Chapter 26
twenty-six
. . .
Reciprocity
Present Day
taven
Saturday, 1:32am
I lift Desiree into my arms and carry her through the house, past the fireplace and to the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m fine, you really don’t need to carry me,” she says.
I pause and ease her legs down while keeping one arm around her waist. I pull the strap of her overnight bag over my shoulder, lift her once again as I begin to climb the stairs. “You’re covered in vomit. I’d rather not have it all over my floor,” I say.
“Yeah, sure.”
I smile as I make my way around the corner and to my room, past the king-sized bed and into the bathroom. I note the goosebumps covering her arms and I can feel the tremble she’s fighting. I place her down and flick on the towel warmer, followed by the heating lamp and lights, and then finally, the shower.
She scans around the space, and I see her taking in the Durango marble lining the walls, the quartz vanity countertop, the sleek glass of the shower, slowly fogging with steam. “Wow,” she says, nodding in approval. “Business must be good.”
“No thanks to my parents,” I mutter, then immediately regret it.
“How are they?” she asks, a divot forming between her brows. “I mean, how are you guys, do you talk?”
I nod. “Yes. We talk every few weeks, though I think their trust of me will always remain?—”
“They trust you, Taven,” she says, turning toward me. “And if they don’t, that’s on them.” She startles me with the abruptness of her statement, and I smile at how fiercely protective she’s always been when it came to me and the dynamics with my parents.
They had cut me off when they found out about how bad my drinking had gotten. I thought they would cut me off when I had dropped out of school, but no. Once I explained my business plans, proved to them I had researched the ins and outs of the operation I wanted to build, they cautiously supported me, much to my surprise. I had been slowly making steps toward those goals, entered a training program and worked my apprenticeship, my fingers permanently gritty and my clothes permanently fuel-scented. The work was hard, but it was work I understood. There was a routine comfort I felt under the hood of a car, manipulating things that made sense to me.
But I had stalled my progress thanks to my drinking. Doing the bare minimum, nowhere near opening my own shop. Coasting by on their dime.
One day, my card was declined. At the liquor store, no less. I was furious. Shaking. I called my parents, demanding to know what the hell was going on, sure it was their belated disapproval of my career plans, since I hadn’t been making the progress I had promised.
When my mother explained she had been made aware that I had a problem, I denied it. I myself hadn’t admitted anything wrong with my relationship with alcohol. So I liked to let off some steam now and then, so what? Sure, I had a couple slip-ups. A brawl or two, a crashed car when I had taken the keys from my friend, driving him and some of the guys home one night after a little post-work happy hour. I was the most sober one, I had been doing them a favor, or so I thought. No DUI charges, the cops had been more interested in the old Porsche we were in, loving the story of how we had miraculously soared through the air, off the road, landing in a corn field. No harm done to any of us, just sad the harm done to the beauty of a car.
But that was it. My parents gave me two weeks to move out of my apartment and find a new place to live. They were finished holding my hand as I wrecked my way through life. I was left crashing on a friend’s couch and working grueling hours to try and save up for my own place.
I failed. There was a morning when I woke up on the street, freezing and ill, no recollection of the night before. It scared me. I reluctantly went with my mom and checked myself into rehab. Figured I’d dry out for a bit, and everything would be fine. I had just gone too far and needed to hit reset.
I blink away the thoughts of that time, having had my fill of revisiting for the night. I look over to Desiree, gently spin her around, lifting the hair off her back as I pull on the strings at the nape of her neck. The steam from the shower billows around us, fogging up the mirror.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Stripping this shirt off like I’ve been wanting to do all night.” No sense in denying it.
“But I’ll be naked!”
I meet her gaze in the bit of mirror that’s still clear and smile. “So? I’ve seen you naked before.” I keep my hand frozen, praying she’ll give me the okay.
I love the flush that creeps up her cheeks. She smiles and closes her eyes. “Fine. But only because I’m dizzy and that shower looks like a dream. ”
Victory. I pull the strings and try my hardest not to stroke her breasts as I lift the fabric over her head. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.”
“That would be a first.”
I slide her shorts and panties down her legs, careful not to disturb the small burn mark on her calf. I work a little more slowly than necessary, determined to enjoy each and every inch of her skin while I can. She’s more curvy than I remember, the luscious hips and rolls of womanhood causing my dick to stir, and I’m clenching my jaw so tightly to keep it at bay, I fear I might grind away my teeth.
She steps out of her shorts, and I bundle her clothes into a ball, throwing them into the sink. I fight the urge to kiss her exposed skin as I guide her into the shower.
I tug off my own shirt and throw it to the side, grinning as her eyes go wide as she scans my bare torso. “As good as you remember?” I ask her.
“Better,” she breathes out.
She steps into the water while I remain standing outside the glass door. “Are you joining me?” she asks.
“A moment ago you didn’t want to be naked in front of me.”
“That was before you took off your shirt,” she says, arching an eyebrow.
I smile. “No, I’m not joining you. I’m going to help you get cleaned up, but I’m staying put right here.”
“No fun,” she says, but then I see her steady herself as she leans a shoulder against the shower wall. Her eyebrows furrow slightly and she closes her eyes, and I curse under my breath. “Nauseated or dizzy?” I ask.
“Both,” she admits.
I try not to roam my eyes over her body. The last thing she needs is my raging hard-on right now, the lure of hot water rolling over her breasts almost too much to handle. More important issues at hand. I need to make sure she doesn’t pass out while in here. “Dazzle? ”
“Yes?” she says, voice quiet and eyes still closed as the steam wraps around her.
She looks so vulnerable, standing there like that, water pouring over her shoulder as she fights off whatever she’s feeling. There’s a tug in my chest to join her and envelope her in my arms, pull her tight against me and make all her discomfort go away.
Instead I tell her, “I’m going to take off my jeans and step in with you to help you out, is that okay?”
I can do that much. I can be refrained.
She nods, to my relief, dropping her head against the tiles of the shower wall. I do as promised, leaving on my boxer briefs as I step into the shower. I gently spin her around, her back to me. Let the water run through her hair and down her body. “You okay?”
She hums in response, and I get to work. I lift the second shower head from its cradle and run it over her body, fighting the fantasy of torturing her by pressing it between her legs. Another time, maybe.
“Here, hold this,” I say, handing her the nozzle while I reach for the shampoo. I squeeze out a small dome of it and lather it into her hair, massaging her scalp, my hands working in gentle circles. I take my time with it, scooping her thick blonde locks in my hands and enjoying the chance to do something for her that’s so routine, so part of a daily ritual for her that I’ve been robbed of for the past several years. It’s as if in doing this thing for her, I get to be an intimate part of her life, too. At least in this moment.
I cradle her head and enjoy her quiet hums of appreciation as she leans her head back on my chest. She’s nearly limp in my arms. I fight the urge to let my hands wander down her torso, over her breasts. Not now.
After a moment she steps forward. Turns her head around and looks down at my underwear, the fabric now heavy and soaking wet. “You’re not naked,” she says.
“Trying to be a gentleman, remember?”
“But I’m naked, it’s hardly fair.”
“And I’m hardly looking.” I reach my hand to her face and smooth away a soapy stream from her forehead before it creeps into her eyes.
She lifts the corner of her mouth. “Take them off, Taven. That can’t be comfortable.” She closes her eyes as I lean her head back into the stream of water to rinse out the shampoo. Then laugh as I feel the nozzle in her hand pressing against stomach, a harsh spray of hot water stinging my skin. “Off. Now.”
I focus on lifting the weight of her hair to wash out the remnants of shampoo. “They will be staying on,” I say.
“But why?”
“Because right now, it’s taking every ounce of strength to not devour this beautiful body of yours. And this last article of clothing is the only thing keeping me from pushing you against this wall, wrapping your legs around me and ravishing you,” I answer honestly.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she whispers. I can barely hear it over the sound of the water, but that’s what she said, alright.
“Well, Dazzle, too bad for you that I’m a changed man.”
“Changed how?”
I take the nozzle from her hands and replace it back on the cradle. Turn back to face her. “Changed in that I’m far more patient these days. And I’m not going to make love to you when you’re nauseated and dizzy because you’ve been struck by lightning , remember that?” I say, my tone teasing.
“But to be clear, that is on the agenda?” Her eyes remain closed but she smiles, and I take the opportunity to scan her face. The small ridge in her nose, the pink and full lips. So beautiful.
I reach for the loofah beside me. “When you’re feeling better. If you want.” I take some soap into the loofah to lather up, hoping the slight floral scent doesn’t rev up her nausea. I study her face and am satisfied by the small smile she holds, so I get busy. Groan quietly in appreciation as I leave trails of white suds over her body—her arms, her stomach, the peaks of her nipples, taunting me. Her breath hitches as I slowly make my way over the soft flesh of her breasts, which are fuller than I last remember.
She lets out a moan. “Lord, I had no idea how fun it would be to be washed like this,” she says. “It feels so good.”
I don’t share out loud what I’m thinking. I wonder if anyone has ever washed her, shared a shower like this with her before. I take her declaration as confirmation that this is a first for her. I like that.
“It feels so good to take care of you, Dazzle.” So good.
She presses her lips to my shoulder. Tender, like I’m a gift to be revered. “I like being taken care of.” She looks up at me, blue eyes steady and full of meaning. “By you.”