Chapter Seventeen
Yun
I stared down at my front, having no idea how this had happened. I’d gone to see a doctor on a whim—the dumb choice probably due to the lack of sleep—and ended up face-to-face with Kenyon.
Anyone else I could have ignored. I could have made up some sort of story, made it seem as though I had some better idea. Something about him had made it impossible to do that though. Instead, I had blurted out the truth.
Worse, he had seemed to take it as some sort of personal challenge.
The truth was that I hadn’t been able to sleep well ever since The Pitt, so I had no reason to believe anything he could do would actually make a damn bit of difference.
Also, none of it was his job. As a healer, his job was to keep the espers on their feet and fighting.
His job was to take care of his squad. Nowhere in his list of duties was dealing with a flighty, emotionally damaged guide.
I had a feeling saying that wouldn’t do a damn thing, though, which left me here standing in front of the bathtub full of hot water and lots of bubbles.
It was weird to think that men like this had bubble bath, but it seemed that they did. Or at least they had gone out and found some. Kenyon had shown me the bath, then left new pajamas for me, moving around like a dog who had brought me the best stick.
His excitement was nearly contagious, and if I didn’t feel like death warmed over, I might have even felt it myself.
Knowing arguing would prove pointless, I stripped down and got into the bath, wincing at the heat. I adjusted quickly enough, though.
The longer I sat there, the more I had to admit, it was nice.
Lavender filled the room, like a lure toward unconsciousness.
Hell, a part of me wondered if I might not fall asleep right here in the water.
The heat soothed my muscles, turning them soft and pliable, and my eyes drifted closed as I relaxed.
The door creaked, and I might have given a damn who walked in if I weren’t enjoying this so much.
“No drowning,” Carter said, his voice enough to get me to open my eyes.
“Isn’t that the best sleep?” I countered.
He set his hands on his hips as though I were his problem child of the evening, though his expression lacked any real annoyance.
“Do you have any idea that amount of paperwork that would go into me explaining how our guide drowned in the bathtub? Come on, Yun, think about someone other than yourself! You know how I feel about paperwork.” He took a towel and held it open. “Come on, out.”
“I can get out on my own.”
“Judging by the little bubble nap you were just enjoying, I highly doubt it.” He shook the towel as though that would get me moving.
The idea of fighting with him sounded about as appetizing as getting out of the bath, and I had a feeling he’d be the one to win that particular battle in the end.
I got up, careful to use the edge of the tub for balance.
My feet pressed into the soft bathmat. Carter didn’t merely hand me the towel, of course.
That would be far too easy for a man who enjoyed being as difficult as he did.
Instead, he wrapped it around me, his arms somehow less confining when wrapped in terry cloth.
He dried me, smoothing those large hands—outside the fabric—over my body.
He dropped to his knees behind me, swiping the towel up my thighs. A chill in the bathroom made me extra aware of each place where a droplet of water ran down my skin, and his gaze felt like a caress.
Carter tapped my heel, and I obeyed, inching my feet further apart. He repeated the drying on the inside of my thighs, moving all the way up to the juncture. He didn’t actually touch me, and my cheeks burned at the tiny, unsatisfied moan I let out.
His soft laugh said he’d heard it, the bastard.
By the time I was fully dry—and he’d been far more thorough than he had any right to be—I was drenched in other ways.
Exactly when had I become a whore? The question was ugly, sure, but seemed valid enough. I’d gone a decade with almost no desire to speak of. Even surrounded by sexy men, I couldn’t have given a damn about anything under their clothes.
Just a few months with these men, however, and I hardly recognized myself anymore.
If Carter told me to sit on the edge of the tub and spread my thighs, I’d have done it with a smile on my face.
To my dismay, he didn’t, and only picked up the pajamas from their folded pile on the counter. He slipped the shirt on me, buttoning it in the front. Each brush of his fingers strayed dangerously close to my nipples, and there was no way he missed the reaction I had to him.
“Hands on my shoulders.” Was it just me, or was his voice deeper, breathier? I had no idea, but it sounded fantastic.
I did as he said while he kneeled before me, the pajama bottom shorts in his hands. The grasp on him helped me keep my balance as I lifted one leg at a time into the clothing, and damn it, why was him dressing me so damn sexy?
At the end, he got to his feet, me dressed but a trembling mess.
So much for sleep…
I couldn’t picture how this was supposed to relax me. I had a feeling I could have stayed up for a sting operation at this point, or pulled a graveyard shift somewhere without any coffee needed.
Carter flashed me a smile that said he knew full well what he’d done to me and didn’t regret it a bit. A glance down at his crotch showed he’d hardly walked away unscathed himself, which was my own petty win.
I hoped like fuck that blue balls were a real thing and that he suffered greatly from them.
Outside the bathroom, Carter gestured toward my room. A strange scent met me before I could walk in—lavender again, but also something smoky?
When I walked in to find the room looking vaguely like someone was mid-sacrifice attempt, it all made so much more sense.
And so much less.
Kanyon stood by a dresser, moving a few of the candles around as though there were a specific way to set them up that would work. The task so consumed him that he didn’t even notice our presence until Carter cleared his throat.
Kenyon spun, eyes wide. He hardly had the look of a competent, high-ranked esper at the moment, but I’d gotten used to that—with them all.
“How was your bath?” he asked, as though trying to look more in control to wipe away the last few seconds.
“She was just about asleep,” Carter answered for me. “So it must have been pretty good.”
Kenyon frowned, staring at me. “Really? She doesn’t look all that relaxed right now.”
My cheeks burned, and I gave a threatening side-eye toward Carter.
He snickered and shrugged. “You know the body is a mysterious thing. Who can say what happened exactly? Thankfully, a healer as good as you are can handle it, I’m sure.”
Kenyon moved his gaze between the two of us, but whether he figured it out or just gave up, I wasn’t sure. “Come on, come lie down.” He patted the mattress. “Face down.”
“I like ’em that way.” Ingram slipped past Carter and me, not by using the tiny bit of space or having us move but by traveling via shadow, going from behind to in front in the time it took me to blink.
“I think face down, ass up is a damn nice position.” He tilted his head, his gaze raking over my body.
“Then again, I’m pretty sure you could make any position look fucking fantastic. ”
“That’s not what we’re here for,” Kenyon scolded him.
“You said she needs to sleep. Let me tell you something—orgasms are a fantastic way to destress and promote restful sleep.”
“Yes, I got the articles you sent me,” Kenyon answered. “But you’d say anything to get your dick inside her. This is about her.”
“Hey, I’m a giver, what can I say? Fine, we’ll do it your way, and when it doesn’t work, my dick and I are ready to tap in.” Ingram all but collapsed back into the large chair that sat at the corner of the room.
In some ways, that almost felt stranger, like he was sitting back and watching this all.
It made me feel on display, but for some reason, I didn’t hate it.
I was just hyperaware of his gaze. In fact, he almost appeared like a monster there, in the corner, the flickering of the candlelight illuminating his features and throwing shadows from the sharp lines of his face.
Kenyon gestured toward the bed again, reminding me I hadn’t actually done as he’d said, given how Ingram had interfered.
However, all that ease I’d felt from the bath had disappeared. Lying down on my front felt especially exposing, and my racing heart seemed evidence I was not on board with the plan.
“You don’t have to,” Kenyon said softly.
Just him saying that got me moving. Right, this was my choice. They could be overwhelming, but they weren’t forcing me. Just that reminder helped, and I crawled onto the bed, stretching myself out, face down.
I folded my arms in front of me as a pillow for my head and closed my eyes. Sometimes less stimuli made things easier, like my brain had less to process.
The mattress dipped under Kenyon’s weight, but I kept myself rigid so I didn’t move. I couldn’t stop my flinch when he first touched me, his large hands flat against my shoulder blades.
He didn’t pull away, but he paused as though to give me time to decide whether I’d allow it.
Kenyon had proven he had no desire to hurt me, so I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart and remained still.
Kenyon started the massage for real, then.
He used deep pressure, his fingers working into the knots in my muscles, the places where days of exhaustion had tensed my body.
He worked from my shoulders, my back, my thighs, all the way to my feet.
He’d avoided any of the places likely to turn this into a very different sort of event, like my inner thighs, which meant by the end, I wondered if he hadn’t melted my bones away to nothing.
I wasn’t sure I even could get up at the moment.
The last moments of consciousness came with a kiss I hardly felt pressed against my temple, and a sulfur scent as the candles were blown out.
I stirred for a moment, but the mattress shifted and a more familiar scent surrounded me. Heat and the firm bodies I’d grown used to, arms wrapped around me, which helped me slide deeper into that bliss.