“So, they didn’t treat you like an outsider this time?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
I lather up my shaving cream, spreading it under my jaw so I can clean up my beard. I feel Reese’s attention the entire time. In the mirror, I watch as she moves fully into the bathroom and sits on the counter at my side, facing me.
I love how comfortable she is here. How she moves around my apartment the same way I move around hers. Like she belongs wherever I am.
“Can I do it?” she asks, setting her coffee on the counter next to mine.
I hold up my razor in surprise. “You want to do this?”
She nods in confirmation.
It’s a shockingly intimate request that I give into immediately, handing the blade to her. “I just need the line cleaned up.”
I grab her hips, shifting her closer to me, then stand between her spread legs. I keep my palms on her thighs as I tilt my head back, giving her better access.
Her eyes are locked on my jaw in concentration, figuring out exactly what I need taken care of.
Running the razor under the faucet, Reese returns her focus to my neck.
She bites her lip as she runs it in a slow, cautious line up my throat to my beard. It’s gentle and methodical. Careful not to hurt me.
She smiles a bit, proud of herself when the first swipe comes up clean. “Easy.”
Reese runs the razor under the faucet again before going in for the next swipe.
“So,” I begin, speaking cautiously so as to not move my throat too much, “who all was at this meeting?”
Her blue eyes are lasered in on her task at hand, her other palm cradling the back of my neck to keep me steady.
“The commissioner. The owners.”
I knew that. I knew that’s why it was hosted in New York, where the commissioner’s main office is.
“Anyone else?”
She breaks her concentration for only a moment when a knowing smirk lifts on one side of her mouth. “Are you asking if my ex-husband was there?”
Yes.Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.
There’s no part of me that thinks Reese would ever go back to him. I just don’t like the guy and don’t want him around her. Sure, I don’t know him, but I do know what he tried to pull when he was married to her, and that’s enough information for me.
I don’t like that he’s in our line of work. I don’t like that he works for the commissioner’s office. And I don’t like that she will most likely have to see him multiple times a year.
Part of me hates that he got to know her before I did. But part of me is glad because it taught her what she deserves in a relationship.
And all of me is fucking thrilled that I’m the one she’s allowing to give that to her.
“He wasn’t there,” she answers her own question, resuming her careful strokes.
Over the bridge of my nose, I keep my eyes locked on her while all her focus is lasered in on her task. She takes her time. She’s gentle with me. Tender with me.
It seems so simple. But she’s attentive in the way she takes care of me.
It’s foreign. It’s unexpected. And it’s reallynice.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been taken care of. Not like this. That’s usually my role.
