Page 71 of One Pucking Life

“This bath is magical,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath my ear. “You smell like heaven and feel even better.” He splays his hands across my waist. “So soft.”

“Bath salts,” I say, relaxing against his chest.

“Pretty sure it’s you,” he whispers.

We soak in the quiet for a minute, the candlelight flickering soft shadows across the walls, the scent of lavender thick in the warm, humid air. His fingers move lazily over my arms, drawing light circles on my skin that send little sparks through my limbs. I close my eyes and lean back further into him.

“I like this,” he says, nuzzling into the curve of my neck.

“Me too.”

“I had a great day,” he says, kissing my shoulder.

“Same. But every day is great with you.” I tilt my head to the side, giving him more access, and hum softly.

His lips brush my shoulder again. Then my collarbone. Each kiss is softer and slower than the last. His hands move more deliberately now, trailing down my sides, then back up to cup my face as I twist slightly in the water to face him. Our lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet but quickly deepens—the kind of kiss that makes the world outside this room feel impossibly far away.

I press my hand against his chest, feeling the familiar thrum of his heartbeat. He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing every part of it. My fingers slide along his jaw, the scrape of stubble grounding me in the reality of this moment.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Best bath I’ve ever taken,” he murmurs.

I chuckle. “Told you it’s like a five-star hotel in here.”

I shift slightly, water sloshing around us, and rest my hands on his thighs beneath the surface. His breath hitches, and I smile. I feel his desire hard against my back and know how much I affect him.

One arm tightens around my waist while the other hand slides slowly up my thigh under the water, creating a trail of tingles in its wake.

“You ruin me,” he breathes against the shell of my ear. “In the best possible way.”

My breath catches as his fingers splay across my stomach, his touch feather-light. The slow drag of his fingertips just beneath the water makes my whole body hum. I turn my head, brushing my lips over the stubble on his jaw. His hand tightens on my hip as I angle to kiss him, this time deeper—slick and slow and a little desperate.

The water ripples with our movement as we shift again. I end up straddling him, knees resting against the tub, my hands braced on his shoulders. His hands are on my hips now, holding me steady, grounding me and igniting me all at once.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. His thumb brushes along the underside of my breast, and I lean into the touch with a soft sigh.

I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring it—the steam, the candlelight, the feel of his body beneath mine. His hands roam freely now, exploring every inch like he’s mapping me by memory. My lips move to his jaw, down to the strong line of his neck, tasting his skin, warm and damp.

He groans, low and rough, when I rock my hips against him, and water splashes against the sides of the tub.

“Laney,” he says, his voice raw. “This is torture.”

I smile against his throat. “Good.”

I can feel him, hard and ready, and I want him—desperately—but this moment feels too perfect to rush. So I take my time. I kiss his collarbone. His chest. I rest my forehead against his as our breaths tangle in the small space between us.

“Tell me what you need,” he rasps, his grip tightening.

“You,” I whisper, leaning in again, “always you.”

With a swift motion, he rises from the water, lifting me with him. I cling to his shoulders, laughing softly as he steps out of the tub, dripping and glorious, and carries me toward the bedroom.

The bath may have ended, but the night is just beginning.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

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