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“Come on,” he says, scooping me up and stepping with me into the shower. “I promise not to have my way with you in here.” He sets me down and stands behind me. His hand comes over my shoulder to direct the shower head so the jet of water falls on me. “At least not today.”
I’m about to tell him there’s no guarantee there’ll be a next time, but his hand comes around my front to my chin where he tips my head back. My eyes connect with his as he brings the detachable shower head up over my head, the water cascading down my hair. I find that the words dry in my throat as his fingers weave into my hair, gently massaging my scalp.
My eyes close and I lean back into him, letting him support my weight. All of a sudden, the exhaustion hits me. Physical, from everything he’s put me through tonight, but also emotional, from having to flawlessly hold it together all the time, at least for the persona I show the world.
I hear a cap open and then feel liquid ooze down the top of my head. He takes care to work the shampoo until it foams and then his fingers are back in my hair, lathering the strands in the floral scented gel. He starts massaging me again and a small groan leaves my lips.
I’m too embarrassed to open my eyes and see his reaction so I keep them shut. He doesn’t comment on my reaction, he simply keeps working.
He rinses out the shampoo, his hands deftly moving the jet of water through my hair to make sure the strands are completely clean.
“Head up,” Tristan orders, throatily. I open my eyes and find his are dark with desire once more, the mesmerizing orbs pinned on me.
I do as he says and hear another cap open. It’s followed by a fruity smelling product being applied to my hair starting from the ends.
My shoulders bunch and my muscles stiffen when I realize he’s applying conditioner.
Floral shampoo and fruit scented conditioner aren’t exactly staples in a single guy’s toolkit and yet he had both readily available tonight.
Is this his move, fucking girls and then pretending to care for them? Is he using products on me that he’s used on countless others?
“Why do you have conditioner?” I snap, taking a step forward to try and put some distance between us, a ridiculous endeavor in this small shower.
He doesn’t let me get far anyway.
His hand wraps around my front and splays over my lower stomach, forcing me back against his hard chest. He presses a kiss against the side of my face.
“I bought it for you while you were with Bellamy,” he says, voice tinged with something I can’t quite recognize. “Why? Are you jealous?”
My stomach clenches.
“No,” I lie. “We’re not dating, you can do what you want.”
The minute the words leave my lips, I want to rip my own tongue out. I don’t want a relationship, but the thought of him touching anyone else has bile rising in my throat and violence pulsing in my hands.
My words are greeted by thick silence. I wish I was facing him so I could see his face. I have no idea how to interpret his lack of response.
After a couple of seconds, his hands come back down into my hair. I release a deep, relieved breath.
For a second there, I thought I’d said something to piss him off. I wouldn’t know what to do if he was mad at me. I don’t know why the thought is more terrifying than my dad’s rage, in a completely different way.
I don’t think I’m anywhere near as ready to let go of Tristan as I thought I might be.
When I feel his hands move up to the top of my head, I reach back and place mine over his, halting his progression.
“Conditioner only goes on the ends, not all over my hair,” I tell him.
“Oh, okay,” he says, softly.
Possessiveness rips through me, washing away the vestiges of anger. I love that he doesn’t know that, that no other girl has taught him that.
He finishes applying and then his hands leave my body.
Seconds tick by and when I look back over my shoulder, I find him reading the backside of the bottle, his brow creased adorably.
“Are you reading the instructions?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do next.”
