She sighed, long and low, and he felt it through his chest.
He rinsed her slowly, carefully. Not a drop touched her face. Then came the conditioner, thicker, richer, smoothed into her hair with the same unhurried hands. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, only leaned into him. Let him do this. Let him take care of her.
When he finished, she turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss just above his wrist.
Then, without a word, she reached up and sank her fingers into his hair.
“I wish I could reciprocate…” Her voice was soft, almost wistful. She glanced at her wrist and a warm smile curved her mouth. “Raincheck?”
He smirked, the corner of his mouth kicking up with quiet amusement. “So…a next time, huh?” He played with a long strand of her hair. “You poking the bear?”
She laughed, low and warm, the sound sinking right into his bones. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. “Yes. So no hibernating.”
He caught the back of her head, his heart thickening at the sheer rightness of this…her. This version of Bailee that was teasing, open, lit from the inside. He held her there for a moment, just breathing her in.
Then he kissed her because he had to. No power on earth could’ve stopped him. She broke the kiss with a smile against his mouth. With her good hand, she shoved his head under the water.
He held his breath as the warmth sealed over him, steam and silence surrounding his skin. For a moment, it was like floating inside her laughter, her strength, her forgiveness.
When he surfaced, gasping, water slicking down his face, she was already there.
Her hand threaded through his dark strands, slow and sure, massaging with gentle pressure as if she were memorizing his scalp, mapping him through touch alone.
He let her. He kept letting her, even as he reached for the shampoo and washed his own hair, her fingers never truly leaving him.
“Time for a rinse,” he murmured, voice husky with water and want.
She turned her back to him in silent trust, her body pressing into the cradle of his thighs.
He gathered the water in his palms and poured it over her hair, again and again, until the conditioner rinsed clean, her breath soft against the surface, her spine still brushing his chest.
Then twisting, she faced him again, this time straddling his lap, knees sinking into the warmth. The water lapped between them, soft and rhythmic, as she reached for the cloth he’d set on the lip of the tub.
“My turn,” she murmured. Her hands were gentle. Certain. She washed him the way he had washed her, with care. With memory. With awe.
She found every scar. Every plane of muscle. She kissed his shoulder, his chest, the center of his sternum. Not to arouse. To honor.
“You are so beautiful,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her.
This time there was no hunger behind it.
Only healing.
A merging.
A vow.
She kissed him back with everything she had, the tears she hadn’t cried slipping silently between their mouths.
He held her. Held her like he never planned to let go.
With her good hand, she reached for him. Slow. Sure. A breath of decision. She slipped her fingers around his, guided his palm to her breast, holding it there like an offering. “I don’t want to wait another moment to have you, Dakota,” she whispered.
His body tensed everywhere. His chest pulled tight. His hips jerked slightly, his control fraying. “What about your injuries, Bailee?” he rasped. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shook her head with her eyes locked on his.
