“You’re not the only one who has to take matters into your own hands, goddess,” I murmur, squeezing shampoo into my palm and setting the bottle back in the stone niche. I soap up her hair, scratching at her scalp with my short nails, and her eyes slide closed as she moans in pleasure, and precum leaves the tip of my cock in a long drip to the tile between us.
When I pull my fingers from her hair, she leans back into the water to rinse it, and I grab my conditioner, loving that she’ll smell like me when we’re done. I work it through the strands, letting it sit for a minute like my hair chick taught me, and use the time to fill my loofa with my body wash, and I start to wash her in gentle scrubbing circles starting at her collarbones. I’m astounded she’s let this all happen, allowed me to take care of her, when every day for an entire year she’s been so adamant about not asking me for anything unless she had to. She’s taken care of everything, all the cleaning, the cooking, the laundry, anything she could find because she felt like she needed to earn her keep here in my home. And now I’m finally, finally getting to take care of her.
I work the loofa over and between her breasts, running it beneath the creases and feeling the weight of them against my knuckles. Her nipples are tight peaks, the prettiest shade of rose I’ve ever laid eyes on, the same exact shade as the folds of her pussy I saw right when I burst through her door. I swipe the loofa down the outside of her arms and up the inside, feeling her jerk a little when I run it over her armpits.
Ticklish.
My girl is ticklish.
A year and I’m just now learning this.
But it’s been worth every second of that wait.
I turn her around to face the water, and she rinses her front while I soap up her back, feeling her lean into my hand and moan once again.
Back scratches.
She loves back scratches.
I make another mental note.
I scrub the loofa lower, lower down her back until I make the first pass over her ass, and her entire body stiffens, and I catch her arm so she doesn’t slip as she spins away from me, her arms crossing over her breasts, my heart sinking as I see the trepidation in her eyes.
But it doesn’t last more than a moment as she stares into mine, seeming to remind herself who she’s here with, because she lowers her arms and reaches out gently to take the loofa from my hand.
“I’ve got the rest. Thank you,” she murmurs, and I give her a slow nod, not taking a step away but lowering my arms so she doesn’t feel threatened. She soaps up her lower half and rinses, and as the suds clear to reveal her supple ass, I look more closely at the skin there, seeing it’s covered in scars. I close my eyes, wanting to weep for my sweet Astrid, wanting to avenge her and break my own life-for-a-life rule, knowing damn well that motherfucker wouldn’t have just stopped at the outside if he was determined to punish her ass. And I understand why she pulled away at the first stroke there after never having been touched by anyone since him.
My eyes snap open at the first touch of the loofa against my chest, Astrid having added fresh body wash to it, as it lathers against my skin. I let her have her way, familiarizing herself with my big body as she works it down my abs then over my arms, but my eyebrows lift in surprise when she drops the loofa to the tiled floor with a plop, and she lifts her eyes to mine as she starts using her bare hands instead.
I groan in pleasure at the little smile that pulls at her pillowy lips as she runs her fingers through the short, soft hairs covering the wide expanse of my chest that lead over my stomach before thinning out past my belly button, her palms then gliding upward to feel the V of muscle that end at my obliques. I want to shut my eyes and absorb her touch, memorize it so I can replay it and dissect every second of it when I’m alone, but I can’t look away. I can’t stop watching the little microexpressions that play over her beautiful face with every new discovery she makes on my body.
She likes my nipples.
She wants to ask about the scar at my ribs.
She wonders about the tattoo on my chest.
She’s aroused by the definition of my muscles.
She’s worried by the power of my biceps.
She’s slightly afraid of the place between my thumb and my forefinger.