Page 162 of Butterfly Effect

“No, don’t do that. I like it.”

“And me, Freckles? Do you like me?”

My heart sinks. Forget about love; I’ve never told him I like him. He has to know, right? How could he not know? Or maybe he knows but, like me, needs to hear it.

“Yeah, Wade. I like you.”

The stupid beating organ curses itself at the yearning in his eyes, so starved for the affirmation. It wants to tear open and reveal everything, but trips.

“Will you take me home, Wade?”

After a quick stop at the Kincaid-Jaegers to return Doug, Wade, and I wordlessly walk back to his penthouse.

Tension seethes as our eyes lock.

I lead him to the ensuite of his bedroom and prepare the shower, turning the handle until the water gently splashes to the floor.

My head tips up, reaching for a kiss, the contact slow and intentional. His warm mouth invites my tongue and returns drawn-out, dizzying swipes.

We part for a moment, but I don’t stop, kissing his brow, his eyes, his angled cheekbones. Adoring him. Air staggers out from the seam of his pinked, damp lips.

“Can I undress you?” I murmur.

“Yes.”

I peel away his leather jacket while resting my forehead against his chin. The worn cotton of his tee heats my flattened palms as I run them down his chest, then curl my fingers under the bottom hem. “Arms up.”

We detach so he can lift them over his head. I toss it aside and shed my shirt, exposing a simple black bralette.

“Wow,” Wade whispers, admiring as he slips his hands over my hips, then below the elastic of my sweatpants. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

I hush him with a finger on his lips but let him drag the pants over my ass and down my thighs to help me step out of them. His jeans unbutton easily in my grasp, and I ignore the hardened bulge in his soft boxer briefs as I remove everything below his waist. Impatient hands rid me of the remaining thong and bralette.

Tentative steps draw us into the steaming shower, the temperature ruthlessly hot.

We shift between the dual shower heads, sighing as the cascade washes over us. Wade throws a hungry look my way before stepping into my stream and latching his mouth to mine. Water sluices between our bodies, lips and tongues ravenous, feasting.

I get swept away for a moment, then remember.

“Wait.” My hands surround his cheeks. “I need to tell you something.”

He catches his breath and leans into my touch.

“I know I’m not innately nurturing or maternal…I’ve always craved the care of others to fill the void after losing my mom, but it either felt like I was asking too much or that whatever little I got was good enough because it was better than nothing.” Salty tears join the water wetting my face. “I’ve never really thought of caring for anyone else.”

Wade wipes away the saline mixture from my cheeks.

“Until you. I wanna take care of you, Wade. I want to be gentle, and tender, and rough if that’s what you need.”

His forehead kisses mine, sandwiching the drenched strands of his hair between us.

“Get on your knees.”

Brown eyes question, but he says nothing before kneeling between my feet.

I pull a bottle off the shelf and pump.

A foamy lather builds as I work the shampoo through the dark waves of his hair, like the ocean at midnight. He sways at the pressure of my fingers against his scalp.

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