do?”
With effort, I keep my eyes above her neckline, but I deserve a fucking medal for it. The woman’s
not wearing a bra. Though, after sneaking a glance, —I’m fucking human alright— I can’t find
anything sexy in this moment. The delicate skin of her breasts is bright red too.
“Cool shower. Lotion.” She tells me the name, and I dial the front desk and order them to run out
for a bottle as I guide her to the bathroom. I’m afraid to touch her, so I just circle the air around her
back with one arm and point with the other like I’m guarding the Stanley Cup. She’s silent as we step
into the opulent bathroom. I move for the shower, but she stops me, her voice barely a whisper. “The
water hitting my skin will hurt too much. A bath is better.”
I drop to my knees next to the tub and adjust the water temperature to just above cool. “Is this
ok?” Her pale, perfect hand, followed by an arm covered in angry red skin, reaches over my shoulder,
testing the water. Her sigh of relief as it runs over her arm is all the confirmation I need. Setting the
stopper, I turn to her, holding her hand as she hurriedly steps into the water, still wearing her plain
black panties. “Cotton,” I whisper, my voice lost in the rush of water filling the tub. With effort, I pull
my mind away from her simple panties and the protected skin under it.
She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, despite the fact that she looks like a cooked lobster.
She sinks down with a sigh, knees to her chest, and carefully cups water to pour it over her heated
skin. She’s lost in a haze of pain, her eyes cloudy with it. I step back and drag off my jacket, dropping
it carelessly on the floor, then yank off my bowtie and shirt, dropping them both on top of the jacket.
Crouching back next to the tub, I run my hand under the tap, water pooling in my palm, then slowly,
carefully, I let it trickle over her back.
Her hands come to rest on the sides of the tub as she lets me take over. I turn off the water and
continue scooping cool bathwater over her red shoulders, arms, back, and chest, moving in a slow
circle, then back again.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, exhaling a shuddering breath.
“You shouldn’t be thanking me, Maya. You should be tearing a strip off me.” She sighs and bows
her head, leaving the nape of her neck bare to me. Her hair is still in those pins, and my fingers still
itch to pull on them.
“It’s not your fault Zach,” she says tiredly, “not really. I could have explained to you what would
happen.”
