I nod, my head settled back against his chest. I completely understand where he’s coming from, even though a lot of his explanation scares me. He’s telling me he wants more. He doesn’t want to be a guy just there for me when I want sex. Deep down, I don’t want that either, but promises of a future and getting serious is starting to make my skin crawl. People in serious relationships depend on each other, and they should. Having that safety net is what a lot of people see as a benefit of being serious with someone.
To me? It feels like a noose, like a tool to control and suffocate.
“I’m going to get a shower,” I say, abruptly pulling away from him.
His arm falls away, and I feel like I’m being torn right down the middle, confused at how I can appreciate him but also not like what he’s trying to convey.
“I’ll be right here,” he promises as I walk out of the room.
The further I walk away from him, the more my hands start to shake. By the time I’m out of my work clothes and standing in the shower, my hands are refusing to obey me. I’ve dropped the bottle of shampoo three times now, the last time breaking the lid.
It’s too much. Everything is just too much. I groan in frustration. Being followed and now being rejected, it really is doing a number on me.
A knock hits the bathroom door. I don’t answer. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll break down.
“Faith? Is everything okay?”
I press my forehead to the shower wall, hands opening and clenching in an attempt to make them work properly.
The air in the bathroom shifts when he opens the door, and I turn to face him. He saw me completely naked last night, so I’m not really worried about that either.
I can feel his eyes on me, and the fact that I can sense that there’s worry in his gaze rather than desire causes tears to begin tracking down my cheeks.
He doesn’t say a word, but shadowy movement behind me makes it clear that he’s stripping naked. A minute later, he’s opening the glass shower door and stepping inside. My eyes immediately drop to his groin—hard as a rock and pointed right at me—but I don’t reach for him. One rejection today is enough to last a lifetime.
Instead with his breath on my skin and more soothing words, Ethan reaches for my shower sponge and bodywash. Once it’s lathered up, he’s running it down my back, making soft circular movements over my skin.
I turn when he urges, keeping my eyes closed as he washes my entire body. The man doesn’t shy away from anything. When it’s time to clean my private areas, he urges me to lift a leg, and he takes care of that himself rather than offering me the sponge. He takes the same care when it’s time to rinse the suds from my skin, and damn it if his hands on me isn’t the best feeling in the world. There’s nothing overtly sexual about his touch, at least not on his end. My skin is growing tight, my core needy, but he makes no overtures.
“Now your hair,” he says, urging me to turn my back to him.
Strong fingers massage shampoo into my scalp, and I do my best to ignore his thick length pressing against my ass.
He’s incredibly turned on, and there’s just something about it that makes me want to try just one more attempt, but that borders on manipulation. I never want to be that woman.
The shampoo is rinsed, conditioner added, and I groan in pleasure when he massages my head before rinsing again.
Then his hands are all over me, rinsing my skin once again after having my hair cleaned and conditioned.
“Wait right here, and I’ll get you a towel.”
When he steps out, I fight the urge to wipe away the condensation on the glass so I can watch him. The distorted view of him wrapping a towel around his waist doesn’t do his amazing body justice.
“Here,” he says, reaching in to take my hand.
When I step out, he doesn’t just hand me a towel. He runs the plush fabric over my skin until it’s dry before wrapping it around my body, then he guides me to the closed toilet lid. When I sit, he grabs my comb and starts to brush my hair. The man is taking more care with me right now than anyone ever has. I don’t even spend the amount of time he’s spending on me.
I kind of hate that I like it so much because I know I’m going to want it again. How exactly do you ask a man to pamper you? The thought of saying those words out loud nearly makes me cringe.