Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ihand Caleb my empty bowl. The soup, despite being filled with potatoes, was precisely what I needed. The pain medication has finally kicked in, too, replacing my sharp aches with comforting nothingness.
Caleb collects the empty dish with slow, gentle movements. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Despite my best attempts to avoid it, my cheeks warm. I’m comfortable with nudity, but knowing Caleb is about to help me bathe has my heart pounding. I’d insist on cleaning myself if I thought I could, but we both know I’m incapable.
The medicine numbs the pain, but I’m still incredibly injured. I shouldn’t push myself.
Caleb helps me off his bed, his strong arms steady as he practically carries me into his ensuite bathroom.
It’s nice in here, everything pristine. Does Caleb clean it himself, or does he hire someone to do it for him?
There’s a large tub in front of an even larger floor-to-ceiling window, and beside it is a walk-in shower. Caleb brings me to the tub.
“We could do a shower, but a bath will be easier,” he says, turning the faucet.
Water splutters into the tub, and Caleb urges me to sit on the edge as he collects several bottles from the shower. His eyes are continually darting toward me, and when he fumbles with one of the bottles, I snort.
It’s a short, curt noise I hurry to cut off, but Caleb still reacts.
He shoots me a dirty look, but I can tell there’s no real malice behind it. “It’s not funny.”
I shrug, not responding. I don’t know why I laughed. It’s not funny. He’s not funny.
The bath fills, every inch mounting my nerves. If Caleb notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. The air between us grows quiet, and when the bath is filled and Caleb shuts off the water, it becomes tense.
I can’t remove my clothing, not with my sprained arm and bruised ribs.
Caleb clears his throat. “Are you okay with this? I can find a woman to help if you’d prefer.”
I’m surprised it took him this long to ask. I’d consider taking him up on the offer if he were making this sexual, but I can tell that’s not his intention. Some part of me intuitively trusts Caleb. I’m sure it’s the bond.
“It’s fine,” I say.
I want to be clean, and I trust Caleb more than some random shifter woman.
Caleb nods, his throat bobbing, before reaching for the hem of my dress. I’m on edge, but Caleb’s eyes remain locked on mine as he pulls my dress over my head. His gaze never strays, not even as he kneels before me and tugs the thin hospital socks off my feet.
I’m naked. Vulnerable beyond belief. Caleb knows it. I know it.
Caleb rises, and then he’s helping me step into the tub. He holds my bicep, his grip tight enough to offer support but not enough to seem threatening. He doesn’t need to physically harm me to seem threatening, though. His sheer size, and the fact that he’s a shifter, are threats enough.
I let out a near-silent sigh as I sink into the warm water. This feels amazing. HPAW didn’t have baths. They had lukewarm, painfully sterile showers I hated using.
I can’t help but relax, resting the back of my head against the tub’s edge.
“Good?” Caleb asks.
I nod, my eyes growing heavy as he scoops water into his hands and pours it over my exposed shoulders. The water is clear. If he looks down, he’ll see everything. I’m surprised he doesn’t.
“So good,” I admit.
“I’m happy to hear that.” A beat of silence, then, “Do you need help washing?”
Probably not. HPAW injured my dominant arm, but I can make do with my left.
“Yes.” The lie slips off my tongue without much thought.
Caleb’s throat bobs once more, and he nods slightly before dropping to his knees beside the tub.
I debate correcting my lie and insisting on washing myself, but those thoughts vanish as Caleb readies a washcloth.
His eyes go comically wide as they land on my exposed skin.
Caleb looks amazed, his eyes full of wonder.
He clears his throat, rushing to avert his gaze. “Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen a naked woman, and, well, it’s distracting. You’re distracting.”
His confession takes me by surprise. It’s rumored that shifters are prudish, avoiding intimacy until they find their mate, but I never anticipated Alpha Knox falling into this category.
He’s almost thirty. That’s a long time to wait, especially considering his title.
I’m sure there are more than a few women eager to jump into his bed.
“You’ve never seen a naked woman?” I ask. “Ever?”
Caleb’s shoulders rise and fall in a quick, jerky motion. “Nudity is common amongst shifters. We’re exposed when transitioning between our wolf and skin forms, but it’s common decency to avert your gaze. I don’t look.”
“Are you a virgin?” I blurt out.
Caleb recoils. He looks offended. “Yes.” He scoffs, as if the mere idea of him being anything other than a virgin is absolutely ridiculous. “Of course I am.”
He says it with such conviction, such pride, that I’m left entirely speechless. A part of me wants to sink into the tub and drown myself. I might attempt it if I didn’t already know that Caleb would immediately haul me right back up.
HPAW encouraged me to have sex. They know how addicting the bond can be, and they felt that my having prior sexual experience would help me fight the pull. They never forced anything on me, but they made it abundantly clear that promiscuity was welcome.
They placed young guards outside my quarters, and they never batted an eye when those men slipped into my bed in the middle of the night. I welcomed them. Anything to help the cause.
Now, though, I’m feeling a very distinct feeling of shame. I don’t enjoy it.
Caleb watches emotions filter across my face, but his expression gives away nothing. Does he expect me to be a virgin, too? If so, he’ll find himself sorely disappointed.
“I’m aware that humans have different views about sex,” he finally says. “I don’t expect you to be…inexperienced.”
He rolls the word inexperienced around his tongue, testing it. It doesn’t sound like he particularly enjoys the flavor of it, but he isn’t showing the telltale signs of anger. The HPAW facility was filled with men, most of whom blamed the world for their less-than-perfect lives.
I learned how to tell when a man is angry.
Caleb isn’t angry.
I clear my throat. “You can look at me. I don’t mind.”
He won’t be the first, and I highly doubt he’ll be the last. Besides, I want his eyes on me. He’s never seen a woman, and a sick, twisted piece of me takes pleasure in being the first. He’ll never forget this—not that he’s going to be alive for much longer to do so.
Caleb’s cheeks turn an impressive shade of red, and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his gaze travels to my body. I can practically feel everywhere his eyes land. They start on my stomach, a safe spot, before traveling toward my chest.
Most of my hard-earned muscle has vanished thanks to HPAW’s decision to starve me, but I remain lean. My body is taut, my breasts perky. I’m proud of the way I look, and I preen underneath Caleb’s gaze.
“Are you going to wash me?” I ask. My voice is low.
Caleb shuts his eyes and sucks in a slow breath. “Yes.”
He brings the soapy washcloth to my exposed shoulders, running the soft fabric over each one before carefully cleaning around the cast on my right arm. We should probably put a bag over it, but I’m not too concerned about the moisture. The cast is coming off next week, anyway.
Caleb’s gentle as he sets my arm back on the tub’s edge.
Then he sticks his hand into the water, lifting my good arm out of the tub and wiping the dirt off. He’s thorough, cleaning every inch of my skin. This has no business feeling as good as it does.
When he finishes with my arm, I lift my leg, resting my ankle against the lip of the tub.
My ribs scream in protest, but I ignore them.
He cleans both my legs, starting at my toes and ending just above my knee.
He avoids my thighs—especially the sensitive flesh between them.
He doesn’t even look, much to my annoyance.
I want him to look. I want to see his expression when he sees a woman’s sex for the first time. He’s expressive, and the pull I feel to him is possessive.
“Do you—” he starts.
“I want you to do it.”
He grimaces. “In the cabin… Did…”
I know where this is going. Doctor Greg kicked Caleb out of the room before gently prodding the subject, then offering to bring in a female doctor to complete a cervical check and STD screening. I rejected both. The HPAW soldiers didn’t assault me, and I’m regularly tested.
Caleb wasn’t in the room, but I assumed Doctor Greg would’ve shared the information with him. I suppose not.
“They didn’t rape me—or do anything sexual,” I say. “I want you to clean me, Caleb.”
He curses, the word whispered lowly under his breath, before he runs the washcloth over my breasts. He’s careful not to touch my bare skin, but his warmth is felt even through the washcloth.
When he drags the fabric over my nipples, I tense.
It feels good, like a bolt of lightning shooting straight between my thighs.
I want more, my injuries be damned. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but the bond between us screams, pulls, and aches.
I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s otherworldly.
It’s going to be a problem.
Does Caleb feel the same way? Is he suffering with the intoxicating pull, too? Is it stronger because he’s a shifter? I can’t imagine. This must be absolute torture for him. It’s even more of a reason to encourage this. It’ll make winning him over and earning his trust so much easier.
He makes brief eye contact with me, double-checking that everything’s okay, before trailing the washcloth down my torso. He skims over my ribcage, applying almost no pressure, but the weight of his hand presses into me as he reaches the trimmed hair between my legs.
I spread my thighs. It’s a clear invitation.
One he takes.