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Jerrok starts the spray of the shower and then steps in, wearing his trou and boots and everything. The sight makes me giggle, and he looks over at me in surprise.
"You're wearing a lot of clothes for a shower," I point out as I join him.
His cheeks flush in that darker shade of blue. "Figured it'd be rude of me to have my cock in your face." He goes silent, and then his face seems to flush all the way to his horns.
I find that strangely charming. "You're a gentleman," I proclaim, and step toward him.
"Stay out of the spray," he instructs me, putting a wet hand on my shoulder and turning me around. "Keep your bandages dry. I'll clean you and rinse you off."
"Oh. Okay." I can't remember how we did it the other day—I was hurting too much to pay attention—but maybe that was how? All I remember is that his touch was kind and gentle. I close my eyes and wait patiently. I should feel more weirded out that I'm naked in the shower with him, but it's just Jerrok. He's seen me naked. He's touched me everywhere. It's no big deal.
Big, warm hands touch my shoulders, and then a large sponge sluices hot water over my skin. Oh god, that feels good. He does it a second time, wetting my body, and then uses one hand to lift my hair off my nape and washes the back of my neck. It's like a massage, almost, or like being touched by the most tender of lovers.
A little whimper of pleasure escapes me before I realize it, and Jerrok freezes.34SOPHIEWell now I've done it. I've gone and made things awkward.
"Sorry," I whisper to Jerrok. His hands are still on my skin, but he's not moving. It's like the shameful noise I made has frozen him in place. "It's just…it's been a while since someone touched me. Not that you haven't touched me. It just felt good and—shit, I'm making this weird. Just ignore me."
He clears his throat. "It's okay. Happens to all of us."
Does it? I suspect it doesn't. But it's nice of him to say so. I bite my lip in silence as he scrubs my back, his movements careful. He's utterly silent and things feel…awkward. Even so, I can't ignore how very nice it feels to be scrubbed and washed. I bathe regularly, of course, but it's different when someone else is tending to you. His touch is the perfect mixture of firm but gentle, and I kind of want it to go on forever. He finishes my shoulders and back and moves down my legs and buttocks, and then back up again.
"Turn, please."
I do, and I can feel myself flushing because my nipples are tight. My skin prickles with awareness, and I can't help but watch him as he sluices more water over my front, adds soap to the sponge, and then begins to wash my front. I suck in a breath as the sponge moves lightly over my breasts, and an ache rises deep inside of me. I'm actually…surprised that I'm turned on. How long has it been since I've been aroused? I don't even like touching myself much anymore. There's too many bad memories mixed up with that. But…I like this. I like his touch. It's tender and caring and it makes my pulse throb between my thighs in a way that feels good and not shameful.
I can't look at him while he soaps up my breasts, though. I don't want to see disgust on his face, or annoyance at having to tend to me. I want my arousal to continue to exist in this pure state, so I keep my gaze averted, focusing on his chest. The water slides down his skin in rivulets, and I follow them down…and notice something.
His pants are wet and cling to his body, outlining…everything. I see the outline of his cock, and it's just as big as I remember from the last time, when he was in a towel. Actually, no, it's bigger, because it's erect and straining against the material. I can also see the outlines of piercings that stud the crown, and how thick the head of him is. I can see the freaking ridges, and the spur.
Jesus, his pants are so flimsy when wet that I can see his spur.
As he lifts my arm and begins to wash it, I make a weird noise in my throat. He stills. "Does this hurt?"
"No. I just…" I feel flushed and confused. First, I'm getting turned on by him washing me, and now I can't seem to stop staring at his junk. "You're, uh…pierced."
He pauses and then goes back to scrubbing me. "I am."
I try to think who someone as lonely and surly as Jerrok would get pierced for. I can't imagine him getting pierced just for himself, not when most of the time a piercing is for the woman's pleasure. But…who was the woman? And where is she now? And…why does that bother me? "For a girlfriend?" I find myself asking. "A wife?"
