The rippling of water sounds as Rhett swipes a facecloth over my back. This shitty hotel bathtub is too small for the two of us, but we’re packed into it anyway. He told me if I’m going to continue to force him to take Epsom salt baths that I have to come in with him. So here I am, seated between his legs in the hottest, smallest bath known to man. While Rhett Eaton washes me. And kisses me.
