He's washing my hair. Cristina stood in a daze, hands braced against the wall, while Owen worked shampoo through her wet hair. This is a new side of him. This is definitely new.
She looked again at her left hand. With the two unfamiliar rings on it.
Owen started to hum. He's humming. My husband is humming. Husband.
Cristina nibbled on her lower lip. What am I supposed to do?
Owen continued to hum, as he found a spray nozzle in the hotel shower stall. One large hand cupped her head, as he sprayed warm water into her hair. His thumb gently massaged her temple, as he rinsed out her hair. She leaned against his hand, seeking safety in the familiarity of his touch.
"And now, the conditioner," he murmured against her ear. The huskiness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, even though she was standing in a very warm and steamy shower.
Cristina leaned her head back, as he started massaging her scalp with his sensitive hands. Her hands went to her breasts, lightly circling her nipples. Owen groaned appreciatively, and he subtly ground his hardened length against her slim buttocks.
By the time he started rinsing her hair again, she was leaning against him, one hand reaching behind to grab his hip. She let go of her confusion, the unfamiliar feeling of rings, the uncertainty of what she as a wife was supposed to be. Owen's hands were roaming her body, and she surrendered herself to his bliss.