The ruffling of the curtain being opened brings me from my thoughts. I turn in time to catch Easton stepping into the shower with me. He rubs my shoulders, kneading them while pressing his thumbs into the space at the base of my neck.
Not that I mean to, but a moan slips past my lips, and my body immediately relaxes. I didn’t realize how sore I actually am until this very moment. Without much thought, I step back into him, loving the way his large frame feels against mine.
He reaches around me and grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf. Easton fills his palms and proceeds to lather up my hair, take extra care to massage my scalp. I close my eyes again, melting away with each passing second. For the next few minutes, he continues to wash my hair, getting each strand then removes the detachable hose and using it to rinse the soap from my hair.
With my head pointed to the tub’s floor, I watch the suds flow down the drain while everything else around me fades into a blur. The only thing my mind seems to pick up on is the sound of the water and the flow of it at my feet. Easton grabs my loofah and body wash, bringing me back to the present.
He works at my shoulders first, then my back before instructing me to face him so he can lather up my front. We make eye contact as he runs the soft sponge over my breast, my nipples instantly pebbling at his touch. But he doesn’t react to that, which is something I appreciate at the moment. I can’t control the way my body reacts to him, even with sex being the furthest thing from my mind. But to be here with him, naked while he bathes me and to have him not sexualize me means more than I think he knows.
The intimacy without the physical makes me feel secure. I can’t help but wonder if he’d come up with me last night, would he have done this. I read that aftercare is big in his world, and while he didn’t come up to care for me, he did leave me with instructions.
Easton squats in front of me to clean my legs, then my feet, and when he silently pries my legs open to reach my pussy, my breath hitches. But just like a moment ago, he’s focused on only me, and it turns me on beyond belief. Why is that? Why is knowing that he can be completely naked in a small space with me but keep himself from getting hard so erotic?
After he’s done, he guides me under the stream to rinse the day away. The pipes rattle when he shuts off the water, and the curtain rings scrape against the rod when he pulls the clear covering open. He steps out first and snags a clean towel from the rack next to the tub then holds out a hand for me and leads me into my bedroom as if he’s familiar here.
Easton is patient as he dries me from head to toe. He juts his chin toward my vanity, and I flop into the chair. He moves about my room collecting lotion from my dresser, not caring one bit that he’s still buck-ass naked. He stands in front of me, his dick eye level as he sits the moisturizer on the desk behind me.
I swallow a breath and lean back into the chair. He falls to his knees and fills his palms with lotion, then slathers it on me, starting with my feet. He focuses on my soles for a beat, then my ankles, calves, and eventually the rest of my legs. When he gets to my arms, he takes a moment to kiss the bruises on my wrists, all the while holding my gaze. A brief moment later, he maneuvers the chair to give him better access to my shoulders and back.
I slouch in my seat when he stops and turn toward him. Easton steps back over to my dresser and opens my sock drawer. Anticipating what he’s searching for, I whisper directions to him.
“Top right and middle left,” I say unenthusiastically.
Easton removes a clean nightgown and a fresh pair of undies. He dresses me, stopping only long enough to lotion my behind before pulling my panties on. Afterward, he uses the same towel to dry himself then puts his clothes back on.
“I’m going to make you something to eat.” His voice seems louder than usual.
I nod.
He disappears into the hall, and a moment later I hear the fridge open followed by my cabinets and a pot or pan clinking against the sink. He starts the water, and I drown out the noise, settling further in my seat with my head resting on the back of it.
My nerves are still all over the place, so I need a minute to gather myself. I breathe in deep, staring at the back of my eyelids. I don’t know how long I stay that way, but after a while, I hear Easton calling me from the kitchen.
I sigh and peel myself out of the chair. He’s standing next to the island, his hand still on the plate he’s setting down, but his attention seems to be fixed on my door. A frown paints my face, and my heart races with each step forward.
My dad is standing in my living room, his face still beat up, and I know why. I drop my gaze to Easton’s free hand, and it’s clutched tightly into a fist. For the first time, I notice how beat up his knuckles are, realizing that I didn’t recognize that last night. Is that where he was while he was busy ignoring me? In Virginia attacking my father?
“Sweetheart,” Barron says the moment he sees me. He looks me over, his eyes landing on my sore wrist.
He rushes to me and tries to pull me into his arms, but I step back. It’s involuntary, but the look he gives me says he gets it. It breaks his heart, I can see that in his gaze, but he understands. Just like Easton, he blames himself, and rightfully so.
“Baby girl, I am so sorry. I never meant to get you hurt,” he coos.
He looks at Easton who’s positioned himself as a shield from my dad. Barron glances around him at me, but I don’t say anything. I barely have words or energy for myself let alone the wherewithal to deal with apologies.
Words won’t fix this, and it should have never happened. I know my father, and based on what I know about Easton and his family and hearing what those men shared with me, he didn’t care what the consequences were. All that mattered was his work, name, and money.
“Can we talk—alone?” Dad pleads.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me,” Easton deadpans.
“This is all your fault,” Barron combats.
“Excuse me. You were stupid and reckless and nearly got your daughter killed. You’re lucky I don’t blow your fucking brains out right here,” Easton barks while stepping completely between my father and me.
“I need to talk to my child. You need to leave and stay the hell away from her.”
“Actually, you both need to leave.”
