“Do you need help?”
His eyes flash to mine and he doesn’t answer right away. He pushes off from the wall and hops over to the toilet to take a seat on the lid. He lets out a heavy sigh and pushes his hand through his hair.
“I thought I could do this on my own, but it doesn’t look like I can. Do you mind helping me?”
Yes.
“No, it’s fine.”
I take the trash bag from him, guide his leg with the cast on it into the bag, and then cinch the top, hoping I did a good enough job to keep the water out. Since his wrist cast is removeable, I help him take that off, and then say, “Okay, there you go.” I stand. “If you need anything else . . .”
“Cora,” he says, his eyes looking desperate. “I don’t think I can get in that tub alone.”
I glance at the tub, and then back at him. He’s right. It would be a miracle if he did. Which only means . . .
He stands and, with his eyes trained on me, pushes his boxer briefs down to the floor.
He’s naked.
In front of me.
Completely naked.
And it’s taking everything in me not to look down at his glorious cock.
I clear my throat and turn away. “Okay, so if you want to use me as a crutch, to help you, I don’t mind that.”
“Thank you,” he says softly.
Awkwardly, we move around, me staying as far away from his penis as possible, and we fit him into the tub after a few attempts, but we finally get it. He leaves his bagged leg out of the tub while the bottom half of his body slips under the water.
Still averting my eyes, I ask, “That good?”
He winces as he shifts. “Fuck. I won’t be able to squeeze the shampoo bottle.”
He’s correct. And that’s about the time that I realize I’m going to bathe Pike Greyson myself.
Succumbing to the inevitable, I gather a washcloth, a cup for rinsing, and his soaps, and bring them to the edge of the tub.
When I wet the washcloth, Pike grabs my hand, and I’m forced to look at him. “Thank you, for helping. I know this can’t be comfortable for you.”
I shrug it off and say, “I’ve seen you naked before. I’ve touched your man parts, I’ll be fine.”
He chuckles, and the sound is such a sexy rumble that my legs clench together in desperation.
Get it together, Cora.
I fill up the cup with water and start pouring it over his chest. That’s when I catch first sight of his penis.
God, why is it so perfect? Even not erect, it’s a work of art.
Trying to keep my mind off the erotic scene in front of me—Pike, wet and naked—I ask, “Is the water okay?”
“The water is fine,” he says, swallowing hard.
I glance up to catch him looking at my chest. I glance down and realize that my shirt is peeping open, and I’m not wearing a bra.
“Uh, sorry.” I try to adjust my shirt, but it’s no use.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. I always thought you had the most beautiful breasts. Sexy little nipples. A palmful. Just perfect.”
Heat blazes up my spine and my mouth goes dry.
Focus on bathing the man, Cora. The quicker you get this done, the quicker you can move on with your day. And by moving on, if that means you lock yourself in your room and make yourself come to get rid of this building heat between your legs, then so be it.
Once he’s wet, I take the shampoo and squeeze it into my hand. Since he has short hair, I don’t need more than a nickel-sized dollop. I lather it up in my hands and then lean over and start working it through his hair, my breasts unfortunately jostling near his face.
“Hell, Cora.” He shifts in the tub, but I keep my eyes where they need to be, on his hair.
I drive my fingers through his thick strands, massaging his scalp the way I do in the shower, and I hear him groan. For some reason, that spurs me on.
I should stop.
I should rinse him quickly and be done, but my hands won’t stop. Instead, they drift to his temples and draw light circles, careful to avoid where he still has leftover abrasions. His eyes flutter shut and his head tips back, exposing the thick column of his neck. I’ve never seen anything more erotic. Until my eyes have a mind of their own and I glance down to discover his cock straining upwards.
Dear Mary, mother of Jesus.
I bite down on my bottom lip as I continue to watch his cock grow with every deep rub of his scalp.
“Bloody hell, Cora,” he says, his good hand resting on his flat stomach. “You’re making me hard.”
“Oh,” I mutter. “Uh, sorry.” I remove my hands from his head and dip them into the water to rinse them.