“I’m here.”
“Are you...bathing me?” He smiles like he’s drunk from bubbly champagne.
A blush threatens to claw up my neck, but I chalk it up to the steam from the bath. “It’s called after care. I felt bad because you passed out on my desk.”
The red on Elias’s cheeks is unmistakable. “No, I didn’t.”
I laugh, throwing the used washcloth in the hamper. “You most definitely did. I thought I’d killed you.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Not the way I thought you were going to kill me.”
“Ha. Ha,” I say sarcastically.
I pull out a fluffy black towel and offer him a hand. “Be careful.”
Elias rises from the tub. His gorgeous lithe body glistening like Aphrodite as he grabs my hand. “Fuck.”
“Alright?”
“No, I’m sore.” Elias lets me wrap him in the towel, snuggling into my neck. “You killed me.”
“Well, its a good thing we don’t have anything to do today, hm?” I kiss the top of his head.
“Really? I thought you had a meeting downtown?” Elias waits as I pull out another robe and hand it to him.
I shrug. “I’ll have Hartford go. I’m tired.”
I dry him carefully, like he might bruise under my hands if I press too hard. Which is absurd, considering what I’ve already done to him. My fingers know the exact weight of his body, the places that make him gasp, the spots that make him tense—but now I move slower, deliberately dulling that instinct. Control isn’t always about pressure. Sometimes it’s restraint.
I guide him into the robe and tie it for him when his hands fumble. He watches me do it, eyes heavy, lashes still clumped with steam. There’s no defiance in his gaze right now. No sharpness. Just trust, raw and unguarded, and it lands in my chest like a warning shot.
I shouldn’t be seeing this. I shouldn’t be caring for him like a bird fallen from his nest, but I can’t help it. Something stirs violently in my chest every time the thought crosses my mind to leave him be.
I lead him back to the bedroom and Mara’s tea is waiting on the side table, steam curling upward. She knows better than to linger. Elias settles on the bed with a hiss when his muscles protest, and I hand him the cup.
“Drink. It’ll help with the muscle pain,” I tell him.
“Yes, sir,” he says automatically, then freezes like he’s said too much.
His ears turn pink under the low light.
I pretend not to notice, turning away to pour a cup for myself. When I look back, he’s watching me again. Always watching, like he’s trying to memorize the way I move. Like I might disappear if he looks away.
“Movie?” I ask because silence feels dangerous.
His face lights up just a fraction. “You watch movies?”
“I own a television,” I deadpan. “You know I exist out of my profession, don’t you?”
That earns me a soft laugh. Not the sharp, challenging sound he usually gives me. This one is quieter. Real.
I flip the tv on to one of those channels that’s always running movies from the early 2000’s. I don’t care what we watch, I just want to fill the silence.
Why am I doing this? I ought to have put him in his bed sticky and ruined.
I sit back against the headboard and pull him with me without asking. He goes easily, curling into my side like he belongs there. I put on something mindless—old action film, explosions and bad dialogue. The kind of thing you don’t have to feel.
Elias tucks his legs up, careful of his hips, and rests against my chest. I can feel the steady thump of his heart through the thin fabric of the robe. Still fast. Always fast. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
