Chapter 12 #4
I shrugged. “I will wash it,” I told him.
He took it, wiping off his hand. “I never thought otherwise,” he replied, then stood gracefully, his free hand barely needing to push off the floor.
I watched him stand, wondering how he could be so steady on his feet when I felt like my bones had gone semi-liquid.
“You okay?” he asked softly, gently cupping my jaw and stroking his thumb over my cheek, the stubble growing in rasping slightly against the pad.
I nodded.
He frowned, tilting my chin up slightly, studying my features. “You sure?” he asked.
I nodded again, but then answered him out loud. “I’m okay,” I assured him. “Just tired.”
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “That we can fix,” he said.
I fell asleep with Raj wrapped around me, his hot skin chasing away both the cold and the nightmares. I woke up when he did, although he was trying not to disturb me.
“Sorry,” he whispered, when I opened my eyes.
“You don’t need to be,” I replied, lifting my head to let him pull back the arm he’d had tucked under my pillow.
He smiled, pausing to trace his fingertips along the side of my face. “You need the rest,” he said softly.
I shrugged, then turned over my wrist to look at my watch. It was one of those fitness tracker things, which my psychiatrist had suggested would help me keep track of my sleeping patterns and heart rate. I mostly just used it as a watch.
It was almost eight, which meant that Raj had lingered longer than he usually did.
“You have to work today, too, right?” I asked him.
He let out a grunt, pushing himself up off the mattress, grimacing a little.
“Your back?” I asked him softly.
“It’s fine,” he answered.
I raised my eyebrows, very much doubting that ‘fine’ was an accurate description.
He smiled a little. “It’s stiff,” he admitted. “But not too bad.” He raised his arms over his head, the lean muscle of his shoulders bunching a little and the lines of his abs becoming more defined as he stretched. I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t looking. I felt like we were well past that.
He smiled again, noticing me looking. “You like what you see?” He flexed a little.
I frowned at him, not understanding why he would ask. “You know I think you’re attractive,” I pointed out.
He laughed, making me frown more. “People generally prefer to be told they’re ‘sexy’ or ‘hot’ or ‘gorgeous,’ not ‘attractive,’’ he told me.
“Why?” I wanted to know.
He shrugged, walking over to where he’d left the backpack that he almost always brought with him—a change of clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing.
I’d wondered more than once whether or not I should ask him if he wanted to leave some of that here.
He pulled out the small bag he kept all of that in, then paused, leaning against the door frame.
“Because ‘attractive’ sounds clinical,” he replied.
“Saying someone is ‘sexy’ sounds more… enthusiastic.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then I think you’re sexy.”
He laughed again. “You can’t just say what I told you to say,” he told me. “Then it feels fake.”
I’d finally figured out that he was teasing me. “If you can’t tell that I think you’re beautiful—” I started.
Oddly, he looked surprised. “You think I’m beautiful?” He sounded almost shy.
Now I was really confused. “Of course I do,” I replied. “And how is that any different than saying you’re sexy?”
His cheeks had gone dark. “It just… is,” he half-mumbled, then left the bedroom, presumably to shower and brush his teeth and so on.
I dragged myself out of bed, despite the fact that I didn’t have to be at work until two. I’d worn my boxer shorts to bed, but the air was cool enough that I didn’t want to be mostly naked, so I grabbed Raj’s shirt from the floor and pulled it on before following him to the bathroom.
He was brushing his teeth, the door left open, and he looked over at me when I padded up to the door.
Then he choked on a mouthful of toothpaste, coughing and spluttering for a few moments before giving up and spitting into the sink, rinsing off both the brush and his face. “You—you’re wearing my shirt,” he said, a funny expression on his face.
“I—should I not?” I asked, suddenly worried that I’d offended him.
He set down the toothbrush, then took the two steps he needed to wrap me in his arms, breathing in against my hair. “You definitely should,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as his hands slid up under the hem of the shirt.
“Because you’re just going to take it off me?” I asked him, teasing.
“Because,” he half-growled. “I like you smelling like me.”
He pulled me against his body, and I could feel exactly the way in which he liked me smelling like him. “You’ll be late to work if you keep going,” I warned him.
“Yeah, well, fuck work,” he grumbled into my neck, following the pronouncement with a lick from his tongue.
“Are—are you sure?” I asked him. After all, I wasn’t the one who had to go to work.
His answer was a growl as he pulled the shirt off me, followed by my shorts, and then pulled me into the shower with him.