Second(44)

We get out of the shower. Dean brings my suitcase up while I dry myself and my hair, and I unlock it and pull out my nightclothes before getting into his giant bed.

He smirks when he sees me. “You look so small on my bed.”

“That’s because it’s fucking massive,” I say, burying my face in the pillow. “I could sleep for a year.”

“Jet lag, babe,” he says. “You must be exhausted. Can I get you something to eat or drink? Fuck, I should have fed you before I fucked you, but I just had to have you. I missed you so much, and seeing you show up here…. You have no idea, Sabina.”

He sounds a little worried.

“I wanted you too, Dean. And yes, I’d love some water. I’m not hungry now, but I know I will be when I wake up from this coma of a nap I’m about to fall into.”

“Okay, I’ll get you some water. And whatever you want to eat, I’ll get it for you. My chef is here for dinner. I usually fend for myself for breakfast and lunch, but if you’re here I might tell him to stay all day.”

“I can cook us food, Dean,” I say, yawning. “And so can you. We don’t need a 24/7 chef.”

“You’re on holiday,” he says. “I don’t want you to have to lift a finger.”

“You cook and do everything when you visit me,” I point out. “No double standards. Besides, I like doing it, and what else am I going to do? It’s not like I’m working or anything, so don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m going to be taking you here, there, and everywhere,” he says, frowning. I glance up at him and just take him in, standing here in nothing but a white towel, wrapped low on his hips. His hair is damp and messy, a few water droplets still on his chest and abs. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d lick them then trace his six-pack. But I am, so I’m just going to admire the view. His sleeve tattoo gives him an edge I like, and I really can’t describe a better body, even in my dreams. He’s something else.

And he’s all mine.

“We won’t have time to worry about doing all that shit,” he continues.

I yawn. “Babe, come cuddle. We can argue about this later, okay? After I’ve slept and I’m feeling fierier.”

He laughs at that and joins me in bed, throwing his towel on the floor. “I finally have you in my bed. You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this.”

I smile and rest my head on his chest.

It’s nice to be away from everything.

It’s just us here, in this big house.

No Kate dropping by. Nothing to really worry about, except apparently whether or not to have a chef on hand all day. Dean has made such an amazing life for himself, and now he wants to share it with me, which I appreciate. I just hope I don’t feel weird, like the thought of having someone cook all my meals makes me feel. I’m used to doing things for myself. I’m an independent woman. I don’t want him to take that away from me, but I know he wants to spoil me, and that’s a very nice thing. Where do I draw the line?

I don’t know.

“’Night, Dean,” I whisper.

“’Night, babe.”

I fall into a deep sleep within seconds.





Chapter Twenty Three

When I wake up feeling rested and it’s still night-time, I know I’ve already messed up my sleeping schedule. I force myself back to sleep, and the next time I wake up it’s to Dean playing his guitar and singing softly to a new song.

“Morning,” I say, getting out of bed and walking over to him.

“Morning,” he says, smiling and putting his guitar down. He pulls me onto his lap, smiling up at me. “Hungry?”

I nod. “You don’t have to stop playing though. What was that song?”

“You want to hear it?” he asks, kissing my forehead.

“Of course I do.”

I hop off his lap and sit next to him as he picks his guitar back up and starts to play.

This song.

My eyes widen as he sings the first verse, and I just know that this song is about me.

She’s always been my dream.

My secret sin.

I fought with myself, but now the war is over.

I fell in love with the impossible, I hope reality never sets in.

Because right now, in this moment, next to her, I win.

When he finishes, I clear my throat, feeling emotional.

“Dean--”

“The words have never flowed so easily,” he says, placing the instrument back down and kissing my lips. “They say missing someone is the best thing for a writer, but I think that nothing is better than being with you.”

I don’t know what to reply with to that, because nothing can beat those words, so I just kiss him, sinking my body into his.