She’s straddling me, lowering what I know has to be a perfect pussy over my erection and sinking down. She rolls her hips, her mouth lowering to mine. That first lick of her tongue…
“Motherfucker,” I groan as I come, and only after the spasms subside do I wonder if she stood on the other side of the door and listened.
When I picture her touching herself, my cock threatens to thicken again, and I have to shut that idea down.
Chapter 31
Cara
I stare at the door from several feet away, my thumbnail in my mouth as I contemplate my next action.
It’s a private matter. I have no business listening or getting involved.
Masturbation is natural, something it took me a long time to accept after I left Knight Salvation. The teachings of Charles’s church always told us self-pleasure was a sin, and the gates of heaven would slam closed if we engaged in such actions.
Still, seven years later, I still feel guilty every time I touch myself, resisting it as long as I possibly can.
I shake my head, pulling my thumb from my lips and shaking both arms at my side. I feel like my skin is too tight, like I’m going to pop from the pressure building under my skin and moving around doesn’t help. My legs want to carry me to the door, urging me to press my ear to the wood and listen.
But that would be a violation of his privacy, so I cross the room and drop into the recliner Apollo was nice enough to bring in here for me. My body groans in irritation. I wouldn’t be surprised if the outline of my frame isn’t carved into the soft surface since I’ve spent most of the last day and a half curled up in the damn thing.
“Just breathe,” I tell myself, my eyes closing as I take long, deep breaths.
I feel guilty for even thinking of him in a sexual manner. Am I betraying my own pain and trauma by being turned on right now? Is it narcissistic of me to think he may want me too? An erection during a bed bath isn’t a new concept. Any stimulation can cause that.
“Cara.”
I snap to attention, my ears perking up because I’m not sure if I actually heard his voice or if I’ve fabricated my desires.
“Cara.”
I jump up from the recliner, crossing the room in record time. I press my ear to the door.
“Javier? Did you need me?” My voice is husky, and I pray he can’t hear the desire in it. It would be wrong to take advantage of this situation. “I mean are you okay? Do you need help?”
“I can’t get back up.”
“Is it okay if I come in?”
“Can you help me from out there?” The question is laced with sarcasm not humor, and my hand hesitates on the doorknob.
I know he hates asking for help. Strong men like him, especially ones that are normally the ones doing the helping, aren’t too keen when it comes to asking for things for themselves.
I straighten my spine, remind myself one last time that I’m here to help, and promise to keep things professional. I’m not new to this, and I feel like I’ve had to remind myself of that fact way too many times.
“I’m coming in,” I warn as I turn the doorknob, my eyes on his face, and that’s all it takes for me to gain control.
He looks absolutely drained. The paleness of his face is a testament to the pain he’s in.
“Don’t say it,” he mutters.
“It was too soon.”
“That’s still an I told you so.”
“You can’t heal if you keep exhausting yourself. You need to rest. I told you I didn’t mind giving you another bed—”
“Fuck, don’t mention the bed bath.” He shifts, his hands covering the apex of his thighs.
“How far did you get in your shower?”
He looks away from me.
“Your hair isn’t even wet.”
“I couldn’t reach the back of my arms or my lower legs, but it’s fine. I’m clean enough.”
“If you’re in here, it might as well be done.” I step closer.
“Can you please get me something to cover myself with?”
“I’m a nur—”
“Cara,” he growls, and the sound of my name in that manner doesn’t make me want to shrink away from him in fear. I don’t know when those tables turned in his favor.
“Okay,” I say, grateful for the reprieve grabbing a washcloth from under the sink gives me.
“That’s not going to be enough,” he says, looking a little embarrassed. “Maybe a hand towel.”
Some color returns to his face when I look down at the washcloth in my hands.
“Sure.” I drop the washcloth in the sink and grab a hand towel before returning.
I hand it to him, turning to adjust the spray of the water while he situates it on his lap.
“Let’s wash your hair first and then I can get those spots you missed.”