“You can do both…when you’re better.”
“Christ, you can’t—”
Before he could finish, I pressed the warm cloth to his cheek. “I love you. Let me show you how much.”
He froze, every muscle locking as the bed vibrated with every restriction he placed on himself. The only thing that moved were his eyes, dancing over my face, fevered and desiring as I washed his jawline, erasing the blood splatters and sweat.
He didn’t moan or flinch as I worked my way down his throat, swirling softly, leaving a wake of clean skin, but he did suck in a breath as I meticulously bathed around his bandages, licking my lips at the ridges of his muscles, enjoying myself far too much.
My heart swelled with love and power but also sank with guilt for enjoying the role reversal. It brought tears to my eyes to express my affection this way but shame for revelling in his every hiss and groan.
I grew wet and heavy, my legs squeezing together the longer I cleaned his body.
Was this how Elder felt when he tended to me? Drunk on protecting and curing me? A strange aphrodisiac as I slowly grew stronger, knowing in some way—he was the reason I was better?
If he felt a tenth of what I did as I ran the washcloth down his arm and wrapped around each finger, then he must’ve been constantly turned on.
My skin was on fire. My nipples hard as stone.
I shivered as I dunked the cloth and applied more soap, wringing it out before returning to his body.
His breathing ratcheted as I repeated the attention with his other arm then around his belly and parts of his chest not bandaged.
Once the top part of him was clean, I repeated the process with a rinsed cloth, ensuring I removed every trace of soap and grime.
With a clean towel, I prepared to focus on the other parts of his body, that until now, I’d done my best to avoid.
Elder stiffened, knowing that things were about to get a lot more…personal.
Prickling with electricity and wetter than I’d ever been, I slowly moved down his chest to his legs. My heart raced as I trailed the tip of the towel over his erection.
His back bowed off the bed. My core clenched. We both groaned in unison.
Too much…
His chest rose and fell as his cock bounced, begging for touch.
Too tempting…
He was hurt, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself.
Focus on something else.
Gritting my teeth, I shuffled farther down, avoiding the tops of his thighs and groin.
For now.
He huffed impatiently but didn’t command I return. He glared into my eyes as I repositioned myself by his feet. Never looking away, I draped the towel over his toes and massaged his sole.
His gaze rolled back, and his breath came short and laboured.
“You’re killing me, little mouse.” Harsh and guttural, begging for everything I was denying us. Yet he didn’t try to stop me. He didn’t grab me and wrap my hand around his length.
He balled his hands—or the best he could with a broken finger—and gave himself to me, enduring this specific brand of torture I’d stupidly designed for us.
What the hell am I doing?
All it would take was a few short seconds to shed my clothing and climb on top of him. I could heal him in other ways. I could grant an orgasm, and he could fade back into sleep.
But even as I imagined riding him until we both dripped in sweat, I continued to massage his legs and feet.
Elder wasn’t simple in bed.
Once wouldn’t be enough for him.
Twice, neither.
He would have to have me three times to put the compulsion aside, and I doubted he had enough energy to complete one round, let alone multiple.
This is about him…not you, remember?
With my teeth tightly locked, I carefully undid the Velcro from around his ankle and unwrapped his leg.
He stayed locked tight, barely breathing as I set aside the brace and washed his inflamed joint.
Swollen tissue and heat painted bright red around the bone and halfway up his leg.
He jolted with the gentlest pressure, enduring new pain. He didn’t relax until I’d re-wrapped and fastened and switched to washing his other leg.
The reminder he wasn’t whole—that he most likely should be in a hospital and not in some stranger’s French chateau—helped me focus. I didn’t turn my nursemaid routine into sex-maid escapades. I ignored what was between his thighs and climbed off the bed to replace the water for new.
Elder’s gaze seared me with every step across the room, and I prickled with loneliness the moment I entered the bathroom.
I was empty away from him. I wasn’t used to the heavy breathlessness I endured. Was this what it felt like to crave sex? To be so mindless with my body’s insistence to be fucked that no amount of rationality or distance could stop the quakes in my womb?