Part 14 (2/2)

I inhale deeply and imagine the two of us closing the door of a hotel room and turning toward each other. Shutting the rest of the world out, the way we used to do so often, even in the early part of our relations.h.i.+p when we were utterly captivated by each other.

I still remember those days so clearly. I woke one morning alone in Dean's bed, absorbing the warmth still lacing the sheets, the lingering smell of l.u.s.t. I listened to the sound of the shower and imagined Dean naked under the hot spray, soap sluicing over his muscular body... heat coiled through me as I reached for my robe.

After tugging it on, I went to use the guest bathroom. When I returned, the main bathroom door was half open. Dean was standing at the sink, getting ready to shave, a towel wrapped around his waist. Fragrant steam coated the bathroom and fogged the mirror. I paused in the doorway, allowing my gaze to travel over the contours of his bare shoulders and chest still damp from the shower.

He was such a beautiful man. A s.h.i.+ver ran down my spine as I recalled the previous night when I had traced the slopes of his pectoral muscles, his rigid torso, following that line of hair down to...

”Keep looking at me like that,” Dean said, ”and I'll have you on this counter in two seconds.”

”Promises, promises.” I leaned my shoulder against the doorjamb and continued to watch him.

I had never seen a man shave before. I'd lived my childhood with my mother, and despite her numerous men I'd never become accustomed to their rituals or behaviors. I'd spent so much of my time trying to hide from them that they'd been like alien creatures-vaguely menacing and fearsome.

Dean was the one who proved I had nothing to fear, not from him. He was all warmth, heat, and tenderness.

”How often do you shave?” I asked.

”Once a day at least. Twice if I'm planning to take my lady out.” He took a razor out of a drawer and turned on the water faucet.

”You don't use an electric razor?” I asked.

”Not a close enough shave.” He rubbed his whiskery jaw. ”Prefer it the old-fas.h.i.+oned way. Soap, not cream, and a good double-edge razor.”

”Soap?”

”With a brush.” He extended a small bowl with a disk of soap and a shaving brush.

I took them both and swirled the brush into the soap, creating a frothy lather. The spicy scent rose to my nose, filling me with memories of that scent clinging to Dean's skin.

”Can I put it on you?” I asked.

”Sure.”

I stepped closer and reached up to slide the brush over his jaw. Before I could, he took hold of my waist and lifted me onto the counter beside the sink. My heart thumped at our nearness. Dean slid his hands to my thighs, the heat of his palms burning through my cotton bathrobe. He pushed my knees apart so he could move into the juncture of my thighs.

”I thought you wanted to shave.” I was close enough now that I could see the water still beading on his chest and shoulders.

”I do.” He took hold of my hand and lifted the brush toward his face. ”But I did say I would have you on the counter.”

My breath caught in my throat as I stroked the soap-covered brush over his cheek and down to the underside of his chin. I swirled the brush into the soap again and covered the other side of his face and around his mouth. With my finger, I wiped away the excess soap from his lips. By the time I was finished, my pulse was pounding.

Dean reached beside me and picked up the razor. I eased to the side so he could see himself in the mirror. He took my hand again and closed my fingers around the razor handle.

”Dean, I can't...”

”I trust you,” he said.

I looked at him for a moment, struck by the intense light in his eyes. It had taken me a long time to realize trust didn't come any more easily to him than it did to me. But every time we were together, it felt like an undeniable acknowledgment we'd both crossed that barrier. I knew everything we did together, every act in which we engaged, would serve to either strengthen our trust in each other or prove that it was warranted.

Dean brought the razor to his face, his hand still clasped around mine. ”Sideburns first. Downward stroke.”

I smothered the worry about nicking him as I positioned the razor and drew it downward. It was a rather thrilling sensation to slide the sharp blade over his face, whisking away the lather and stubble and leaving a smooth patch of skin.

Dean took his hand from mine. I rinsed the razor and lifted it to his jaw again, using my other hand to pull his skin taut before I positioned the blade.

”Okay?” I whispered.

He nodded, his gaze on my face as I stroked the razor down to his cheek. The air between us was still fragrant and steamy from the shower. I rinsed the razor between each stroke, shaving each of his sideburns, then his cheeks, wiping away traces of soap with a towel.

Beneath my thick robe, my skin was getting damp as I became increasingly aware of Dean's body between my legs, the movement of his breath, the heat of his skin. I adjusted my legs around his hips and turned to rinse the razor again. As I did, I felt his finger trail down the open V of my robe.

”Dean, I'm holding a sharp blade,” I reminded him, trying to ignore the tickling sensation of his finger over my skin.

”Mmm. Now you're not only s.e.xy, but dangerous too.”

I shot him a look from beneath my lashes. ”If you want me to finish this, you can't touch me until I'm done. It's not safe.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. I lathered up the brush again and swept it across his neck. He lifted his chin so I could reach underneath. My hand trembled as I eased the razor over his throat. Slowly I sc.r.a.ped the coa.r.s.e stubble away. He didn't touch me, but he s.h.i.+fted his hips closer, and the ridge of his erection brushed my inner thigh.

A few traces of soap lined his neck. I wiped them away with my fingers before setting the razor aside. I studied his face, ensuring I hadn't left any patches of roughness. He looked gorgeous with his face clean-shaven and his hair still damp, the delicious scent of soap rising from his hot skin.

”Okay.” My heart was thumping slow and heavy. ”You're done.”

Dean slipped his hand beneath my chin, lifting my face toward his.

”I was done the second I first saw you,” he murmured the instant before his lips touched mine.

With a sigh of pleasure, I parted my legs as he deepened the kiss, one hand moving to the nape of my neck. I loved how he gently angled my head, as if he were intent on fitting me against him exactly right and locking our mouths together without a seam. I parted my lips to let him in, heat unspooling inside me as his tongue probed deeper. He slid his hands to the front of my robe and tugged at the lapels.

”You'd better be naked under here,” he warned against my lips.

My pulse throbbed. ”I... I have panties on.”

”Not for long, you won't.”

A moan of l.u.s.t escaped me as he opened my robe and slipped his hands inside to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His chest rumbled with a groan. He lifted my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, cupped them in his palms, and rubbed his thumbs across my nipples.

I squirmed, aching for him to touch me between my legs. Dean lifted his head and stepped back, pus.h.i.+ng the robe off my shoulders. Still loosely belted, it fell around my waist and left me naked from the waist up.

A flush rose to my cheeks as Dean raked his hot gaze over me, lingering on the stiff peaks of my nipples. He reached for the shaving brush again and swirled it into the soap, then brought it to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I drew in a breath when the soft, warm bristles touched my nipple. A s.h.i.+ver rocked through me. I watched, mesmerized, as he ran the brush over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, painting them with lather, the white foam slick and s.h.i.+ny against my damp skin.

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