Chapter 9
REID
When Callie looks at me like that it takes all my strength not to pull her onto my lap and cover her mouth with mine.
Instead, I thank her for tending my wound, and retire to a scalding shower and my hand.
I stand under the spray, and indulge in it, appreciating the upgrade from the trickle in a tiny cubicle when I first moved into Callie’s house.
The water is hot, and I allow myself to relax.
Closing my eyes, I can imagine that Callie is here with me.
Mentally, I strip off her clothes, as I have every day since we met. Those jeans and tops that hide gorgeous little curves that would fit so beautifully in my hands. I want to be good enough for her so much I’ve even bought jeans to wear here.
The need to touch her is overwhelming. Getting more intense every day.
I had the standard experiences of younger life, thinking I had to, and that it would make me a man. I hated it, even as I orgasmed. I realised pretty quickly that the things that defined me as man were my decisions. My integrity, my risks, and my judgement.
No one cared that I didn’t want women all over me when I kept them safe and brought in money. Even when I mis-stepped, I learned that an honest apology and generous compensation went much further than fists.
And I stopped allowing anyone to touch me. My men all know that, and keep their distance.
But Callie would be different. Those pretty eyes. Her hair, swept back out of her face. Her smile could knock-out forty-seven elephants from seventy yards. The way her fingers were light and gentle on my skin, even as she taped a bandage on.
Inevitably, my cock has hardened. I want this woman so much.
“Callie.” I say her name aloud, and my voice is tortured. I can’t help it.
My hand slides down to my cock, gripping the length, then pulling up to the sensitive head. I groan. It feels good. Really, really good.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.
If I swapped hands, it would feel unfamiliar and I could imagine that it’s Callie’s hand. Before I can stop myself, I’ve gone to do that, and give a hard grunt of pain at both the movement and the water soaking my bandage.
“Fuck!” Agony spikes my arm, and my cock is bursting. I’ve progressed from slightly turned-on to on the edge, from nothing. Just a few strokes of my hand and the filthy imagination that I should keep under control.
“Reid!” The door to the bathroom flies open and Callie is there, her dark hair in disarray, her eyes panicked and wild. She’s wearing a tiny nightdress that barely covers her bottom, and the thin straps leave her gorgeous tits almost entirely visible. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I stare at her.
And like a slow-motion crash or a moment in a gunfight when everything goes to shit, I see when her gaze drops from my face. The design of the shower is walk in—no door. And she gets a perfect view of my cock. Rock-hard. In my hand.
Her face goes bright-red, instantly. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I step towards her to be reassuring, and then realise what it looks like.
“I heard you yelp, and I thought it was because you were hurt.” She’s scarlet now.
And although she’s dragged her gaze up to my eyes, it dips again for another look, so quickly that I would have told myself it was my desires leading me to see something that didn’t happen.
But her squeak and slapping her hand over her eyes and spinning on the spot so she’s looking at the wall confirms it.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know…” she trails off, and then makes an embarrassed moan, appearing to realise she’s saying too much.
“Go on.” I shut off the water.
“I didn’t think that sort of noise… I’m just an idiot,” she says with a wince. “I’m going to go!”
“Stop, Callie.” She’s already halfway to the door before I can stop her, diving for a towel and wrapping it around my waist.
“I’m so sorry.” She clutches the door handle, but doesn’t move. My obedient good girl.
I go to her side, water sluicing off me onto the floor. I don’t care. The only thing that matters is Callie, and I don’t want her to leave this way.
“Sweetheart.” My voice is rough. I pause, wondering whether to ask about why she doesn’t know about sex noises. Is my girl a virgin? Inexperienced? “I was hurt. You were right.”
“But…”
“Open your eyes. Look at me, it’s safe.” As much as anything is with me and her. My erection isn’t going anywhere with her around and me in a state of undress, but it’s at least covered by a towel, and I won’t jump on her.
If I didn’t have an injury, dragging her into the shower with me… Still probably wouldn’t happen because she deserves something so much better than this. And our first time together will be…
Wait. That’s a bad train of thought.
Cautiously, she opens her eyes, and takes me in. My tattooed chest. My arms. Her mouth falls into a little “o” as she looks me over, almost against her will. And then she notices the dressing she replaced only twenty minutes ago.
“It got wet.” Her expression changes instantly from cringe to fury, and she lets out a little “meep” of frustration. “I told you not to get it wet!”
“I needed to wash!” Well. I needed to fantasise about her stroking my cock. Both bodily needs.
“Why didn’t you ask me! You went to all this stupid trouble so I could clean your wound and ensure it heals, and then you do this!?” She points at my arm.
The bandage is undeniably soggy, and yes, it stings. “It’s okay…”
But there is no calming her down. My little sunshine has thrown open the door to the bathroom, taken the hand of my good arm in hers and drags me out. I go willingly.
“You cannot get it infected,” she fusses as she sits me on a chair back downstairs. She carefully undoes all her work from earlier, and checks the wound.
“I know, sorry.” I think that sounds contrite. “I’ll be more careful.” I don’t promise I won’t do it again, though, because having her clucking over me is quite nice.
“Thankfully, the wound didn’t get very wet, or soapy. I’ll rinse it out just to be certain, but then we can put a plastic bag over it if you want to shower.”
Or you could help me wash. I keep that thought to myself.
She does the dressing with exactly the same diligence as the first time. I let my mind wander as she finishes up. And my gaze. Her tits in that cute little insubstantial sleeping dress. My arm hurts like fuck, but my cock doesn’t have the message, still tenting my towel.
“And you should have your arm in the sling,” she reminds me. “Not using it.”
“I know. Thank you for your care.” I mean it sincerely.
“Okay, we’re done.” She steps back, and her gaze drops. She stills. Her cheeks go pink again.
She’s seen the hard line of my erection.
Ah, fuck. I drag my hand through my hair, trying to figure out what I should say. Sorry? Ignore that?
“Unless…”
Our gazes meet.
“You need some help with that, too?”