But instead, I smile and shrug. “What can I say? I’m clumsy.”
She lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Okay,” she says, nodding toward the toilet. “Sit for me.”
I do as I am told, lowering myself onto the lid and keeping my injured hand held out for the omega like I am waiting to be inspected. She watches me sit, then turns and crouches in front of the sink cabinet, rummaging through it.
As she moves, her scent curls into the space between us, warm and sweet. Honey and earthy tea leaves. It settles something deep in my chest, settling every fiber in my body.
I hear bottles shift, something clinks against porcelain.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“There,” she says, straightening up with a small bottle in her hand. Rubbing alcohol.
“I didn’t even know that was in there,” I admit.
She glances back at me, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Beck told me there’s a little first-aid kit in every bathroom,” she says as she squints back under my sink. “But I’m not seeing your kit.” She holds up the bottle. “All you’ve got is this and a few Band-Aids.”
“That tracks,” I say with a fond smile.
Beck does things like that. He gets these short bursts where he decides something needs to be handled immediately and all at once. He will disappear for an afternoon and come back with bags of supplies and a very specific plan.
Every bathroom gets a kit.
Every shelf gets labeled.
Every drawer gets reorganized down to the inch.
Then his energy burns off as fast as it showed up.
“I’m sure he assembled the kits,” I say confidently, “but then half of them never made it where they were supposed to go.”
Tansy giggles and reaches for my hand again, turning it carefully as she gets to work on my knuckles. She tips the alcohol onto a washcloth and dabs at my cuts. It stings sharply, but I don’t flinch or pull away. I keep my hand in hers and let her do what she needs to do.
“Beck was so excited when we ordered me clothes the other day,” she says, smiling down at what she is doing. “He got really excited and ended up ordering way too much.”
I glance up at the omega as she motions vaguely to herself with her chin, and only then do I really take in the nightgown.
The bathroom light catches the thin fabric, rendering it almost sheer against her skin. I can see the heavy swell of her breasts, the soft curve pressing against the material, and the dark peaks of her nipples are perfectly visible through the pale pink. It’s obscene how good she looks, standing there in something so innocent yet revealing.
My mouth goes dry, and my cock gives a treacherous twitch, reminding me I’m naked under my towel. I have to clench my jaw to keep myself together, to stop from reaching out and ripping the flimsy thingoff her.
“That’s new,” I say, more statement than question, forcing my voice to stay steady.
Her cheeks warm again. “Yeah. It just came today.”
Something tight twists in my chest, mild and familiar. “Sorry,” I say quietly. “I should have noticed.”
She looks up at me then, quick and surprised. “Hey. It’s okay.” Her thumb brushes my wrist, reassuring me without thinking about it. “You were busy today.”
One more thing I missed.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper, “the nightgown is very lovely.”
Tansy pauses, a band-aid in her hand, and looks at me through her lashes. The smile she gives me is so small and sweet.
“Thank you,” she whispers, softly. Then she smooths the bandage over my cut.
Something in my chest pulls tight at the look on her face.
