“I’m fine,” he says, cutting me off. He tries to push himself upward, but groans and flops back onto the concrete.
I roll my eyes at him. “If you’d waited, I would have helped.”Stubborn, impatient idiot.
He huffs but doesn’t say anything.
I shuffle around him until I’m kneeling at his head, my knees on either side of him. It’s a vulnerable position that exposes more of me than I’d like to him, and at any other time, I’d be mortified. But right now, my sole focus is getting Rhys upright so he doesn’t die of dehydration. Besides, with how fucked his eyes are, I doubt he can see anything anyway.
“Damn, I didn’t realise you’d be doing this, otherwise I would have spared myself the pain. It’s a shame I can’t open my eyes properly to enjoy the view,” he says, shattering any thought I had about him not being able to see.
My cheeks burn. “Fuck off, you asshole,” I grumble as I slide back slightly and grip his shoulders. “Now you can lift yourself.”
He hisses at the contact, but does as I say and between the two of us, we get him upright. I position myself so that his back presses against my front, using my core muscles and legs to help hold him up. No way am I going to use the wall for support, not when it’s like a block of ice and I’m already chilled to the bone.
Sure, they’ve given us what looks like a blanket, but it’s so thin it’ll do little against the cold. At least Rhys is warm against the front of my body.
“Here, wash your hands,” I tell him as I move the bucket filled with slightly dirty water closer to him. Once he’s done, I move it out of the way and replace it with the bucket containing the clean water. “Drink as much as you need.”
As he sucks down as much water as he can, I set about washing away the specks of blood and dirt from his body.
He hisses and flinches at the first touch of the cold water against his skin. “What the fuck are you doing?” He snaps his head around to scowl at me.
I grab his head and force him to face the front. “Washing you so there’s less chance for any of us to get an infection. Now be a good boy and stay still.”
He growls in response. “Call me good boy again and I’ll make you regret it.”
There’s a spark of excitement in my lower stomach at his threat, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. With a sigh, I focus on getting him clean.
It’s awkward since I can’t see exactly what I’m cleaning over his shoulder and it’s difficult to stay completely out of his way as he continues to drink. A rag would have helped since I’m not sure how well my wet hands are working, but I refuse to use the blanket. We’ll need it to dry off and stay warm, especially since being wet can be a death sentence in the cold.
Washing him is also a lot more intimate than I expected. His skin is warm beneath my palms, and with every stroke, I can feel the shift of his muscles. He’s tense, sitting rigid in my arms, which only adds to the difficulty of getting him clean. I wait until he finishes drinking before starting on his face, neck and hair.
“You can stop now. I’ll do it,” he says, ducking his head away from me.
I pause and frown at him. “Am I hurting or making you uncomfortable?”
He hesitates before shaking his head. “Not really but—”
“Then I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.”
If possible, he stiffens further in my arms. There’s something almost vulnerable about the way he’s holding himself, and I can’t help but wonder where this is stemming from. He’s always been such a confident, out-spoken man, taking charge of any situation in an instant, so it’s a little jarring to see him like this.
Is this another thing Jerri ruined for him; being cared for by another person? Or does this stem from somewhere else? The urge to ask is strong, but I keep my questions to myself. He’ll tell me if and when he’s ready.
Instead, I place a hand on his shoulder and focus on putting him at ease. “Let me do this for you,” I murmur. He deserves to be cared for, especially after everything Luke and his cronies have put him through during those few hours he was gone.
He relents with a sigh and a nod, but remains tense.
I start with his hair, wetting the strands and dragging my fingertips across his scalp in what I hope is a soothing gesture. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much blood in his hair, so it cleans quickly but I don’t stop my ministrations. Especially when, little by little, Rhys relaxes in my arms and even leans into my touch.
“No one’s ever done this for me before,” Rhys says quietly as I move onto his face and neck. “Not since I was a child.”
I pause and furrow my brow. “Done what? Washed you?”
“Not just that, but… taken care of me, I guess.”
I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised considering that, as a Dominant, he’d be the one administering aftercare. But still… “What about when you were in the hospital? Surely the nurses took care of you there?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. I did as much as I could by myself once I was conscious and able to move.”
