Page 49 of Never Forget

Unable to help myself, I start to crack up too, although I’m not quite sure what’s so funny. His embarrassment is cute. All kinds of bodily fluids can happen in the heat of the moment and honestly, with all that I put him through today, it’s just luck if that’s the worst of it.

I’m not sure how long we lay there laughing like that. Long enough that I have to roll off him because I can’t hold myself up anymore, and when I land in an impressively large and cold wet spot, we start all over again.

This must be what drugs feel like. Euphoric, but also disorienting and kind of scary.

Eventually, our laughter dies off and Naz falls silent. We lay there for a while, twilight falling around us, watching the fireflies and listening to the sounds of nature around us. I pull him closer when the shivering sets in, then coax him to come inside with me.

We go in through the back door of the big house, then across to the opposite wing where the primary bedroom is. I know he can walk, but I still keep an arm around him to support him, although it might be more for my benefit than his. He doesn’t resist or complain, but he seems a little out of it still.

There’s a large soaking tub in the primary bath. I noticed it earlier today when I came in to drop off a few things for Naz’s grandparents’ arrival tomorrow. I ended up making a second trip to make sure everything we needed would be here for tonight as well.

I leave Naz to use the toilet in the separate water closet while I start the water to fill the tub, testing the temperature so it’s just right for him—slightly warmer than I would choose for myself, but not too hot. I pour in a generous scoop of Epsom salts and two packets of a soothing oatmeal bath treatment, then dim the overhead lights. Naz walks into the room just as I’m lighting a few candles.

“What’s all this?”

“Aftercare,” I say with a shrug.

Normally he would call me out and say this was too much, but he still seems in a bit of a daze and surprisingly doesn’t say anything. He’s still and pliant as I remove the leash and collar, caressing the red marks it left behind. He doesn’t even balk at the way I kiss each of his tattooed fingers as I remove the few rings he wears.

When I lead him over to the tub, his eyes trace over the candles set around the edge, the jar of Epsom salts, and the box from the bath treatment packets sitting on the counter nearby.

“You planned this,” he says. Not an accusation, but a realization.

I don’t say anything, helping him climb over the edge and sink into the tub. He winces a little as he first makes contact with the bottom of the tub, so I guide him to lie back and rest his head on a little bath pillow.

“Water okay?” I ask, dipping my wrist to check the temperature again.

He hums and closes his eyes, the tension visibly releasing from his neck and shoulders as the warmth begins to work its way through muscles that have been wound tight for days, even before I put him through the wringer. Watching him settle and truly relax feels oddly almost more intimate than what happened between us less than an hour ago. There are no walls left to hide behind here. None of our usual banter or teasing or feigned grouchiness or even his practiced confidence. It’s just Naz, exhausted enough to let someone else take care of him.

“You don’t have to hover,” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

“I’m not hovering.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re definitely hovering.”

“I’m appreciating the view.”

He lets out a quiet huff that almost passes for a laugh.

You don’t know how beautiful you look right now.

I keep those thoughts to myself, already a little embarrassed by what came out of my mouth earlier. Not that I didn’t mean it. I think I’ve been in love with Naz Lester since the moment he fell into my arms after our first session in that club years ago.

Kneeling beside the tub, I drag my fingertips through the water. The candles throw soft light across the room, reflecting off the tiles and the water in slow, wavering patterns.

With his eyes closed like this, he doesn’t realize how closely I’m watching him. Or maybe he doesn’t mind. Either way, I don’t want to push my luck.

Eventually, I reach for the washcloth I left folded on the edge of the tub and dip it into the water just for something to do that isn’t staring at him.

“This okay?” I ask tenderly as I run the cloth gently up his arm.

One eye cracks open and he gives me a look like he isn’t sure about the idea, but he gives a small shrug.

I add body wash and lather the cloth before resuming my task, running it up and down his arm, over his shoulder, under his armpit. I repeat the same on the other side, careful around the redness on his shoulder, before rinsing out the cloth and squeezing the water over his skin to rinse the suds away. I wash his chest, dipping just beneath the water to rub the cloth across his abs and the trail of hair beneath his navel. Bypassing his groin entirely, I move to wash his legs, letting the cloth run over and down his shapely thighs, his knees, and calves. His toes flex when I wash the top of each foot. He’s ticklish there, but he truly hates it, so I move on quickly to avoid ruining his relaxation.

“You missed a spot,” Naz murmurs lazily.

I glance up, but his eyes are still closed. “Where?”