do that anymore.”
“You want to be with me so you can protect me?” Why would that disappoint me? That didn’t make sense, but in my tired state, that was the emotion that came to the forefront.
“No. I want to protect you because I want you. In my life. I want you blushing when I come on to you. I want you wet and hot for me. I want you to wear my blindfold because you’re sexy as hell in it, and I want to worry about whether I have the right fucking creamer for your coffee. I want to be with you and if this shit is going to keep us apart, then we’ll face it together.”
When I looked at him, I saw the first hint of fear I’d ever see in Dante Calegari’s eyes.
“Unless that’s not what you want,” he said hesitantly.
“No, I want that. I mean, I want you. Too. I want everything you just said.”
“Okay then.” I thought he would smile at my admission, but he didn’t. He reached past me for the shampoo bottle. “Tip your head back,” he directed, then proceeded to wash my hair then his own.
It was typical Dante fashion that such a heartfelt conversation would end so abruptly but knowing that he wanted to be with me was more than enough to make up for the brevity of the conversation.
