The water hit his shoulders first, and he angled himself so it would warm Mattie without hitting her injured hand. She leaned back against his chest, her good hand bracing against the tile wall, and he began washing her the way he always did, starting with her shoulders, then her back and her arms, moving with unhurried care around the wrapped hand.
He tried to approach the task as clinically as he could, mindful of her big and small injuries, but it was getting more and more difficult to keep it that way.
Maybe it was the way she tilted her head back against his shoulder, exposing the line of her throat. Or the small sound she made when his hands slid over her stomach, not quite a sigh, more like a breath that had been held too long and finally released. His body responded before his brain could intervene, and he felt his inner heat rising, not because of the water temperature but because he wanted her so much that it hurt.
She noticed.
Not that she could have ignored the hard rod he'd sprouted while they were pressed together in a shower stall barely big enough for one person, let alone two.
"Dimitri." She turned in his arms, her good hand coming up to rest on his chest. "I feel better today." Her eyes were soft and dark and wanting.
"I'm glad."
"I'm not made of glass."
"Your hand is held together by splints and willpower."
"My hand is not what I want you to touch."
The words sent a rush of heat through him so intense that any rational thought drowned in it before it could fully form. He cupped her face with both hands and kissed her. Careful, but not gentle. It wasn't one of the comforting kisses he'd been giving her since the attack. This was deeper, hungrier, and she responded by pressing closer, her good arm snaking around his neck, pulling him in.
He kissed her, his hands going down her body, following the curves and hollows that he memorized each time anew.
She gasped against his lips when his fingers found the right spot, and the sound nearly undid him.
But when she shifted her weight, trying to get closer, her injured hand bumped against his arm, and she winced. It was a small flinch, quickly hidden, but he caught it, and it broke the spell.
Dimitri eased back. "We need to stop."
"We really don't."
"We really do." He pressed his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard, the water cascading over them like a warm curtain. "I'm not going to cause you more pain."
"The pain is manageable."
"The pain is going to get worse if you keep moving like that." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Rain check?"
"You can't rain check in a shower. That's redundant."
He chuckled, and the sound echoed off the wet tiles. "Then consider it a sunshine check. Redeemable as soon as both your hands work."
"That's weeks away. I won't last that long."
"Yes, you will. Think of it as weeks of building anticipation."
She groaned. "We can think of a pose that will keep my hand immobile. There is always the old and trusty missionary, but I can think of several others."
Reaching for the shampoo, he arched a brow. "Did you study the Kama Sutra?"
"No, but I have imagination. I can visualize."
"I bet you can." He began working the shampoo through her hair. "But there will be plenty of time for that when you've healed."
She grimaced. "Assuming we're still alive by then."
He didn't answer that because there was no answer that wouldn't be either a lie or a depressing truth. Instead, he rinsed the shampoo from her hair, soaped up his hands one more time, and finished washing her while trying very hard not to think about what he was doing.
She let him, but the look she gave him said this conversation wasn't over.
