Page 58 of Careless Hope
I’d seen it before, of course, but it was always fully hard. Tonight, it hung half erect against his thigh and it was still longer and thicker than I’d ever seen. Not that I’d seen a lot, but between my ex, anatomy classes, work, and the few porn videos I’d watched over the years, I thought I’d seen enough variation of penises to not be surprised. Walker proved me wrong.
It was perfect. And seeing his whole body naked in front of me was a special kind of thrill. But the day had weighed on me and I was too exhausted to do anything but stare and marvel at his beauty.
Walker guided me into the shower, his hand never leaving my back. The water enveloped us in a warm embrace, steam curlingaround our bodies like misty tendrils. With a gentleness that had my breath catching in my throat, he reached for the soap.
“Close your eyes,” he said quietly, and I obeyed.
His hands moved over my skin with purpose, washing away more than just the grime of a long, arduous day. Every movement conveyed a silent promise of protection, of solidarity. When he reached my shoulders, he massaged them with such care that tears sprang to my eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer relief of tension unspooling under his touch.
“Does that feel okay?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the patter of water.
“More than okay,” I whispered back, leaning into his touch.
There was something profoundly intimate about this act, about being cared for with such devotion. Walker’s hands roamed with a familiarity that should’ve been impossible given our relatively short pseudo-relationship, yet it felt like he’d known me for lifetimes. His fingers traced patterns along my arms, across my collarbone, and through my hair, rinsing out the suds with a precision that left me feeling cherished.
I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, the blue of his irises almost translucent under the veil of steam. There was a question there, a silent inquiry that seemed to ask if I was alright.
“Better than alright,” I managed to say, my voice thick with unshed emotion.
Walker nodded, and there was a reverence in his touch that made the moment seem sacred. As he continued to wash me, I couldn’t help but lean into him, seeking comfort in his strength. His hands were gentle, but they trembled slightly, as if he was aware of the fragility of the trust I placed in him.
“Caroline,” he murmured, and hearing my name on his lips felt like a caress all by itself.
“Thank you, Walker,” I replied, my heart swelling with gratitude.I never knew vulnerability could feel so powerful, or that surrendering to someone else’s care could bolster my own strength. But here, in this steam-filled sanctuary, with Walker’s gentle ministrations, I found solace.
He rinsed the last of the soap from my body, and I watched as the water flowed down the drain, taking with it the residue of fear and uncertainty. The simplicity of the act, paired with the complexity of our burgeoning connection, left me feeling paradoxically grounded and yet entirely untethered.
“Let’s get you dried off,” Walker suggested, his voice laced with warmth.
As we stepped out of the shower, the cool air of the bathroom embraced us, but the chill couldn’t touch the heat that had built between us. With a tenderness that belied his rugged exterior, Walker wrapped a fluffy towel around me, patting my skin dry with careful motions that spoke volumes of his respect for me.
“Can’t have you catching cold now,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes that eased the weight in my chest.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, allowing myself a small smile.
In that moment, with the damp tendrils of my hair clinging to my shoulders and the scent of soap lingering in the air, I realized that Walker’s presence had become essential to me. He might be known for his easygoing nature and his reluctance to take life too seriously, but when it mattered, when it truly counted, he was as solid and dependable as the earth beneath our feet. And through his care, I felt a piece of my frayed soul begin to knit back together.
Walker guided me to the bedroom, his hand once again resting at the small of my back with a protective assurance. He pulled back the covers on my bed, and I couldn’t help but noticehow his movements were laden with an unfamiliar gentleness. This wasn’t the Walker who laughed boisterously at the diner or threw mischievous winks at women across the bar. This was a Walker who seemed to understand, without words, the gravity of the moment—the need for care rather than cavalier charm.
“Here we go,” he murmured, easing me onto the soft mattress. The sheets were cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still lingered from the shower. His hands smoothed over the blanket, tucking it around me with a precision that made me feel safe, cocooned from the world and its lurking shadows.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his blue eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
I nodded, unable to find my voice just yet. It was as if the simple act of being cared for had stolen it away, leaving me mute in the wake of tenderness.
He didn’t leave, though. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, a silent sentinel warding off the night’s demons. His presence filled the room like a tangible force, a bulwark against the tremors of anxiety that had shaken me earlier. There was something about the way he remained—solid, steadfast—that reminded me of the ancient oaks lining the drive out to the ranch: timeless, enduring, roots sunk deep into the earth.
As the night wore on, sleep remained elusive, but fear had been banished to the far corners of my mind. His thumb brushed lightly against my hand, a touch that was grounding and reassuring all at once. And slowly, inevitably, the steady rhythm of his breathing lured me toward rest.
In the quiet hours, when the darkness seemed most absolute, I found solace in the circle of his arms. They were strong—rancher’s arms, used to hard work and heavy lifting—yet they held me with a gentleness that felt almost stronger than their power. Inhis embrace, I sensed the protective instincts that had driven him to stay by my side, to hold me through the long night.
Even though Walker might not have voiced his feelings, might not even fully understand them himself, the emotion was there, as palpable as the beat of our hearts syncing in the silence. We were two people, each carrying our own burdens, our own dreams of responsibility and legacy, finding comfort in the shared human need to connect, to heal, to protect.
And as dawn painted the sky with strokes of pinks and oranges, mirroring the colors of hope, I realized that in this quiet room—with the scent wildflowers drifting in through the open window—I felt protected and loved. Maybe it wasn’t love in the way the romance novels stacked on my bedside table described, but it was something real, something profound.
As I drifted into sleep, finally succumbing to exhaustion, I clung to the feeling of safety, the assurance that no matter what, I wasn’t alone.
And that was more than enough for now.
