Chapter 21 #2
That’s all it takes for his eyes to darken. Now that I’ve given him permission, his gaze dips over my naked body. There’s nothing rushed or lewd about his silent appraisal. It’s the look of a man who is savoring something rare. Something he waited a long time to have and wasn’t sure he’d ever get.
His tone drops, becoming low and rough. It scrapes against a part of me that’s been dormant for years.
“Would you like me to wash you?”
A response sticks in my throat.
A tight nod is all I can manage.
River pushes up the sleeves of his Henley, revealing strong forearms that are dusted with dark hair, before kneeling beside the tub.
That shouldn’t be so sexy.
“Lean forward.”
I do as he says, my body shifting through the water with a ripple. The heat wraps around me, but it’s nothing compared to the fire spreading beneath my skin.
His hands, slick with soap, find my back. He moves slowly, working in gentle circles. My shoulders loosen as my jaw unclenches. The stress I wear like armor begins to slip from my bones.
He’s so careful. As if I’m something breakable.
Something that matters.
His fingers rise, gliding over my shoulders, then down my arms. They drift across my ribs, the curve of my waist, teasing a shiver out of me. When he reaches around to my front, his palms flatten against my stomach, and everything in me goes still.
He pauses, as if waiting for me to say no.
To stop him.
But I don’t.
Can’t.
His hands rise before cupping my breasts.
His palms are warm and steady, but it’s the way his thumbs sweep in unhurried circles over the sensitive peaks that has me going motionless.
The feather-soft pass of his touch sends a wave of heat down my spine, a ripple that blooms through me until I feel it in places I didn’t know could ache.
A gasp slips free before I can stop it, and my back arches instinctively, offering myself to him before my mind has even made the choice. His movements are slow and purposeful. Measured in a way that feels like more than seduction.
It’s worshipful.
His hands trail lower, mapping every curve like a man memorizing a language he never wants to forget. The lush swell of my hips. The inviting curve of my thighs. Each stroke is maddening in its restraint. It’s not meant to tease but to savor.
My body hums with want, hips lifting from the porcelain in a silent plea for more, but he doesn’t rush.
Even as I tremble beneath him, I force myself to stay still and let him explore, to simply feel. Somewhere deep inside, I realize this is going to leave a mark. Not on my skin, but on the parts of me no one’s ever touched.
When his fingers finally graze the heat between my thighs, the pleasure that surges through me isn’t just sharp and electric, it’s surrender. It’s about being handled like something precious instead of something broken. It’s about being seen, scars and all, and still being wanted.
River touches me like he already knows every fragile piece I’ve tried to hide and he wants every single one of them.
“Should I keep going?” he asks, his tone rough and frayed, as if the words are scraping against the very edge of his control.
The warmth of his breath ghosts over the shell of my ear, and the low rasp of his question sets every nerve ending ablaze.
I nod, unable to stop myself, too overwhelmed to form words.
Instead of moving, he goes still, his hand resting just shy of where I need him most. Not pressing or teasing. Simply waiting for more than a silent yes.
“I need to hear you say it,” he says. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
A shaky sound slips from me. “Yes,” I whisper, barely louder than the ripple of water. “I want you to touch me.”
The effect is immediate.
I turn just enough to see his eyes darken, the blue turning stormy as something primal flashes in them. His jaw tightens as his hand flexes on my thigh like he’s holding himself back by sheer willpower alone.
“How long’s it been since you came?”
Heat floods my cheeks as shame slips in at the edges. “Before Nora.”
River curses. For a beat, he tips his forehead to mine. His fingers tighten at my hip, anchoring me in place.
“Jesus, Callie.” The way he says my name makes something deep inside me clench. “What about toys?” he asks quietly, eyes searching mine. “Nothing to take the edge off when you need it?”
A nervous, self-deprecating laugh catches in my throat. “No.”
His brow furrows as he leans back just enough to study me. “Why the hell not?”
I shrug in embarrassment. “There was never time. And it never felt important.”
His expression softens, the desire in his eyes not fading but transforming into something that feels like possession wrapped in devotion, fierce enough to protect me from the world, and gentle enough to make me want to hand over everything.
“You’re important,” he says. “And your pleasure is important too. Do you understand me?”
His mouth skims the corner of mine. It’s barely a kiss and more of a promise. “Now, I want you to ask for what you need.”
I swallow, the words coming easier this time. “I want you to touch me.”
“Good girl,” he says.
The praise lights through me like a spark catching tinder. His hand finally moves, slow and sure, exactly where I need it.
He shakes his head as something fierce and unyielding flickers in his eyes.
“You’re wrong about that,” he says, his tone carrying the kind of conviction that brooks no argument.
“Orgasming isn’t a luxury you have to earn.
It’s not a reward for being good enough or working hard enough.
It’s basic self-care. Every woman deserves that kind of release.
To remember what her body can feel and is capable of. ”
His hand slides higher, grazing skin already tender and alive from his earlier touch. “You should know that. You should feel it often. And if no one else has reminded you lately…” His gaze locks on mine. “Then let me.”
The tenderness in those words slices straight through me, splitting me open in places I didn’t realize were still locked tight.
His fingertips move with quiet purpose. Every stroke is patient, as if he’s determined to commit each reaction to memory.
The water rocks gently around us, ripples lapping against the porcelain. My breath hitches as my hips lift, chasing more without meaning to. There’s a plea coiled in my throat, but the words refuse to form.
His mouth finds the side of my neck, the warmth of his lips brushing that sensitive spot just below my ear. The contact is electric, but it’s what he says next that ties me in knots.
“As long as you’re here,” he tells me, each word sinking in deeper than the last, “I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.”
The promise in his voice doesn’t just touch me. It surrounds me, settling over my skin like something warm and immovable. A shield I didn’t know I’d been craving.
My head tips back, lips parting, his name spilling out on a ragged cry as the ecstasy builds to something wild and unstoppable.
It crests and breaks, scattering my thoughts until I’m nothing but sensation.
My body shakes beneath his hand, every shudder pulling me further under, every beat a reminder that he’s the one holding me there.
When my lashes flutter open, he’s still watching me. Not with arrogance, but with quiet awe.
Droplets cling to his forearms where I’ve splashed him, running in slow, silvery trails down his skin. I expect him to strip off his clothes and climb in with me, to close the last bit of space left between us.
Instead, he leans in and gently brushes a damp curl from my forehead, his touch so careful it threatens to break me open all over again. His thumb rests against my temple, his eyes locked on mine, as if memorizing this exact second.
“You deserve to be touched like that every damn day,” he says. “To be cared for until you can’t remember what it felt like to go without.”
His words strike deep, unlocking a part of me that’s been sealed up and silent for years.
And then he straightens, walks out of the room, and closes the door behind him with a click.
The quiet rushes in like a tide as I sink deeper into the water, my limbs loose and my skin still buzzing from his touch.
But my mind is anything but calm.
The warmth wraps around me like a blanket, but it doesn’t soothe the storm he’s left in his wake. My body betrays me, chasing a truth I’m not ready to admit.
I know this wasn’t just about pleasure.
It was about him and what this meant.
How everything just changed between us.
I stare at the ceiling, hoping for a little bit of clarity.
For answers.
For something to tell me how the hell I’m supposed to make sense of this thing that shouldn’t matter but suddenly feels like everything.
It should’ve just been a release.
A simple favor.
A fluke.
But it doesn’t feel like any of those things.
Not even close.
What River gave me wasn’t just pleasure. It was much deeper. Something real.
And that’s terrifying.
The last thing I want to do is fall for River Thompson.
But… What if it’s already too late and that’s exactly what’s happening?