Chapter 27 – May 30, 1994 – Erich #2
The bathroom door was open, and from the doorframe I could see her legs and ass as she leaned over the bathroom sink to brush her teeth.
I was in a trance as she turned the faucet on, rinsing her toothbrush before ripping the scrunchie out of her hair and sliding the glass shower door open to step over the edge of the tub.
As soon as the shower came to life, I repeated the motions.
I closed the bathroom door, then went to the sink and brushed my teeth.
I could see her through the clouded glass of the shower door, running her fingers through her hair as she rinsed, stealing glances at me.
I debated for all of two seconds before sliding the glass door open and stepping under the hot spray.
Camille’s smile as I joined her could’ve made the world stop turning. Her hair was soaked, draped over her shoulders and back, darker from the water. I closed my eyes and let the droplets hit my face before her voice pulled me back.
“Do you need me to move?” Her words were effortlessly seductive, and my body reacted before my brain caught up.
I didn’t answer. I grabbed her strawberry shampoo, squeezing more than necessary into my hands before massaging it into her scalp, working it into a lather. Her surprised gasp softened into a hum as she leaned into me, enjoying the way I worked the shampoo through her hair.
“That feels so… amazing,” she breathed, tilting her head back to let the water rinse some of the suds away. It ran down her body in soft, soapy streams as I held her head in my hands, guiding the rinse. Steam filled the space, clinging to our skin.
I was so focused on her parted lips that I nearly jumped when her hands slid up my chest. Her eyes fluttered as she bit her bottom lip, and I lost the thread of my thoughts as her touch took over.
A low groan slipped from me as she leaned in. She rose onto her toes to cup my face, and I bent to meet her. My lips crashed into hers as my hands slid from her hair to her hips. My own hair dampened under the steady heat, water dripping down both our faces as we gave in to the pull between us.
I was about to pin her against the tiled wall. Every instinct told me to slow it down, to savor her lips. I didn’t get the chance. Her shocked gasp cut through everything, and I felt her slipping.
My arms wrapped around her instantly to catch her. My only thought was to keep her from hitting the ground—until my shoulder slammed into a loose tile and I felt the jagged edge tear into my skin.
“Erich.” Her voice sharpened with alarm, but she was safe in my arms. I didn’t register the pain until her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Are you okay?” I murmured over the pounding water.
“Yes. But you’re not.” Her lip trembled as her fingers brushed the blood running down my arm, mixing with shampoo and water before disappearing into the drain like something out of a horror movie.
“Just a scratch.” My grip loosened once I knew she wasn’t hurt. At least I’d broken her fall.
“No, that’s a lot of blood.” She grabbed my arm, turning it to inspect the wound. Water clung to her lashes, and I worried she might start crying at the sight of it. “What if you need stitches?”
“Then I’ll take a needle and thread and handle it.” I snickered, flexing my arm—and making the cut bleed a little more. She didn’t seem sickened, but instead… worried. More than the injury warranted.
“Kneel.”
I obeyed before I even thought about it.
She clicked her tongue like I’d done something wrong, grabbed the bottle of Old Spice shampoo, and poured it into my hair.
I bit back a surprised sound as she started working it into my scalp.
Her body was close—too close for me to think clearly—and I had to force my attention back to what she was doing.
She was right. It felt amazing.
I cut her off by wrapping my arms around her legs. My lips moved up her thigh as I peered up at her, her wide eyes and damp hands frozen mid-motion. “I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes before giving my hair one last thorough rinse, smoothing it back under the water. The shower floor had gone faintly red, and she reached for a washcloth, soaking it with soap. “Stand.”
I stood immediately. She ran the cloth over my chest, then my arm, careful to avoid my shoulder.
“I can do it,” I said, a laugh slipping through.
She shot me a stubborn glare. “No. Rinse off so we can clean that cut.”
She continued, focused and precise, and if I hadn’t been worried about that tile, I would’ve pulled her against me right there.
“The water’s cleaning it,” I said lightly.
She didn’t find that funny.
When she finished, she reached for the knob, but I caught her wrist and pulled her back against me. “You’re forgetting something.”
Her breath hitched. She tilted her head back, holding up the washcloth like a shield. “I’m clean. You need rubbing alcohol. Who knows what’s growing behind those tiles?”
“Fine.” I let her go. She turned off the water, and the steam spilled out as she opened the door.
I followed a second later, catching the towel she tossed at me and drying off before wrapping it around my shoulders.
By the time I stepped out, she was already dressed in a ripped Stone Temple Pilots T-shirt and baggy gray sweats, her damp hair darkening the fabric. She stood on her toes in the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for a first aid kit.
For a second, I considered staying naked—but if she was about to play doctor, I figured I should at least put something on. I grabbed my sweats from the bedroom floor, pulled them on, and went back to the kitchen.
“Sit.” She pointed at a chair, a bottle of rubbing alcohol in her hand, the first aid kit spread across the counter.
I sat, giving her a sideways glance. “Am I going to lose my arm, doc?”
“You’re still bleeding,” she said, unimpressed. “And it looks deep.”
I twisted to check it. She wasn’t wrong. It had slowed, but blood still trailed down my arm. I’d probably be stitching it myself later.
Her fingers touched my shoulder, and I held my breath—then she poured the alcohol straight over it.
“Fu—” I hissed, bending forward. “Thanks for the warning.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, examining the wound. “I’m so sorry.”
I laughed through the sting. It helped, a little. I looked at her hands on me—and hated how my body reacted, anyway.
There was every possibility she had my brain wired to connect wooden chairs with her teeth on my neck.
“How deep is it?” I asked, needing the distraction.
“There’s one part that’s pretty deep. The rest is shallow,” she said, tracing the edges. “If we keep it clean and covered, you might not need stitches.”
“Deal.”
She grabbed gauze and tape, pressing it carefully into place.
“We have to clean it often,” she said. “Especially the deeper part. And keep it wrapped.”
“Got it.”
She smacked my arm lightly. “I’m serious.”
“I’m going to milk it, since you’re so concerned.”
She rolled her eyes, pressing the bandage down as I leaned back in the chair, watching her. She was so focused, so careful—I had the sudden urge to pull her in and kiss every inch of her face.
“I think we’re set.” She smiled, brushing a kiss over my cheek before heading toward the bedroom.
“You’re leaving me here? I’m injured. You’re supposed to take me back to bed.”
“You can walk,” she shot back, glancing over her shoulder with a small smile. “But I’ll still take care of you if you come with me.”
That was enough. I pushed the chair back and followed, catching her by the waist. I pressed a slow kiss to her neck, and her hands came up, pulling me with her toward the bedroom.