Cassian’s chest shakes again. It’s definitely a laugh this time, low and rough. He doesn’t let me move when I try to lift my head in indignation. Instead, he presses me tighter against him, one big hand tracing slow, absent circles over my hip.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Let them finish.”
I want to protest. Really, I do. But Nathaniel’s soap-slick fingers are working down to my wrist now like he’s coaxing life back into each tendon. Talon’s nails scratch lightly at my scalp as he works in the shampoo, and, fuck… it feels good.Toogood.
I melt. Full puddle mode. Cassian could carry me out of here like a sack of laundry and I wouldn’t even twitch.
“Don’t get used to this,” I mumble, words half slurred. “I’m not some broken doll you can... scrub down whenever you want.”
“Mm.” Nathaniel hums in that maddeningly noncommittal way, rinsing the suds from my arm. “We can see that.”
“I’m just conserving energy,” I shoot back weakly.
“Sure you are.” Talon grins down at me, water dripping from his chin. “You look like a fucking pampered princess.”
“More like a drowned one,” I mutter.
Cassian’s hand tightens around my waist. “Stop talking before you pass out mid-sentence.”
That shuts me up. Not because he’s right—though he is—but because something in his voice sounds like an order. And gods help me, part of me likes obeying it. He just has this hold on me.
He shifts me, bracing me against his chest so Nathaniel can guide me forward. I barely notice it, until warm, soap-lathered fingers part my thighs and go straight for my ass.
“Wait—are you really—” I try to twist, but Cassian’s arm is iron around my middle.
“Really,” Nathaniel says smoothly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You’re sore, and if we don’t, you’ll regret it in an hour.”
“Oh gods.” I groan, covering my face with both hands. “Kill me now.”
Having sex with someone is one thing. Having them clean your asshole after they ruined it? What the fuck.
Mark’s eyeball would probably fall out of his skull if I ever asked him to do that.
Nathaniel just methodically washes me clean. The slickness threatening to drip down my thighs vanishes under his hands, replaced by blessedly cool water.
The humiliating part is how good it feels to be touched so gently after everything else. I shiver, pressing my forehead into Cassian’s collarbone.
“Turn a little more,” Nathaniel says quietly. Somehow, I manage to oblige. He takes the nozzle and lets the warm stream rinse me out, murmuring soft instructions while Cassian keeps me steady. It’s mortifying. But by the time they’re done, I’m clean, empty, and strangely cared for in a way I didn’t expect.
“There,” Nathaniel says finally. “No mess left.”
“Congratulations,” I mutter into Cassian’s skin. “You’ve officially achieved Most Intimate Acquaintance status.”
“We already had that,” Talon sing-songs, ducking under the spray to rinse shampoo from his hair. His grin flashes white when he looks at me. “But lovely of you to admit it out loud.”
Nathaniel only hums, passing Cassian the soap. The two of them wash fast; Talon, on the other hand, takes his sweet time.
By the time they’re done, my eyelids are drooping. Cassian’s still sitting with me in his lap, letting the spray rinse over us both. Nathaniel crouches again, gathering the bottles. When he straightens, there’s a small tube in his hand.
“Ointment,” he explains before I can ask. He nods toward my thigh. “Those scratches are shallow, but the skin’s raw.”
I blink. “You brought a first-aid kit into the shower?”
“I keep it here,” he says simply. “Best place to tend to injuries.”
Cassian huffs a laugh against my temple. “That’s Nathaniel.”
Too tired to argue, I let him work. His fingers are featherlight, smoothing balm over each scrape along my middle and thighs, then the faint lines on my back before moving to my face. It stings at first, then cools, then soothes.
