And like a slow-motion crash or a moment in a gunfight when everything goes to shit, I see when her gaze drops from my face. The design of the shower is walk in—no door. And she gets a perfect view of my cock. Rock-hard. In my hand.
Her face goes bright-red, instantly. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I step towards her to be reassuring, and then realise what it looks like.
“I heard you yelp, and I thought it was because you were hurt.” She’s scarlet now. And although she’s dragged her gaze up to my eyes, it dips again for another look, so quickly that I would have told myself it was my desires leading me to see something that didn’t happen. But her squeak and slapping her hand over her eyes and spinning on the spot so she’s looking at the wall confirms it.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…” she trails off, and then makes an embarrassed moan, appearing to realise she’s saying too much.
“Go on.” I shut off the water.
“I didn’t think that sort of noise… I’m just an idiot,” she says with a wince. “I’m going to go!”
“Stop, Callie.” She’s already halfway to the door before I can stop her, diving for a towel and wrapping it around my waist.
“I’m so sorry.” She clutches the door handle, but doesn’t move. My obedient good girl.
I go to her side, water sluicing off me onto the floor. I don’t care. The only thing that matters is Callie, and I don’t want her to leave this way.
“Sweetheart.” My voice is rough. I pause, wondering whether to ask about why she doesn’t know about sex noises. Is my girl a virgin? Inexperienced? “I was hurt. You were right.”
“But…”
“Open your eyes. Look at me, it’s safe.” As much as anything is with me and her. My erection isn’t going anywhere with her around and me in a state of undress, but it’s at least covered by a towel, and I won’t jump on her.
If I didn’t have an injury, dragging her into the shower with me… Still probably wouldn’t happen because she deserves something so much better than this. And our first time together will be…
Wait. That’s a bad train of thought.
Cautiously, she opens her eyes, and takes me in. My tattooed chest. My arms. Her mouth falls into a little “o” as she looks me over, almost against her will. And then she notices the dressing she replaced only twenty minutes ago.
“It got wet.” Her expression changes instantly from cringe to fury, and she lets out a little “meep” of frustration. “I told you not to get it wet!”
“I needed to wash!” Well. I needed to fantasise about her stroking my cock. Both bodily needs.
“Why didn’t you ask me! You went to all this stupid trouble so I could clean your wound and ensure it heals, and then you do this!?” She points at my arm.
The bandage is undeniably soggy, and yes, it stings. “It’s okay…”
But there is no calming her down. My little sunshine has thrown open the door to the bathroom, taken the hand of my good arm in hers and drags me out. I go willingly.
“You cannot get it infected,” she fusses as she sits me ona chair back downstairs. She carefully undoes all her work from earlier, and checks the wound.
“I know, sorry.” I think that sounds contrite. “I’ll be more careful.” I don’t promise I won’t do it again, though, because having her clucking over me is quite nice.
“Thankfully, the wound didn’t get very wet, or soapy. I’ll rinse it out just to be certain, but then we can put a plastic bag over it if you want to shower.”
Or you could help me wash. I keep that thought to myself.
She does the dressing with exactly the same diligence as the first time. I let my mind wander as she finishes up. And my gaze. Her tits in that cute little insubstantial sleeping dress. My arm hurts like fuck, but my cock doesn’t have the message, still tenting my towel.
“And you should have your arm in the sling,” she reminds me. “Not using it.”
“I know. Thank you for your care.” I mean it sincerely.
“Okay, we’re done.” She steps back, and her gaze drops. She stills. Her cheeks go pink again.
She’s seen the hard line of my erection.
