The bubbles had all but dissipated.
Then Calder reached into the bath, testing the temperature. “I think I left you in here too long.” His touch ghosted along my thigh underwater. “Are you sore?” he asked, sliding between my thighs, probing my pussy.
I gasped.
The way he touched me was decidedly intimate. Naughty. Like I was his to do whatever he wanted with. Maybe that was what was so hot about him taking care of me. I washisto take care of in every way, from my orgasms to my bruises to my soul.
I arched into him and he froze.
“Tell the truth.”
“A-a little.”
He pulled out, and before I could miss the emptiness, he lifted me out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around me, closing it together like he’d done with my coat on our date.
“Do you know how many spoons your fantasies will take?”
I blinked at his question. Spoon theory, a metaphor for living with a chronic illness, used imaginary spoons to describe energy limits. If I start the day with eight spoons, sometimes it takes four just to get out of bed.
Graham had beenengagedto me and didn’t know half of what my illness entailed, let alone spoons.
A weird warmth spread through me.
A kind of safety I hadn’t ever experienced.
How many spoonswouldit take? In my ideal fantasy, I’m being chased, hunted down. But I’d never thought to use them sexually.
“Like…kinky spoons?” I asked. “Like chasing me through the graveyard requires a lot of spoons, but you fucking me in public requires less?”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Something like that.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never done this, so I don’t know how many spoons things will require.”
He stroked up and down my arms, rubbing the towel along my skin, almost absently.
“How many do you have on your best day?” he asked. “For normal things, like work and friends.”
I thought about it. “Ten.”
He nodded to himself, still rubbing the soft fibers into my flesh. “You’ll tell me how you’re feeling every day with your normal spoons, and we’ll go from there.”
“Go from there?” I felt the wrinkle in my brow. Gowhere? This was our only night together.
Calder paused, dark-blue gaze locked on mine. He fidgeted with the fibers of the towel, as if uncertain about his next words.
“I want to be the one you go through your list with, Shay. But—” He lifted my chin with his pointer. “I need to trust you to tell me your limits. So, tell me, if I wanted to fuck you right now?”
God I wanted that.
But…
“I’m low on spoons,” I admitted.
He smiled. “Good girl.”
I nearly melted into the low, vibrating praise and the pleased smile on his face. Then it hit me. “But you only do one night.”
Calder inhaled through his nostrils, jaw tight, and raked his gaze unabashedly up and down my naked body. Goose bumps fluttered in the wake of his stare.
