Actually, I particularly liked tellinghimwhat to do, and that was part of our problem. Not only was I a buttoned-up fussbudget, completely unlike anybody I’d ever seen him with, but I wanted to guide him—with his permission, of course. That dream was doomed, however, because he loathed being given advice. Often to his own detriment, he would do the opposite of whatever he was told to do.
I especially liked that about him.
“Not all people,” I answered truthfully, going to him as he pushed himself off the bed.
“I don’t need your help,” he said, batting my hands away only to nearly topple over.
“You were saying?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I have to pee like a fucking racehorse because someone insisted that I drink, like, a gallon of water. Do you mind getting out of my way?”
I stepped aside, then followed him down the hall. He shot me the finger as he entered the bathroom on shaky knees. I listened at the door to the sound of him peeing, and despite some cursing, he seemed to be okay. But then he growled “Shit” just as something hit the ground.
I whipped the door open, terrified. He stood there, glaring at me, covered in powder as he clung to the sink. He’d knocked a bottle of baby powder to the floor, and his oversized sweats, also covered in powder, were bunched around his ankles. The tip of his cock swung limp below the hem of his T-shirt, and I averted my eyes, unable to help the spit pooling beneath my tongue.
The things I would do to him.
“Would you like some help?” I asked, staring at his knees.
“Fuck off. And yes.”
I grabbed a hand towel and gingerly brushed the powder off his thighs. He wobbled and started to fall back, so I reached out, barely managing to intercept his fall with my extended forearm.
Since I’d rolled up my shirtsleeves earlier in the day, his small, bare ass rested on my naked skin, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. He weighed practically nothing.
“Fucking fantastic,” he muttered, trying and failing to maintain his balance.
Kneeling on the heavily powdered floor, I pulled him against me. “Stop fighting me. Just fucking hold on while I get you arranged,” I demanded, annoyed that he’d almost fallen again.
His talented hands gripped my shoulders. “Fine.Sir.”
A shiver of want went down my spine. I clenched my teeth as I slid the sweats up his legs and over his hips, pulling the waistband out far enough that the excessive foreskin on his sweet little cock didn’t get caught up in the material.
Since Hendrix wasn’t careful with his choice of lovers, his impressive erection could be found on any number of sites. I never sought out the photographs, but his Google alerts were a necessary bane of my existence. And yet they were incomplete.
Google hadn’t shown me, for example, how petite his cock was when he wasn’t aroused.Perfect for a sissy cage,my brain unhelpfully supplied.
No.
None of that.
“There,” he rasped. “I needed you after all. Happy?”
Thrilled.
“No, of course not. I never want you to hurt yourself,” I said, getting to my feet while keeping a hand on his waist.
Reaching out with my free hand, I turned on the water, and he rolled his eyes at me in the mirror.
“Wash your hands,” I said, unable to help myself.
He did as I asked, even as he mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
I dropped my gaze to his soapy hands. “You sure about that?”
