“H-hair,” I say, scrambling to my feet so I can stand behind him.
I start working shampoo through his dark curls, thinking this will be better, easier. Because I can’t want what I can’t see, right? But as my fingers massage his scalp, he makes a soft, helpless,wantingsound that shoots straight through me.
I grab the removable showerhead. “Could you… would it hurt to tilt your head back a little so I can rinse you?”
Ames moves like he’s in a dream, eyes closed as he tips his head back to lean against my hand. My dick is inches away from him. Centimeters. If he turned his head?—
I blow out a harsh breath. “Keep your eyes closed,” I warn.
I rinse the bubbles away while running my fingers over his hairline to keep the water out of his eyes. But I can’t stop my gaze from wandering down past his torso—where his injured right arm rests—to his cock, which is less covered by his good hand and more…grasped in it.
He’s completely exposed like this. Vulnerable and wanting. The trust in every line of his body makes me feel like the strongest man alive.
Just like last night, my palms are twitching with theneed to take care of him. Not just by washing his hair, but by leaning down and wrapping my hand around him.
The restraint is fuckingagony. For both of us, I’m pretty sure.
Ames’s eyes pop open, and he catches me looking. His pupils widen, black nearly eclipsing the blue.
“Rob.” It’s barely a whisper, and my fingers tighten in his hair.
I should say something, should move, should tell him?—
Fuck. I can’t tell him anything. Not like this. Not today. Not yet.
“Y-your legs,” I croak. “Do you want me to?—?”
“No! No.” He blows out a breath and straightens as much as he can on the stool. His voice is clipped and formal as he goes on. “Can you hand me the soap, please? And the shower hose, also? And maybe… give me a few minutes? I’d like to just sit here. The, um, the warmth feels good on my bruises.”
We both know that’s not why he’s asking me to leave.
I can see it in the flush spreading across his chest, in the way his good hand is gripping the edge of the bench.
Hell, I can feel it in my own cock, which is throbbing in time with my racing heartbeat.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “Of course, Amesie. Take your time.”
I step out of the shower, grab a towel, and leave the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me. Then I bang my head against the wall by the door so hard, I wonder if Ames can hear it over the sound of the water.
Is this best behavior, Robert?The voice in my head sounds weirdly like Ames, which doesn’t help matters.
As I stand there, dripping, in the hallway, I hear the water change as Ames moves the showerhead and switches positions. His breath hitches audibly.
For a few seconds, I’m frozen, listening to the sharp exhale that follows and imagining his left hand wrapped around himself as water streams down his body.
I want it to bemyhand. I want to be watching his face as he comes apart. The want is so visceral, so real, it hurts.
I need to move. To get the fuck away from this door before I do something monumentally stupid like go back in, and?—
I stalk down the hall to the guest room, my wet towel doing nothing to hide how hard I am, and close the door. I throw off the towel, grip myself hard, and think about Ames’s moan. Thirty seconds later, I’m coming into my hand with a strangled groan and his name caught between my teeth.
This isn’t what I want. Not even close.
But it’s enough to know I want more. So much more.
Maybe an hour later,I’m in the laundry room folding towels when the doorbell rings.
Ames has dozed off again—in the guest room this time, still shower-damp and dressed only in fresh sweatpants. I’m trying to pretend it’s healing from his injuries that’s knocked him out and not… anything else.
