Chapter 13 Bed, Bath, and Beyond
BED, BATH, AND BEYOND
MAGNUS
It’s Wednesday night, and for the first time all week, I feel like I can breathe.
The meetings have been endless, but productive, and somehow Jamie and I have managed—miraculously—to remain professional.
At least in public. Behind the safety of my office door, and the lock of my private bathroom, we’ve both been…
less than disciplined. I can’t seem to keep my hands off him. I don’t even pretend to try.
Now, though, I want something quieter. Simpler. So I invited him here again, to my space. My sanctuary.
Dinner is on the stove—creamy chicken noodle soup, slow-cooked with rosemary and garlic, the way my mother used to make on Sundays when she wanted the whole family at the table.
I rarely cook like this. In my apartment, I usually survive on takeout or meals that require little thought.
But for Jamie, I want more. The aroma seeps into every corner of my place, rich and heavy, more warmth than I usually allow in this glass-and-steel cage I call home.
I practice swivel folds while we wait—it keeps my hands busy when my mind won’t rest. The soft paper soothes my fingers until Jamie catches me with that sweet, amused smile of his.
It unravels something in me.
“It’s… strange, you know.” I set the paper down and flex my hands. “I don’t trust easily. When you build your life on walls and control, letting anyone breach that isn’t easy.” I glance at him, and his eyes are on me. “Harder still when that someone is you.”
Jamie doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t make light of it. He just watches me, brow furrowed, lips parting like he’s about to speak. But he doesn’t.
“What is it?” I ask, hoping he’s going to match my vulnerability.
But he only exhales, shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he mutters, reaching for his wine instead.
I don’t press. Not yet.
Later, after dinner, I see the tension hasn’t left him. He smiles, he laughs at my dry comments, but there’s something brittle underneath. Maybe all the stress of the big pitch is getting to him. Poor guy. He’s wound tight, like he’s afraid of breaking.
“I have an idea.” I reach for his hand. “You need to relax. How about I run you a bath?”
Jamie dips his chin and cocks an eyebrow above the rim of his glasses. Gods, he’s irresistible.
“Come on.” I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom. Maybe a hot bath will help him let go of the stress—but really, I just need him to stop locking whatever this is inside. I need him to exhale.
Jamie perches on the wooden bench in the corner while I start the taps.
Filling a Minotaur-sized tub takes two faucets, and I time it just so, letting the water cascade with a steady, hypnotic rhythm.
Sea salt, a generous pour of bubble bath, a few drops of lavender oil—every element deliberate, each one meant to coax him out of himself.
I know he won’t be able to resist letting go, softening into the warmth I’ve crafted just for him.
“Okay, my little man.”
He undresses, his smooth skin coming into focus.
I offer my hand and help steady him as he steps over the steep ledge.
He sinks into the water, his head falling back against the porcelain, a sigh slipping out of him that makes my throat ache.
I sit on the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled, just watching him unwind.
But even as the steam rises and his shoulders loosen, I can feel it—he’s still holding something back.
“Jamie,” I say softly. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
He fidgets, staring at the water. “I… I’m fine.”
“No. You’re not.” My voice is firm, but gentle. “Look at me.”
His eyes flicker up for a moment then dart away. “I… I don’t want to mess things up.”
“Mess things up? Jamie, what are you talking about?”
He swallows hard. “I… I… I’m falling for you. I can’t stop myself. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And I’m scared I’ll ruin everything.”
I reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Jamie… ruin what? You? Us? Because from where I’m standing, I don’t see any danger of that happening.”
He swallows, cheeks flushed. “The pitch to the city. Us. All of it. It’s going so well, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it—quiet, incredulous. “Jamie, the campaign prep is right on track. You’re doing brilliantly.”
But that’s not what he means, and we both know it. His gaze catches mine again, desperate and searching.
“I want… more.” He runs a hand through his hair, wetting it. “More of you. Not just the sex. Although yes, please—more sex. I want more of this.” He glances around the bathroom.
“More baths?”
“No, silly.” He laughs, and those little lines around his eyes make my heart flutter. “I mean yes. More baths. More of your place. More dinners. More of your life. More… you.”
And for once, I don’t feel the urge to retreat behind walls or buy time with silence. For once, I lean in.
“Oh.”
I bend over the ledge of the tub and kiss him, slow and deliberate, and when he opens his lips for me, it’s like every lock I’ve ever kept on myself slides open at once.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, guiding the washcloth over his shoulder. “Let me take care of you.”
I peel my shirt off so it doesn’t get wet and pour warm water over his shoulders, letting the heat ease the tension in his muscles. My hands move gently through his hair, massaging his scalp, and I watch his eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
Every touch is deliberate, reverent—washing him, caressing him, making sure he feels seen, safe. I trace my fingers over his back, along his arms, down to his hands, and then around to his chest.
“Okay, stand.”
Jamie does as I ask, standing in the water, his beautiful dick getting hard as the water rushes off him. I wrap him in a thick towel, pick him up, and hold him close to my bare chest.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to his. “Every part of you.”
Holding him, it’s like having the entire universe in my arms. He’s mine. All mine.
He melts against me as I carry him, and for the first time in maybe forever, I realize I can be gentle and voracious all at once—careful and hungry, tender and insatiable.
I lower my head and kiss him, and everything ignites—sudden, bright, alive.
This time, when I take him to my bed, it’s different.
Not less intense—never that—but threaded through with something I’m not sure I’ve ever given anyone before.
Gentleness. Sweetness. A kind of reverence I didn’t know existed until Jamie.
And yet, beneath it all, I’m still starving for him, only now it feels less like hunger and more like connection.