29 Cutter #4
“Aubie, seriously, I’ll be fine,” I insist as he sets everything down on the floor then grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, leaving me completely naked.
He meets my eyes, his expression resolute. “Look, I know you can’t take a shower because of your wound, so let me take care of you.”
“But–”
He dunks the washcloth in the tub, which is half-filled with water, and swirls it around to wet it.
“Let me take care of you,” he repeats as he wrings out the cloth then squirts some soap onto it before bringing it to my chest. Whatever I was going to say dies on my lips as he rubs the warm cloth slowly over my skin.
It may be the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt, and I just had this man’s mouth around my cock.
He takes his time, soaping up every inch of my chest, abdomen, and arms before rinsing out the rag and bringing it back to wipe the soap away. He’s careful around the wound site, cleaning off the dried blood without disturbing the bandage.
I swallow my sudden shyness and relax into his attention, just enjoying the simple feel of being pampered.
When he reaches my groin, he takes extra care with my cock and balls, rubbing them clean then patting them dry.
Then he makes me lift up and turn around so he can get my back.
By the time he’s finished, I’m as limp as a wet noodle.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I sit back down and watch him pack up the supplies. “No one’s ever…”
He leans over and places a finger against my lips and shakes his head. “You’re welcome. Would you like some clean clothes?”
“You don’t have to–”
“I know I don’t. I’m doing it because I want to.”
I’m too relaxed to argue with him. “Yes, I would love some clean clothes. They’re in–”
“I’ll find them. Just sit there and watch your show. I don’t do this kind of thing for just anyone, you know.”
No, I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to any of this. Every moment I spend with this man goes against everything I thought I knew about him, and it scares the hell out of me because I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before.
I hear him going through the drawers in my dresser and almost force myself to get up and help, but he reappears a moment later carrying a pair of sweats, boxers, and my favorite long-sleeved T-shirt.
When I insist I can dress myself, he sets about packing up the leftover food and tucking it away in my refrigerator.
After he’s done, he rejoins me on the couch. “Feeling better?”
“Much. Thank you again.”
“Good,” he nods. “Well, as much as I’d like to stay here and extend those feelings, Thursday night calls.”
And reality comes crashing back in as the disappointment of that thought settles in my chest. Yes, I know Thursday is one of his nights at the club, and that he has an obligation to make his set, but I was hoping, maybe just this once, he could forego it.
And do what? Stay here with me? Is my objection a hunger for his company or the thought of what he’s going to do? Did I think he was just going to quit for me? That he was going to forego something he obviously enjoys because I hate the thought of him prancing naked across that stage?
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks, concern etched in his eyes.
I avoid looking at him, afraid he’ll see the truth in my expression. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”
I should have known I couldn’t fool someone as observant as Aubie. He drops from the couch and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. “Hey, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Maybe it’s because you were looking blissed out one minute and like I killed your best dog the next. I’m starting to read your moods, so tell me what’s going on.”
I blurt it out before I can stop myself. “I don’t like it.”
“Like what?”
Shit, now I feel like a fool, but I’m in it now. “You. Up there in front of them. Naked.”
I watch the emotions play across his face, finally settling on his trademark smirk. “Is it possible you’re a little jealous, Cutter?” When I try to turn away, his hand captures my chin, pulling my face back to his as his grin fades. “This only works if we’re honest with each other.”
“This what, Aubie? What are we? What right do I have to tell you what to do?”
He studies my face for so long I think he’s not going to answer me. Finally he sighs and runs his thumb over my cheek and I can’t help but lean into his touch.
“I care about you, Cutter. I didn’t want to. God knows I fought it with every cell in my body, but I can’t help it. I don’t know where this is going, but I know I’m along for the ride. Wherever that takes me.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and he continues. “If you want me to stop, I’ll tell Daryl this is my last week.”
“No,” I insist. “I have no right to ask that of you.”
“You didn’t. This is me choosing to stop doing something because it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Why would you do that?”
He smiles. Not his showman smile. Not his sly, flirty smirk. A real, honest, open smile, and I feel myself slip a little further down that slope.
“I told you why. I care about you.”
Shit. I’m in trouble.