Page 64 of Daddy Down Under

“Just a bit,” I admitted through gritted teeth. “Including ones I never knew I had. I didn’t realize surfing was such a full-body workout.”

Ocean sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing a slight dip in the mattress. He studied me intently, and I felt suddenly exposed under his gaze. Not physically—though we were both still naked—but emotionally. Like he could see right through my facade of toughness to the vulnerability beneath. Then again, he had from the start, hadn’t he?

He caressed my cheek, his gaze soft. “You know, it’s Saturday, so we don’t have any plans today. How about we make it a pamper day? Stay in, order room service, and I can give you a massage?”

My first instinct was to refuse. I didn’t take days off to be “pampered.” But as I opened my mouth to decline, another jolt of pain shot through my shoulders, and I reconsidered. “That actually sounds nice. But are you sure? You don’t have to waste your day taking care of me. I’m sure you’d love to go surfing.”

Ocean’s smile widened, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. The tender gesture sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with muscle soreness. “Taking care of you isn’t a waste, baby. It’s a privilege.”

I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond to the depth of emotion in his voice. Part of me wanted to lean into his touch, to let myself be cared for in a way I hadn’t allowed in years. Another part—the one that had been hurt before and kept people at arm’s length—whispered this was dangerous, that I was setting myself up for heartbreak.

But looking into Ocean’s eyes, seeing the warmth and sincerity there, I found myself nodding. “Okay, a pamper day it is.”

The brilliant smile Ocean gave me in response was almost enough to make me forget my aching muscles. Almost.

He ordered room-service breakfast for us while I took a hot shower, which helped ease the worst muscle aches. When I came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, he clicked his tongue. “Ditch the towel.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured. “The towel. Lose it.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You object to me wearing a towel?”

“I do. I like seeing you naked.”

He said it completely casually, yet my cheeks grew warm. Why did this man have the ability to make me blush at my age? After everything I had seen and done in life, he could still make me feel like a virgin. And what was even stranger was that I liked it…and my first instinct was to obey.

I unwrapped the towel and dropped it on the floor. “That better?”

He took me in slowly, his eyes roaming my body. “Mmm, yes. Perfect.”

I snorted. “Perfect? You need glasses if you think this”—I pointed at myself—“is perfect. Fifteen years ago, maybe, but not anym?—”

His firm hand on my mouth cut me off, and he stood so close I could see every little fleck in his eyes. “When I tell you you’re perfect, you say ‘thank you.’ Don’t argue with me.”

When he looked at me like that, the last thing I wanted to do was argue. Hell, I had to fight the urge to sink to my knees and kiss his feet again, maybe work my way up and worship that beautiful cock. Even soft, it was a work of art.

He chuckled. “Someone is thinking dirty thoughts.”

Huh? How did he…? Oh. My own cock had responded to my thoughts and was at half-mast. Oops.

He removed his hand and kissed me lightly on my lips. “Maybe later, baby. You need some food first.”

My stomach growled as if agreeing with his words, and he grinned.

I held up my hands. “Fine. Can I at least wear clothes for breakfast?”

“Nah. I already set the AC higher so it should be nice and comfortable in here. No reason at all for you to wear anything.”

Aaaaand the blush was back. Funny how I had zero issues with him seeing me naked in bed or in the shower, but this somehow felt too private, too vulnerable. Not that I was gonna fight him on this. He wasn’t wrong that I needed food—not to mention coffee—and arguing would only waste our time.

A knock on the door sounded. “Room service.”

Ocean quickly wrapped a bathrobe around him and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him to shield me. A minute later, he opened the door again and gestured. “Breakfast is ready.”

He’d set it up on the coffee table instead of the dining table so we could lounge on the couch. He grabbed some of the wonderfully fluffy bath towels and spread those on the couch, and I gratefully lay down again. I had expected him to take a seat too, but instead, he sat on the floor next to me.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

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