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“It’s nice,” I tell him, stretching out my limbs as he continues to draw soft circles on my chest, his hands never once leaving my skin.
“It looks better now that you are in it.” His smirk is evident, delight dancing in his eyes. “I like having you inmy bed, Lacy. I like spending time with you outside it as well,” he says honestly.
“Well, that's good because I don’t just share my special Saturday sundae with just anyone,” I tease, and he laughs.
“Come, let’s take a shower, then I want to cook you dinner.”
I almost balk in disbelief. No one has cooked me dinner before. Not like this. Sure, some people drop off casseroles for Mom and me on occasion, especially when she’s sick. And Jennifer is amazing in the kitchen. But outside of the chicken soup Hudson arranged from Rochelle the other week, it’s been a long time since someone else cooked for me.
“Cook me dinner?” I wonder if I heard him right.
“Yeah. A king cooks for his queen. I might even feed it to you as well…” His words are laced with innuendo.
“You are a charmer, Doctor Hamilton.” I sit up and he takes my hand, leading me into the bathroom, which is almost the same size as his bedroom.
“I meant what I said earlier, Lacy…” he says as he leans into the massive shower and turns on the water. I watch it steam up instantly and look around, wondering if this is a shower that caters to the elderly or disabled due to its size, but with the lack of handrails, I assume this is just how billionaires bathe. It makes my bathroom look like a kids’ camp shower.
“And what was that?” I ask as I step into the water, heat encasing me immediately, and my muscles relax as I feel him step in behind me. His chest is hard against my back as the water cascades over us.
“You are mine,” he murmurs in my ear, the feeling of his words and his breath coating my skin in goosebumps as I lean my head back against his chest.
“I like being yours…” I whisper, as his hands coast up and down my naked sides, his fingers skirting my curves, his lips peppering my shoulders. His hands run up my chest, and he cups my breasts, the water flowing down them as his fingers mold them in his strong palms.
“Good.” He grabs the loofah and some soap and runs it across my body. It feels heavenly and calming, and I turn in his arms so I can do the same to him.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” he asks, and I look at him and swallow. I need to. I need to tell him about college, my professor, but not yet. Not now.
“I know.” I nod, smiling, trying to reassure him. I can tell he’s concerned and maybe I didn’t hide it well enough all this time. I clear my throat and look at his body.
“So, you need to tell me about these,” I say, letting my hands skim across his naked torso, looking at the artwork that adorns his chest almost completely. He lifts his hands to lean against the wall behind me, almost caging me in. I continue to soap down his body, before I wrap my hands around his length, him feeling thick and heavy in my palm.
“Hmmmm. It's a bit hard to concentrate when your hands are on me like that.” He’s eyeing me like he wants to eat me whole, and I giggle but then feel a little woozy.
“Lacy?” Hudson’s voice is harsh, and I look back up at him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, standing back a little, changing the heat of the water to be cooler.
“I’m okay,” I say as I shake my head.
“Your pupils are a little dilated.” Turning off the shower quickly, he grabs a towel.
“I just feel a little lightheaded,” I tell him quietly as I rub my eyes, seeing spots.
“Here.” Wrapping me in a large soft bath towel, he picks me up, feeling like I weigh nothing and am snuggled into a cloud.
“Carrying me again?” I try to tease, but the concern etched into his brow tells me he’s not in the teasing mood anymore.
“Rest here. Let me get you some cool water,” he says, striding around the room still entirely naked, water dripping from his frame, to a small fridge in a cupboard I didn’t even notice earlier. Walking back, I see him cracking open the bottle of water as I take in a deep breath, my skin cooling and the spots leaving my vision.
“Here, drink,” he says, sitting on the bed, and I take the bottle from him and do as he says.
“After your blood donation today, I should have been more careful. I'm sorry,” he says, looking remorseful.
“I’m fine. A little lightheadedness is nothing new.” I wave my hand at him to ease his concern.
“Nothing new?” he asks tentatively, and I balk.
“Sometimes I feel a little faint, but it’s just because I’m so busy,” I tell him, again trying to act like it’s nothing, and his frown deepens.