She pursed her lips and blew, sending the suds dancing into the air. “It’s refreshing.”

“In some places more than others,” he told her, and waggled his brows when she looked at him with surprise.

“Really?”

“You’ll see,” he assured her.

“That’s not ominous at all,” she quipped, but she turned and settled back against him. “Cade?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed making lazy circles over her breasts with the loofah. “For what?”

“For making my dreams come true.”

“We’re just getting started,” he assured her.

“I can’t wait.”

Neither could he.

* * * *

Olivia woke the next morning with a song in her heart and a smile on her face. The other side of the king-sized bed was empty, the sheets cool, so she assumed Cade had been up for a while. She was surprised she hadn’t woken when he’d left the bed, as she tended to sleep light. But considering what she’d spent her evening doing, it was hardly a surprise that she’d slept through his departure.

She rolled out of bed and reached her arms to the sky, enjoying the stretch and pop of her muscles, then made the bed. The bath last night had taken care of most of her soreness, and the rest would probably dissipate once she got moving. Though by the feel of it, she definitely had a bruise on her lower back from being fucked into the countertop.

She stepped into the bath to look in the mirror, the dark smudge at the top curve of her ass confirming her suspicious. She’d never been one of those submissives who prided themselves on marks, but she was inordinately pleased to see the bruise, like a temporary memento of her first CNC scene with Cade.

She stared at it for a moment, a dreamy smile on her lips, then turned away from the mirror with a sigh. She hurried through her morning routine, though it gave her a little jolt to see her electric toothbrush on the counter next to Cade’s. He’d been annoyed that she’d stayed in the guest room while he was gone, and after their bath, had ordered her to fetch her toothbrush and put it where it belonged.

If they were going to be together, he’d told her, his brows drown together in a grumpy frown, they were going to be together.

Then he’d declared that her first task today, after breakfast, was to officially move into his bedroom. The things she’d moved to the third floor could stay there, of course, but anything she’d normally keep in her bedroom—clothes, books, toiletries—was to be moved into the main bedroom without delay, or she could face the consequences.

She’d been half tempted to ask just what those consequences were, but she’d held her tongue and offered a meek “Yes, Sir,” that had made him laugh.