Chapter 10 The Present #2
A weak sound escapes me. It’s a half protest, half surrender, but it dies when his fingers glide between my shoulder blades and down the curve of my spine.
“I said I can’t stand anymore,” I mumble again, though I’m not sure if I’m complaining or begging.
“You don’t have to,” Cassian says, crouching. “Sit on me. I’ll hold you.”
“Wow. A real gentleman.” I scoff. “Now, at least.”
He wasn’t that lovely when he was pressing his dick so deep down my throat he was searching for my stomach.
Not that I’m complaining—it was mind-blowing, honestly—but a girl’s entitled to a little snark when the room’s spinning and she still has to finish basic hygiene before she can officially melt into a puddle.
Cassian doesn’t rise to the bait. His dark eyes flick up to mine, unreadable, before he hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me down onto his lap.
My ass meets the solid muscle of his thighs with a wet slap, and suddenly I’m straddling him like I never left the bench at all, but only the guys switched places.
“Better?” he asks, voice flat, as if he isn’t cradling me like I’m something fragile.
“Debatable,” I mutter, trying to lean away, but gravity’s not on my side. I collapse against his chest, water dripping down both of us.
Nathaniel crouches beside us, still lathering soap across his long fingers. He catches one of my wrists, lifts it gently, and scrubs along my arm.
Talon, meanwhile, leans against the wall—grinning, of course—watching like it’s his favorite show.
He catches my eye, winks, and snatches a shampoo bottle from the shelf.
“You’ll thank us for this once you realize you don’t have cum spilling out your ass the rest of the day,” Talon says cheerfully, popping the cap. “And you could have.”
Cassian’s chest rumbles under my cheek like he’s suppressing a laugh. “He’s not wrong.”
“Yeah? What, you guys know all about that from experience?”
Cassian’s chest shakes again. It’s definitely a laugh this time, low and rough. He doesn’t let me move when I try to lift my head in indignation. Instead, he presses me tighter against him, one big hand tracing slow, absent circles over my hip.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Let them finish.”
I want to protest. Really, I do. But Nathaniel’s soap-slick fingers are working down to my wrist now like he’s coaxing life back into each tendon. Talon’s nails scratch lightly at my scalp as he works in the shampoo, and, fuck… it feels good. Too good.
I melt. Full puddle mode. Cassian could carry me out of here like a sack of laundry and I wouldn’t even twitch.
“Don’t get used to this,” I mumble, words half slurred. “I’m not some broken doll you can... scrub down whenever you want.”
“Mm.” Nathaniel hums in that maddeningly noncommittal way, rinsing the suds from my arm. “We can see that.”
“I’m just conserving energy,” I shoot back weakly.
“Sure you are.” Talon grins down at me, water dripping from his chin. “You look like a fucking pampered princess.”
“More like a drowned one,” I mutter.
Cassian’s hand tightens around my waist. “Stop talking before you pass out mid-sentence.”
That shuts me up. Not because he’s right—though he is—but because something in his voice sounds like an order. And gods help me, part of me likes obeying it. He just has this hold on me.
He shifts me, bracing me against his chest so Nathaniel can guide me forward. I barely notice it, until warm, soap-lathered fingers part my thighs and go straight for my ass.
“Wait—are you really—” I try to twist, but Cassian’s arm is iron around my middle.
“Really,” Nathaniel says smoothly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You’re sore, and if we don’t, you’ll regret it in an hour.”
“Oh gods.” I groan, covering my face with both hands. “Kill me now.”
Having sex with someone is one thing. Having them clean your asshole after they ruined it? What the fuck.
Mark’s eyeball would probably fall out of his skull if I ever asked him to do that.
Nathaniel just methodically washes me clean. The slickness threatening to drip down my thighs vanishes under his hands, replaced by blessedly cool water.
The humiliating part is how good it feels to be touched so gently after everything else. I shiver, pressing my forehead into Cassian’s collarbone.
“Turn a little more,” Nathaniel says quietly.
Somehow, I manage to oblige. He takes the nozzle and lets the warm stream rinse me out, murmuring soft instructions while Cassian keeps me steady.
It’s mortifying. But by the time they’re done, I’m clean, empty, and strangely cared for in a way I didn’t expect.
“There,” Nathaniel says finally. “No mess left.”
“Congratulations,” I mutter into Cassian’s skin. “You’ve officially achieved Most Intimate Acquaintance status.”
“We already had that,” Talon sing-songs, ducking under the spray to rinse shampoo from his hair. His grin flashes white when he looks at me. “But lovely of you to admit it out loud.”
Nathaniel only hums, passing Cassian the soap. The two of them wash fast; Talon, on the other hand, takes his sweet time.
By the time they’re done, my eyelids are drooping. Cassian’s still sitting with me in his lap, letting the spray rinse over us both. Nathaniel crouches again, gathering the bottles. When he straightens, there’s a small tube in his hand.
“Ointment,” he explains before I can ask. He nods toward my thigh. “Those scratches are shallow, but the skin’s raw.”
I blink. “You brought a first-aid kit into the shower?”
“I keep it here,” he says simply. “Best place to tend to injuries.”
Cassian huffs a laugh against my temple. “That’s Nathaniel.”
Too tired to argue, I let him work. His fingers are featherlight, smoothing balm over each scrape along my middle and thighs, then the faint lines on my back before moving to my face. It stings at first, then cools, then soothes.
“Finished.” Nathaniel caps the tube and tucks it away.
“Finally.” My voice is barely a breath. “Now someone carry me before I faceplant.”
“On it,” Cassian murmurs.
He rises in one smooth motion, hauling me with him as if I weigh nothing. My wet hair sticks to his chest, droplets sliding down his skin, but he doesn’t so much as blink.
“Dead princess mode,” Talon declares, sweeping his arm like he’s presenting me to an audience. “Straight to bed with her.”
Nathaniel just shakes his head, but his eyes flick to mine, softened, as though he’s checking one last time that I’m really alright.
I try to smirk, but it comes out as more of a drowsy twitch. “Don’t get used to this. Next time, I’m walking.”
Cassian adjusts his grip, steady and unbothered. “We’ll see.”
And with that, he carries me out of the steam, through the bathroom door, leaving the hiss of water behind.
To the ICU we go.