Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Avery

WHEN I WAKE UP, he's still here.

I know before I even open my eyes. Diego's arm lies over me, a heavy, tangible weight that tells me he's here, holding me as we cuddle in my bed. We fell asleep this way shortly after that conversation about Diego's fears. Despite his trepidation, he didn't run. He stayed here with me, and the truth of that is ringing through me like the final perfect note of a favorite song.

I tense when he stirs, but he simply yawns and kisses my shoulder, face buried against my back. It's Sunday morning. Neither of us have anywhere we need to be. Which leaves me powerfully tempted to turn around in his arms and start kissing him again. I didn't quite get enough of that last night .

But I don't want to push it, not when Diego actually seems relaxed. As much as I led the charge when we got here, I'm going to have to allow him to drive this morning. The more I cling, the more it'll ignite all those fears he confessed last night.

"Morning," I say.

"Morning." His gravelly morning voice vibrates against me and stirs up a flurry of pleasure in my gut, like a flock of birds taking flight.

I wait, and he simply lies there holding me. I don't mind; really, I could do this all day if he wanted to, but eventually he lets go with a grumble and forces himself to sit up.

He's beautifully rumpled when I drag myself up and get a look at him. His hair juts out in crazy angles. His eyes are bleary, his glasses resting on a nightstand. The warmth of deep, peaceful sleep glows in his tan cheeks. Best of all, he's still naked, so even with the sheets covering part of him, I get another look at his firm chest and the dark hair scrawled across it. It's all I can do not to coast my fingers through that hair, and I catch myself biting my lip to aid my efforts at self-control.

"Could I use your bathroom?" he says.

"Of course. Right over there. Albert left some new toothbrushes in the cabinet under the sink if you want to brush your teeth. There should be some other toiletries as well. Take whatever you need. Albert liked to stock up for guests. "

"Albert?" He rubs at his eyes before getting his glasses on.

"Guy who owns the house. What? You don't think I bought a house, do you?"

"I thought maybe you were renting it or something. The night I broke down you said you were taking care of it."

I burst into laughter and catch him watching me do it. A smile tugs at my mouth no matter how hard I try to tamp it down.

"Are you in the mood for a shower?" I say. "Plenty of towels and stuff."

"I don't have anything to change into," Diego says. "It's okay. I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Dummy," I say. "I'm asking if you're in the mood for a shower with me ."

I've never had to be this blunt with a guy before, but Diego's eyebrows flicker up and down with surprise. He's watching me closely, his eyes skating over my lips, then across my bare chest.

"Oh my God, come on," I say, before he can torture us both by debating it any longer.

I slip out of bed, heedless of the fact I'm completely naked. It's not like he didn't see it all last night. I hurry around the bed and take Diego's hand, tugging him from under the sheets. He joins me on my trek to the bathroom, and I flick on the shower. We scrub our teeth side-by-side while the water heats up, then I fetch some towels and set them on the heated bar beside the shower (Albert really tricked this place out while he lived here), and Diego sets aside the glasses he just put back on.

The shower is large, but it feels far smaller when we both squeeze inside. The glass doors fog over from the steam, but there's nothing to obscure my view once I get Diego under the spray. The water soaks his hair, turning it pitch black and sticking it to his forehead and cheeks. He tilts his head back and sweeps hair and water out of his face, and good God, it's like something out of a shampoo commercial. He's tan and gorgeous and soaking wet, and I get to look at all of him from mere inches away. I have to work very hard not to let my eyes go right to his dick, but fortunately there's plenty else to drink in — like his pecs or his abs or the slight flex of his arms when he brushes his hair back.

With his hair out of the way, he opens his eyes and finds me watching him. I snap my mouth shut, but the damage is done. He caught me red-handed. The slightest of smiles pulls valiantly at his mouth, but he stuffs it away so quickly I question if it was ever there at all.

"Do you need the hot water?" he says.

I have to repeat the sentence in my head a couple times to figure out what it means. I'm not exactly functioning at maximum capacity while naked, wet Diego stands within touching distance .

"No. I mean, yes. Probably. Yeah. I should do that," I say.

He laughs, one short little noise that doesn't even pry his mouth open, and swaps spots with me. The swapping forces us to touch. Diego steadies me with his hands on my arms, and I almost give up the charade and throw him against the wall of the shower. The only thing that holds me back is my determination to prove to him that we can do this, that I'm not going to jump him at every opportunity. We can be normal. Well, as normal as two people sharing a shower can be. I don't want to push the sex thing, though. I have a strong suspicion that if I do it'll lend credence to all his worst fears.

The water soaks my hair to my neck and back. It reaches nearly to my waist when it's loose and wet. I stand there wondering what I should do next, and Diego reaches for me, slipping a lock of wet hair through his hands.

"Turn around," he says. "I'll wash it."

"Oh," I say stupidly.

I turn around, facing the faucet, and Diego gets closer. There's only three bottles in here: Shampoo, conditioner and body wash. He chooses the correct one, I presume, and then his hands are in my hair, working in the shampoo. His fingers are strong as they massage my scalp, and I tilt toward the feeling, not realizing for several seconds that he's working in the shampoo far more than strictly necessary. He trails his fingers down, combing the shampoo through my hair, then comes back up, gently scratching my scalp.

I could let him do this all day, but eventually he drags his hands free, and I quickly wash out the shampoo so he can do the same with the conditioner. But by then the game is up. I turn toward him as soon as he stops working his fingers through my hair. Instead of rinsing out the conditioner, I pull him toward me, kissing him under the hot spray of the water.

I swear I wasn't going to do anything but take a shower with him, but when he reaches for the body wash, my mind floods with all kinds of unhelpful ideas. And it seems Diego agrees. We start rubbing the body wash all over each other. Technically we're getting cleaner, I suppose, but I'm not sure how much cleaner his chest is going to get from me squeezing it.

We're slick and soaked. Diego's hands wander down to my waist, pulling me toward him. He kisses me again, his lips lingering this time, and I can't suppress or hide my reaction with both of us standing so close in the shower.

"Energetic this morning," he murmurs.

"Yeah, I, uh, sorry about that."

"Why?" Diego says. "You shouldn't be. I like it."

He reaches down to touch me, and my cock springs to full hardness. I cling to his shoulders as he starts stroking. When I tip my head back in pleasure, Diego's mouth seeks my throat. He kisses and sucks as his hand works, and this officially becomes the best morning of my entire damn life.

It's early. I'm worked up from last night. His hand feels fucking incredible. And in no time my voice is filling up the shower stall even more than the steam as I shove my hips at Diego's firm hand. It's so hard not to crumble against him, not to give him everything. He touches me with fascination, with devotion, like he wants nothing more than to lavish every inch of my body with attention and care. That feeling that he loves my body, loves what I look like, but still sees me for myself, is almost more enticing than the strong, insistent motion of his hand.

"Those sounds you make are going to drive me crazy," Diego rasps against my neck.

That's all I need. His encouragement urges me on. I dig my nails into his slick skin and let go of all that hesitation and caution I woke up with. Then I undo all that aimless scrubbing, making a mess of both of us all over again.

I slouch against the wall afterward, but even that feels like too much. In the end, I drop to my knees, not caring how close his cock is to my face when I start stroking him in response. Diego braces his hands on the shower wall above me, his body blocking the spray, and groans until he explodes, nearly hitting my face when he does.

He sinks to the basin with me, and we kiss while the water tries to drown us. It takes several minutes before we can drag ourselves back to our feet and wash properly, but I'm pretty sure of neither of us truly cares about getting squeaky clean in here. We spend some time simply touching each other again, touching with no aim other than enjoying the feel of each others' bodies. A day ago, I would have called this moment impossible. Even right now it feels like a dream. But the pruning of my fingers reminds me that my body will have needs today other than sex.

Mia and Gabriel will be so proud of me. All this time, I've been telling them I have no time for fun, but maybe it wasn't a question of time. Maybe it was a question of making time for the right kind of fun. And the right person.

I shut off the water reluctantly. We use the warmed up towels to dry off, then head back into the bedroom.

"I might have something you can borrow," I say as I dig through the closet.

Most of my jeans and fitted things will be too small for him, but I might have a T-shirt that's baggy enough to get the job done. I throw on some sweatpants and a crop top for myself, incapable of resisting being a little cute, but Diego hasn't answered even when I'm fully dressed and leaving the closet. Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed wringing his hands.

"Diego?" I say.

"Avery, this was really fun, but..."

My stomach plummets into my feet. Just like that, he's a completely different person than the one who slept in my bed, the one who washed my hair and touched me in the shower. This is the old Diego, the Diego from before last night, the Diego who couldn't stop running from me.

What could I have suddenly done wrong?