Page 25 of The Forever Experiment

“Those too?” he asks, nodding at the products in my hand.

“Nope.” I set them on the counter. “First, I need to take off my makeup, wash my face. Then, I shower. After that, it’s skincare, haircare, moisturizing, and brushing teeth.” Easton flicks a brow, and I toss him a dead-pan expression. “I told you, my night routine isn’t sexy. It’s practical, and I don’t sleep well when I don’t complete it.”

“Maya, baby,” he drawls, grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the edge of the sink. We’re both still completely naked as he steps between my legs, entirely unfazed by it. “First of all, every single goddamn thing about you is sexy to me.” He slides his perfect hands up my sides, studying my body before lifting his gaze to my face. “Secondly, this is a marriage experiment, no? I want to see your nightly routine. I want to see every piece of who you are.”

“It’s vulnerable,” I admit softly, my voice no more than a whisper.

“Your vulnerability is safe with me,” he whispers back, lifting a hand to cup my face.

I nuzzle into the warmth of his palm, offering nothing more than a nod. He must take it as permission, because he grabs my cleansing balm, unscrewing the lid. “This first?”

“Yeah.” I reach out to take it from him, but he rears back, giving me a stern expression.

He dips his finger into the container, holding a dollop out to me. “This much?”

“Yes,” I giggle. “I normally spread it between my two fingers…” I hold my hands out, showing the way I like to spread the product between my pointer and middle fingers. “And then rub small circles over my skin to remove my makeup.”

He nods, following my instructions before gently pressing both hands to my cheeks. He moves over my cheek bones, nose, lips, and forehead while I remind him to be careful of my eyes. He’s grinning the entire time, thoughtfully focused on covering every inch of my face.

His touch is soft, warm, delicate against my flesh, like being wrapped in comfort and care.

Once he finishes, I direct him to wet a soft cloth and wipe the balm off my face before he helps me repeat the process with my cleanser. Afterward, he leads me into the shower, adjusting thetemperature of the water to a near-searing heat, even though I can tell he hates it. Easton doesn’t seem to even notice when he’s scrubbing my exfoliator into my skin and washing it off, doing the same with my passionfruit-scented body soap.

I wash him next, and he allows me to tilt his head back, scrubbing shampoo into his soft hair. I take my time with it, massaging his scalp and savoring his presence. I’ve never showered with anyone before, never known it to be something romantic. Something intimate. I don’t know I’ve ever trusted a man the way I trust Easton, and that truth tears through me in equal parts confusion and fascination. I knew him briefly in college, and I didn’t know him at all as an adult, yet somehow, after two days together, I’m terrified to walk back into a life he’s not a part of at all.

After we’re both cleansed, Easton wraps a towel around my shoulders and another at his waist.

“I think there are robes in the closet.” I nod toward the bedroom as I step onto the bath mat.

“Got it.” He darts out of the bathroom, returning a moment later with a robe on a hanger, another on his body. He helps me out of my towel before standing behind me with the robe held open, assisting me as I step into it. “What’s next?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You don’t need to do this whole thing with me. You can go to bed if you want.”

His brows furrow, blue eyes bright with conviction. “I don’t want to be doing anything else right now.”

Not knowing what else to say, I only nod. “I normally do my hair next.”

“Okay.” He smiles, grabbing my toiletry bag and handing it to me.

“First,” I say, pulling out my scalp toner, “I’m going to spray some of this at my roots and massage it in because my scalp getsdry sometimes—especially today, since I didn’t take care of it last night.”

Easton gently takes the small bottle from my hand. “May I?”

“Sure,” I breathe.

I watch him unscrew the cap, revealing the nozzle at the tip of the bottle. He tilts it upside down and begins raising it toward the top of my head. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Just a few drops around the root of the braids, and I normally massage over the top of my scalp, but gently.”

“Turn around and tilt your head back into my chest,” he says, voice gruff and focused. I listen, feeling the steady wall of his body against my back. I let my eyes fall closed as I feel him drip the toner on my scalp before his hands begin working into the roots of my hair.

He’s so careful, so calm as his fingers press and massage my head. It’s almost as if I can feel the tension and stress melting from my body simply with his breath and the working of his hands. I’ve never allowed a man to do this to me before, never had one ask. I’ve never had anyone care. My throat suddenly feels tight, my eyes stinging, because I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to walk away from this when it’s all over.

“What made you decide to do braids like this?” he asks quietly. “In college, your hair was straight.”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I guess at some point, I realized I was cosplaying who I thought I should be, not who I really am. I needed a change, and I’d always loved this style on other women. After I took the leap and tried it for myself, it was like my insides finally matched the person staring back at me in the mirror.” I shrug. “That’s not to say I won’t try something different at some point, but the braids made me feel like I garnered the courage to actually explore who I really want to be.”

Easton’s hands pause at my words, and he’s quiet for a moment before he firmly says, “They look beautiful on you, and I like who you really are. I think she might be my favorite person.”

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