Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Clayton
It wasn’t just that I had a Santa appearance today.
I also had an email from the realtor with an offer from a development company for the bungalow.
It wasn’t huge, and it wouldn’t buy me my own place, but it would pay for first and last on an apartment and a little security.
I just didn’t know what to do. I knew it was the best I was going to get, and it would let me climb out of the financial hole I was in, but it meant selling my home—Mom’s home—and I didn’t know what to do.
It was the Little night tonight at the club, and the biggest unsurmountable problem to me—which was ridiculous—was that I had nothing to wear.
I knew they would all be in Christmas Little clothes, and all I had was business casual, jeans, and sweatpants.
I walked in the door still half in the Santa suit, my head aching from the inside out. The hallway was dark except for the glow from the kitchen, and the second I stepped onto the tile, Felix’s arms were around me.
He didn’t say anything. He just held me, hard and tight, until the last of the nerves burned out of my chest and I could breathe again. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t care. I let myself lean into him, face pressed to the scratch of his collar.
He smelled like soap and cinnamon. He always smelled like that. Safe.
He didn’t even make me try. He just started unbuttoning the Santa jacket, slow and careful, never tugging, never rushing. When he peeled it off my shoulders, I flinched, but not from pain. Just relief.
“You’re home,” he murmured, voice barely there.
I nodded. I couldn’t trust myself to talk. Not yet.
The kitchen was a mess of new Christmas lights he’d been unraveling. I brightened. “More lights?” The old ones had finally given up.
“I need to know where you want them.” Anxiety rumbled through me. It was his apartment, he should decide. He must have seen something in my face because he squeezed my shoulder, firm and steady, and dropped a kiss on my hair. “No thinking,” he said. “You’re done for the day.”
He steered me straight to the bathroom. The light was soft, almost golden, and the tub was already filling. I blinked at it, not sure what to do.
Felix crouched, fiddling with the taps, testing the water with his wrist like he was checking a baby’s bath. He’d dumped half a bottle of something into the tub. The bubbles foamed thick and high, clouds of white. The smell was vanilla and spice, not floral, not sharp. Just warm.
He looked up at me, eyes steady. “Clothes off,” he said, gentle but not giving me any room to argue, and basically stripped me.
He didn’t say a word about the fading marks on my thigh where Jason had grabbed me. He just pressed his palm there, not hard, and waited until the shaking stopped.
When I was bare, he guided me to the edge of the tub.
“In,” he said, and I stepped in, not even thinking about it.
The water was perfect. Hot, but not enough to sting.
The bubbles came up to my waist, but to my surprise, he stripped just as quickly then got in, positioning himself behind me.
My body reacted immediately. We hadn’t scened or had any sex in a few days.
I’d decided he was over me. But as I saw his erection, maybe not.
He slid in behind me, big and solid. The water sloshed up my chest, bubbles everywhere, and I went boneless the second his arms wrapped around me.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just held me, both hands flat on my belly, and pulled me in slow, like he was giving me time to get used to it.
There was nothing sexy about me, not in this state, but his cock was hard against my lower back, and I could’ve died from how much I wanted him to want me.
I didn’t even know if I was supposed to say something, but the second my breathing hitched, Felix kissed the nape of my neck, right where the hair started.
“You did well today,” he murmured. His voice sounded enormous in the tiny room. “You made it through. You came home.”
I almost choked. The ache in my chest was back, but different this time, sweet and sharp and full of relief. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I just nodded.
He reached for the sponge, slow and gentle, and started on my shoulders.
I’d never had anyone wash me before, not like this.
He didn’t rush, didn’t make it weird. He worked carefully, kneading the knots loose, letting the heat do half the work.
When he got to my chest, he hesitated, then wrapped his hand around my wrist and brought it up to rest on his thigh.
“Let me take care of you,” he said, low.
I nodded again, and he went back to work.
The sponge was soft, but his hands were rough, callused in a way that made my skin tingle.
He washed every inch of me, even the places that felt embarrassing.
When he got to my thighs, he was extra careful, fingertips gentle where the skin was still bruised from last week.
He squeezed my hip, grounding me. “Still sore?”
“No, sir. Not much.”
He hummed, approving. “Good boy.”
God, that did something to me. I went limp, head tipped back so I could feel his heartbeat against my spine. It was steady, unshakeable. I soaked in it, letting the bubbles hide my face until I could breathe again.
He set the sponge aside and reached for the razor. I tensed, but only a little. He must’ve felt it, because he stroked my thigh until I was loose again.
“Pass me the shaving cream from the ledge,” he said, voice all calm command. “Lean back. I’ve got you.”
I did as I was told. I didn’t even care what he planned. If he wanted to shave me, he could. Maybe I liked the idea. Maybe I liked that I didn’t have to think at all.
He worked carefully, spreading the cream up my jaw, then under my chin. The touch was so gentle I almost shivered. He started with the safety razor, slow strokes, never dragging, never hurting. It was almost like being petted, over and over, until the edges of me went soft.
Felix was calm, controlled, and the simple fact was I trusted him.
He cupped my jaw, tipping my head so my throat was stretched out, and I could feel his cock thick and hard against my lower back.
He didn’t say anything about it, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t completely gone for him, but my own cock was pushing up out of the bubbles, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to hide it.
He smiled, but it wasn’t a mean smile. It was proud. Possessive.
“Hold still for me,” he murmured, voice all velvet.
I did. His hand was so big it nearly spanned my whole neck, but he never squeezed, just steadied me when the razor came close.
The shaving cream was warm, the blade even warmer, and he went so slowly it felt like he was memorizing every inch.
I could feel my pulse under his palm. The drag of the blade was barely there, more ghost than touch, but my cock was leaking into the bubbles, and I was desperate for more, more touch, more whispers, more commands.
He moved behind me, beard scratching against my shoulder, and kissed the spot at my nape that always made me melt. “You’re doing so well, baby. Look at how good you’re being for me.” He sounded almost hungry. I nearly whimpered.
He finished and put away the blade, wiping my face, but kept one hand on my throat, and his other slipped under the water, slow and sure. I didn’t expect him to touch me—not like that—not when I was a mess, but his palm wrapped around my cock, steady and tight, and I nearly lost it right then.
“Shhh,” he whispered, mouth hot on my ear. “Just let go. I’ll take care of it all.”
His hand was so gentle on my cock it made my toes curl. He didn’t rush me. He just stroked, slow and steady, thumb circling the tip, slick with precum and hot water. I was making noises I didn’t recognize, half sob, half plea, and he just murmured praise, not letting me hide.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “So fucking beautiful. My good boy.”
His praise went straight through me. I wanted to be perfect for him. I wanted him to see how much I needed this.
I started to lose it. My hips jerked, and I tried to apologize, but he just stroked me harder, relentless, making sure I had nothing left to give. The bubbles hid everything but the ache in my belly and the way my cock pulsed in his grip.
“Come for me,” he murmured, right in my ear. “Now. Let go.”
I did. I came so hard I thought I might pass out.
Every nerve in my body went bright white, the kind of pleasure that had teeth, and I just let it take me.
There was nothing left in me but the feel of Felix’s hand working me through it, the low sound he made when I sagged back against his chest, boneless, spent.
He didn’t push. He just held me, his palm wide and steady on my chest, the other hand still cupping my jaw like I was something precious. I could feel the thump of his heart through my back, slow and grounding, and it was all I could do to keep breathing.
I was shaking, but not like before. This was different. Like my body didn’t quite know what to do, now that I was spent and safe and held so tight I couldn’t fall apart even if I tried.
Felix kissed the side of my neck, beard scratchy but warm. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re perfect. Just like this. My good boy.”
I didn’t have words. Didn’t need them, really. I just let myself float, soaking in the heat and the bubbles and the way Felix made everything feel smaller, softer, easier to carry.
He must’ve known I was close to dropping, because he just stroked my arms and let me drift. The water was cooling a little, but I didn’t want to move. Not ever, if I could help it.
Eventually, he nudged me, careful. “Let’s get you rinsed and out, sweetheart. Don’t want you getting cold.”