He continues, washing away days of the hospital, and I’m glad. I’ve never been cared for like this. I’ve never had someone touch me with this much gentleness.
His hands move lower. To my hips. My thighs.
My breathing gets faster.
He looks at me, and I see it in his eyes—the restraint, the desire, the careful control.
“Jax,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
I don’t know what I was going to say.
I think he understands because he rinses the soap away without saying anything more. The water runs clear down my body, and it feels like a massage.
“Turn around,” he says softly.
I do. He washes my lower back. The backs of my thighs. So careful. So respectful.
“It’s okay,” I say, giving him permission. He rubs my ass cheeks, and I close my eyes. I feel the dizziness from the heat and the steam and the overwhelming sensation of being touched by his large hands.
“Rinse,” he says.
I step under the stream and let the water wash everything away.
When I’m clean, he turns off the water and grabs a towel.
I step out, and he wraps it around me. He pats me dry as much as he can without hurting my arm.
Then I walk back to the bedroom. My legs feeling shaky with each step.
I hear him pause in the hallway, hear the quiet sound of his phone as he checks something.
“Jax?” I call out.
He appears in the doorway and puts his phone in his pocket.
I’m standing there with just the towel wrapped around me. Dripping. Exposed.
His eyes take me in for just a second before he looks around for my bags. Then he takes a step towards it.
“Wait,” I say.
He stops and looks at me.
“I don’t want to get dressed yet.”
He looks at me, and I see the question in his eyes.
“I want you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head slowly. “Not like this, Tiger.”
“You don’t want to?” I ask.
“Of course I want to.” His voice is rough. Strained. “But you’re injured. And you’re going through hell right now. I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage.”
