Page 32 of Balance

He swiped at his face and let out a weak laugh. “It’s not the sexiest thing in the world.”

“Well, to you maybe, but I think you’re pretty when you cry.”

Troye looked up at me, his nose wrinkled in disbelief, only increasing his adorable factor tenfold. “You do?”

“I do. I’m a big, mean, nasty daddy, and I loved seeing you cry. It meant that you felt safe enough with me to let go, and that’s such a gift. Thank you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it. And you’re welcome, I guess.”

Maybe he’d believe me with time. And even if he didn’t, that was okay.

“Are you ready for that shower? I know I could use one.” I loved sex and intimacy, but I definitely loved not being covered in lube and cum all night long.

Troye sighed, but it wasn’t loaded this time. He seemed loose-limbed and content, and I was almost loath to make him move. I was about to suggest that I just towel us off and we could shower in the morning when he propped himself up and looked at me.

“Will there be kissing allowed in this shower? And touching?” Hunger danced in his eyes and I laughed quietly.

“What sweetheart wants, sweetheart gets,” I teased, booping his nose gently with my finger.

He preened and practically sprang up out of bed. “I could get used to hearing shit like that. You better be careful.”

Without waiting for me, Troye slipped into the adjoining bathroom and flicked the lights on. “Holy shit.” He poked his head out of the bathroom and looked at me with wide eyes. “How many people live here? A whole hockey team could shower in there. Well, if they didn’t care about personal space.”

“Believe it or not, I bought the house with the bathroom like that. I’d planned to renovate it and make the bathroom smaller.”

Troye cut me off. “Don’t you dare. I’ve never had a shower with more than one showerhead before.” He vanished back around the corner and I eased myself out of bed. “How do you work this thing? There’s so many buttons.”

Before I could tell him to wait, the shower started up, water rumbled through the pipes, and I heard the spray hit the tile. And then Troye screamed.

“Holy fuck, that’s cold. Where’s the hot? Help! Fuckfuckshit.” The sound of the water intensified and by the time I entered the bathroom, Troye had managed to turn the shower on, all the heads, but the water was clearly on cold and in his panicked state, he couldn’t figure out how to change the temperature setting.

Reaching into the shower, I adjusted the temperature for him and, once it was running hot, I entered. Troye slid his cold body against mine and shivered against me, his teeth chattering together.

“You could have waited for me.” I wound my arms around him and turned so that he was getting as much of the hot water as possible.

“Mmm, I dunno. This is okay. Maybe getting cold was worth it.”

My hand slid down his back and further until they came to rest on his ass. I gave his tender cheeks a gentle squeeze. “Brat,” I admonished, but there was only affection in my voice.

“You like me like that.”

“You know, I really do,” I admitted without hesitation or shame, and I was rewarded with Troye’s body snuggling impossibly closer to mine and his quiet voice, suddenly tentative again.

“I like you like this too,” he told me.

To which my only response was to hold him tighter, tell him thank you, and kiss his hair.

And wonder how we’d gotten here so fast.

CHAPTER 17

TROYE

Matthew’s bed was better than mine simply because he was in it. It smelled of him. Of clean linen and the citrus of his body wash, and in the morning, it smelled of us. Of him and me together. He’d showered with me, practically taking over the work of bathing me, something I’d been doing on my own since I could remember.

When I was with Matthew, he found a way to check things off a list I didn’t know existed. A list of things I’d never done with another person but fucking should have. Like showering. I’d never showered with another person. Never had them massage the shampoo into my scalp and shield my eyes as they rinsed it out.

Never had someone call me sweetheart, not in any tone of voice, but especially not in the buttery soft one that Matthew used. The one that made me feel important, like I mattered.