She let out a slow breath, as if steeling herself, then murmured, “We should get up.” Her voice lacked conviction, quiet and unsure, like she said it because she thought she should, not because she wantedto.
Titus tightened his hold, pressing a kiss against her hair with a small smile. “Not yet.”
Jazz released a soft laugh, but didn’t pull away. “We have a family brunch.”
“Brunch can wait.” He ran his hand down her back, fingers tracing lazy circles. “This is our first morning together, our first dayas husband and wife. Everyone else can wait. Everything else can wait. Right now, all that matters is us.”
She tilted her head back, her green eyes searching his face. “You don’t wait for anything.”
His smile deepened. “Except for you.”
A flush crept over her cheeks, but before she could respond, Titus shifted, gathering her into his arms in one fluid motion.
A startled gasp left her lips. “Titus!”
He stood effortlessly, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. “You need a shower.”
She arched a brow. “Are you saying I smell?”
“I’m saying I want to take my time with you.”
Her breath hitched, and he caught the way her fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, the way her body instinctively leaned into his. Satisfaction streamed through him as hecarried her into the bathroom, stepping beneath the warm steam rising from the shower.
“Titus—”
“Hush, wife,” he murmured, setting her down carefully. “Let me take care of you.”
Her breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening against his bare shoulders, but she didn’t protest. He felt the way she hesitated, as if caught between resistance and surrender, and it only deepened his satisfaction. She was getting used to this—to him—whether she realized it ornot.
She was snug in his embrace, her curves pressing against his chest, fitting perfectly as if molded for him alone. He held her against him with ease, savoring the way her warmth seeped into him. The faint scent of last night lingered on her skin, amix of jasmine and something uniquely hers, something that had already imprinted itself into hismind.
She snuggled against him, her breath warm against his throat. He knew she could feel his heartbeat,steady and strong, just as she could feel the tension spiraling inside him. He was holding himself back—for her. Fornow.
“Do you always do this?” Her voice was quiet, edged with something unreadable.
He arched a brow. “Do what?”
“Carry me like I have no say in it.”
A slow smile tugged at his lips. “You don’t.”
She huffed a breath, but he caught the way her body relaxed just a little more, molding into him. She could protest all she wanted, but she wasn’t pushing away. She wasn’t fighting him. That, more than anything, told him exactly what he needed toknow.
“You like it,” he murmured, voice thick with certainty. “Even if you won’t admit it.”
She said nothing. But her silence gave him answer enough.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t speak.
Instead, she simply let him take care of her. Her breath came in slow, measured intervals, as if she was absorbing the sensation of his touch, the way his hands moved over her skin with unhurried care. He could feel the tension gradually seeping from her muscles, the way her body adjusted to the intimacy, to him. Every delicate shiver, every unconscious sigh, only reinforced what he already knew—she was learning to trust him. And he would make sure she never regrettedit.
He reached for the soap, lathering his hands before sliding them over her skin. Slow, methodical, deliberate.
Jazz trembled under his touch.
His fingers smoothed over her shoulders, down her arms, over the soft curves of her waist. He lingered, tracing the delicate hollows and dips of her body, savoring the way her skin warmed beneath his touch. Worshipping. Claiming.
