"I bet those sweatpants have never looked as good on anyone else, but I was looking forward to ogling your big fat cock some more."
Yeah, I’m so relaxed, I said that aloud.
His steps slow. He looks at me with that half-amused smile I’m still getting used to seeing on his face.
"I’m so embarrassed." I slap my hands on my face.
"It’s quite all right. I love hearing you say cock."
"Fuck," I groan.
"That too." He chuckles.
Something warm brushes between my thighs. I lower my hands and find him kneeling there.
He cleans me gently.
Each careful stroke sends heat spiraling through me. My clit throbs, hypersensitive. My muscles loosen, my breath slows.
Warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the way he looks at me. As if I matter. As if I’m something precious.
This is a different side of James.
Here, he’s patient. Gentle. Attentive to every small reaction in my body. The opposite of the Ice Commander he becomes in the kitchen.
And that’s all it is. A persona.
Armor he wears to command the brigade and control the chaos. In that world, he has to be sharp. Disciplined. Untouchable.
But here, the armor slips.
The man beneath it watches me like I’m the only thing that exists. His touch is careful, almost reverent.
My chest tightens. I thought the coldness was who he truly was.
Now, I’m starting to see it never was.
There are layers to him. Depth he keeps hidden from the world. And it feels significant that he lets me see this side.
I could spend a lifetime discovering the man beneath that armor. The devoted, vulnerable core he keeps guarded.
Being tended to like this makes me feel safe.
Not just in my body, but my heart, too.
He tosses the washcloth in a laundry basket in the corner, then opens the nightstand drawer again. He pours me a glass of water from the jug and offers me a pill.
"What’s that?"
"A painkiller."
"It doesn’t hurt that much,” I protest.
"You’ll be sore later. And much as I love you feeling the imprint of my cock when you walk, I don’t want you to suffer."
He looks at me with an expression that's fifty percent chiding, fifty percent commanding, and a hundred percent devoted.
Our gazes meet, and that ever-present chemistry flares between us, familiar as breathing. But beneath it lives something quieter. A gentle reverence. A protectiveness that’s so absolute, my entire being threatens to come undone.
