Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

Cosy turns on the water, testing the temperature with her wrist while I open cupboards, searching for the damn basket they always leave in suites for exactly this purpose. I find it in the linen closet with the white bathrobes. “Got it!” I hold up the bottle of bubble bath triumphantly and turn to find Cosy sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi, watching the bath fill while she plays with the end of her braid.

I unscrew the cap and cross over to the tub, sniffing the contents. It smells sweet and floral, but not overwhelming. I tip the bottle upside down and squeeze.

“Oh my God!” Cosy grabs for it, which catches me off guard and the bottle slips from hand, landing in the tub with a splash.

“Is it too strong?” Maybe I should’ve let her smell it first; bubbles are already forming, spreading across the surface as Cosy fishes the bottle out.

“You don’t need a lot of this stuff, and you dumped, like, half the bottle in one shot.”

“Oh.” I watch the scented foam expand impressively.

“If you turn the jets on, the entire bathroom will be full of bubbles at this rate.” Cosy giggles. It’s a sweet sound.

I give her an apologetic smile. “Should we start over?”

“Nah, it’ll calm down eventually. I think.” She pulls her shirt over her head and drops it on the floor. She’s wearing a white satin bra, trimmed with lace. Well, it was white, but there are streaks of orange dirt marring the pale fabric. It’s screams innocence, and I have to wonder if that was in any way intentional.

Cosy wears a lot of tanks—often sheer—and short shorts, so I’ve seen a lot of skin in the past two weeks, but this is very different. This is her undressing in front of me with the intent of getting naked. At least I think that’s what happening.

“Let me help.” My voice is gravelly and low as I close the distance between us.

She gives me a cheeky smile. “You think I can’t undress myself?”

“I’m sure you’re very, very capable, Cosy, but I’m looking for any excuse I can to touch you right now. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“I’m okay with that.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

I cup her face in my hands and dip down to kiss her. Her palms settle on my chest and she tips her head to the side, inviting me to deepen it. I indulge for a few seconds before I pull away. Goose bumps flash across her skin as I flick the button open on her shorts and drag the zipper down, exposing the matching panties. I push the shorts over her hips and drop to one knee, sliding them down her creamy, tanned thighs. Cosy braces a hand on my shoulder as she steps out of them. I place a kiss below her navel before I stand again.

Her eyes dart from my mouth to my chest. “I can help you too.” She tugs the hem of my shirt, fingers tickling my abs as she pushes it up. She’s much shorter than me, so I take over when it reaches my pecs and pull it over my head.

She bites her knuckle and runs her free hand down my chest. “You’re like one of those statues in a museum, but not carved out of marble,” she says.

I laugh, but my ego inflates. “Thanks, I think.”

She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Oh, it’s definitely a compliment. Please tell me you have to work for this. Or lie if you don’t. No one should be this cut without some effort.”

“I spend a decent amount of time at the gym.”

“That makes one of us,” she murmurs. She follows the treasure trail to the waistband of my shorts and tugs the belt free, unfastening it, then popping the button. I groan when she pulls the zipper down, my erection straining behind it. My shorts drop to the floor since, unlike Cosy’s, mine aren’t painted on my body. Without them, there’s no way of hiding my appreciation or my excitement, which looks like it’s trying to strong-arm its way out of my boxer briefs.

Cosy makes a face I’m not sure how to read. “That’s nothing like a museum statue.”

“What does that mean?” I’ve always considered myself pretty gifted in this department, so the possibility that she could be less than impressed is irksome.

She smirks and flips her braid over her shoulder. “Listen to how offended you sound. Usually the peens are either missing or look like they belong on a toddler. This definitely doesn’t belong on a toddler.” She pokes the head of my erection through my boxers, making it twitch. Her eyes flip up to mine, and she does jazz hands, grinning. “It’s alive!” She takes a couple dancing steps away from me and glances at the tub. The bubbles have risen about a foot above the edge and they’re still climbing.