20. Tilly

Chapter twenty

Tilly

W arm water cascades down my back, and Tommy's lips on my neck make me feel like I might just melt right here. Everything about this moment—him, us together—feels like it's been plucked from my wildest dreams and made real. Every other romantic experience I've ever had is quickly fading into insignificance; there's only Tommy in my sexual hall of fame, with his unique ways of making me feel absolutely cherished. Both in the bedroom and out.

As he washes my back with a soft loofah, I turn to face him. My arms find their way around his hips, and I kiss him, pouring every ounce of my feelings into it. Pulling back slightly, I smile and whisper, "Hi."

"Hello," he says, his voice low.

"You said you loved me," I remind him, wanting to hear it again, to know it's real.

He jerks back a bit, a playful smirk on his lips. "I was just trying to get you in bed." I laugh at his joke, even though a part of me twinges at the thought of him even pretending to backtrack.

Pushing wet hair from my face, he kisses my neck. "I'm kidding. I do love you." When I don't jump for joy, his expression turns serious. "Sorry, that wasn't funny."

Normally, I might smile at this point, but I'm not stuck on his lame attempt at a joke. "What changed?" I ask, genuinely curious. When I left Costa Rica, Tommy was doing his best to ignore me much like I was doing the same to him. "Why do you love me now? I mean, last year you turned me down and then this all happens." I sigh and stare at the water pooling beneath our feet. "Was it being apart? Like, I left and you realized how awesome I am?" I force a smile, but he doesn't match it.

He looks away for a moment, then back at me earnestly. "Nothing changed, Tilly. I've loved you for years, and I have absolutely no memory of turning you down. I would have never, and I mean never, done that—not since the first day I met you."

I can't help but let his words soak straight into my soul. The admission warms me more than the shower ever could. But I push a little further. "That night Greg shoved you? I asked you to come upstairs, and you said no."

He steps back, surprise written all over his face. "That's why you stopped talking to me?"

I nod. "When he threatened you, something clicked for me. It's like I saw you clearly for the first time. I wanted you, right there on the dance floor. And when you didn't come home with me, it crushed me." Looking up at the ceiling, I blink away tears. "After that, I couldn't forget how much I wanted you. Being around and not touching…I couldn't bear it."

To my surprise, he laughs. I snap to his eyeline. "Hey!" I smack his wet arm, my brows still furrowed. How dare he laugh at my confession!

"Oh, Tilly, my beautiful, beautiful woman," he says, his voice wrapping around me along with his arms. "Now you know how I felt for years. And hearing you talk about your ‘dates'?" He uses air quotes over the word, and I get it. I didn't so much date as I liked to wham, bam, thank you, man. "That night? I had a surf lesson early the next day. I thought you were just asking me to sleep on your couch, like always. I went home, jerked off thinking of you, and went to bed."

I cover my mouth, chuckling. "TMI, Tommy."

He shakes his head, smiling. "It's true, Til."

Turning around, I let the water drench me, confessing, "I thought of you… erm, like that too." Tommy, careful to keep his stitches dry, stays mostly out of the water, but his hands settle around my stomach, his voice a deep rumble. "Yeah? Maybe you could show me how you did that sometime."

His words send shivers all over my body, not from the cold, but from the intense, anticipatory heat in his voice.

"Sometime, yeah," I whisper back, feeling his face nestle against my neck, his lips gently nibbling my skin. The reality of Tommy and me, naked together in the shower, touching, is still so surreal. I keep repeating it in my mind, trying to convince myself this is all actually happening. I spin and press our wet bodies together, his lips tracing over my collarbone.

"Tommy?" I breathe out.

"Yes, babe?" Hearing the small term of endearment puts a broad smile on my face. It's happening so often that my cheeks are starting to hurt.

"Can we go to bed?"

Without a word, he reaches over, turns off the water, and grabs two towels off the rack. He wraps one around me with a gentle motion before securing another around his own waist.

We leave the soaked blanket on the bathroom floor—the poor filthy thing has certainly been through the wringer tonight—and head back to the bedroom. Tommy fetches a spare quilt from the closet, tossing it over the bed, while I quickly change into the pajamas his mom provided. He pulls on some thin shorts from the dresser.

As we lie down, I face him, one hand tucked under my head. His eyes are already closed, droplets of water from his wet hair occasionally dripping onto his stitches. I pick up the towel from the floor and gently dab at them.

"Thanks, babe," he murmurs, his voice completely drained. "Tomorrow…" his voice trails off.

Just when I think he's going to finish his thought, I hear a soft snore. "Tomorrow, what?" I ask, shaking him a bit.

A tiny grin twitches at the corner of his lips but he doesn't answer. For some reason, I know he was about to say something about my family. But the moment is too perfect to press into that particular issue.

I kiss his cheek softly. "I love you, Tommy."

"Love you too, Matilda." He chuckles at my full name, so I pinch his arm in playful reprimand. He frowns, eyes still shut, and rubs the spot, but I just cuddle closer to him, gripping his hand and intertwining our fingers.

Watching him, I notice his breathing even out into the steady rhythm of sleep. Only then, assured he's peacefully asleep, do I allow my own eyes to close, content in the quiet and warmth between us.