“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“You’re safe with me…” He traps my hand, squeezing my fingertips together before pressing them to my temple. “Here,” he rasps out before flattening my hand over his heart, “here…” He glides it down his muscular chest and navel before cupping his cock. “And most definitely here.”
I can’t help my grin as I wrap my hand around his hardening length and pump him.
“Don’t start,” he scorns, “you need to rest.”
“I need you.”
“You have me, Beauty.”
“Is this real?” I rasp out, love drunk, spent, blissed-out, but already yearning for more.
“Real in every fucking way,” he declares vehemently.
“When did you know you loved me,” I ask.
“I knew something was happening between us hour one.”
“Me too.”
“The girl that met me at the bar was a far cry from the cocky bitch previewed on the phone.”
I lift a brow. “That was also me.”
“Yeah, but she no-showed.” He palms my cheek. “And this version showed up in her place, searching for something I also wanted for myself.”
“What?”
“The type of love that defies rationality, that trumps all reasoning, that’s uncontrollable.”
“We have that.”
“We do. The best part is, I didn’t have to want to be the guy for you. I already was.”
“So, you’re saying it’s fate?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, pushing soaked hair away from my face, “and every other thing that pulls two people together.”
I can’t help my smile. “Careful. You’re starting to sound a lot like your superstitious mother.”
“I might not buy into it all, but I love that about her and inherited a few traits from her.”
“Like?”
“Sometimes, I can get irrational due to my emotions. My mom’s the same way and has been her whole life. Instead of trying to change it, she found someone who accepts and loves her more for it and has thrived because of it.” He exhales and grabs the shampoo, pouring it into his hand. He runs it through his hair before I take over, digging my nails into his scalp.
“What traits did you inherit from your dad?”
“My temper,” he admits, “and that’s where it gets tricky.”
“Are you afraid of it?”
“On the day-to-day, no, but my dad is. He’s afraid I’ll do something I can’t take back.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “Honestly? I’m a little afraid of it when it comes to you.”
He stills my hands.
“I would never hurt—”
“Jesus, Easton, don’t even finish that.” I press in, ensuring he hears me as he rinses his hair. “Unconditionally,” I remind him. “I love all of you,” I whisper on a shaky breath, “I really, really fucking love you and will continue to, come what may. I can handle your bad moods,” I laugh, “I met you in a bad mood.”
“Good,” he murmurs, “because you promised me you would.”
I rake my lip. “So, don’t let what I’m about to say put you into one, okay?”
He sighs. “Out with it.”
“I’m a plan girl, you know that. So, when we walk out of that door tomorrow—and after we face whatever consequences that we have waiting—what then? Like, where will we go?”
“Depends,” he replies easily.
“On what?”
“On what you want,” tilting his head back, he rinses his hair of conditioner while keeping my stare.
“You do realize when we leave here, reality kicks in.”
“This is fucking reality,” he snaps defensively. “We just got married.”
“I know,” I snap back. “But you’re a fucking rock star, and I’m a reporter, and we don’t live in the same state.”
He turns off the water, his back to me, and I clasp his shoulders as he lets out a harsh exhale. “I was going to talk to you about all this tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t get upset. I just want to figure this out.”
“I know, I’m not,” he concedes easily while grabbing a towel and glancing over at me. “Tell me what you want, and we’ll go from there.”
“The paper is a legacy I want to uphold. I can’t just abandon that.”
“Is that truly what you want?”