Letting the bag fall to the floor, I unwrap the tissue paper, revealing a coffee mug. When I turn it over in my hand, I immediately bite down on the inside of my cheek to ground myself because, suddenly, I feel dizzy. The mug is white with black interior, and in black lettering, it says, ‘Introverted but willing to discuss Greek mythology.’
“You know,” he mumbles awkwardly. “Because you’re into—”
“Yeah, I got that.” Glancing up at him, his cheeks are pink, and since I cut him off mid-sentence, he’s now chomping down on his bottom lip. “Thank you,” I say, as steadily as I can, fully meaning it.
“Do you…” He clears his throat. “Do you like it?”
Holding his gaze, I say, “I do.” That goddamn ache in my throat is back, but this time, it’s accompanied by a tickling sensation in the tip of my nose.
The smile that takes over his face is beautiful and genuine, causing my chest to tighten. “Good!” he exclaims, hands clapping together. “Well, um, okay.” Rowan stumbling over his words is as endearing as it is adorable. “The next surprise is a little… um, more intimate, I guess you could say.”
Saying nothing else, he spins on his heel, heading into the bathroom. I assume I’m meant to follow him, so I do. The aroma of lavender, and what I think is vanilla, gets stronger as we step farther into the space.
I swear to God, my heart lurches into my throat when I take in the sight behind him. He must sense my inner turmoil because he laughs softly again, a real breathy sound. He laughs at inappropriate times, I’m gathering. Like a nervous habit.
“When I’m feeling like shit or when I’m sad or having a bad day, a hot bubble bath always makes me feel better.”
My brain forgets how to form words.
I stand there, staring at him blankly. Occasionally blinking for way too many seconds, before it’s like all my brain cells figure out how to work again. “You… you drew me a bath?”
Rowan nods, closing the distance between us. “Yeah.” He leans in, lips featherlight as they brush against mine. His breath is minty as it fans my face. Shaky fingers hook into my waistband as he whispers into my mouth, “Here’s what we’re gonna do…” My shorts pool around my ankles, heat sparking in my groin. “You’re going to shut off your mind, and you’re going to let me take care of you. Now, get in.”
I’m not really ataking orderstype of guy. Generally speaking, it’s usually the other way around, but something in his soft, caring tone behind has my feet moving of their own accord as I lift one leg, and then the other, stepping into the…scalding fucking hot water.
“Christ, is this hot enough?”
Rowan’s face pinches. “I’m sorry. I wanted it to be ready by the time you came in here, and I didn’t know how much convincing I would have to do to get you to come into my room. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t cold.”
“It’s definitely not cold,” I huff as I tentatively lower myself into the tub of bubbly lava.
Giving a sort of nod of approval when I’m fully submerged in the water, he reaches behind himself, grabbing the lime green, fluffy loofah off the counter. He kneels in front of the tub, the lip of the porcelain coming to about the bottom of his sternum.
Rowan watches me with gentle eyes, not doing anything for a moment. The energy is thick, but not uncomfortable. When he dunks the sponge into the water, my chest tightens, pulse racing in my ears.
He’s going to bathe me.
No one has ever bathed me before.
Well, that’s a lie. Surely, my parents bathed me when I was a baby, but other than that, never.
It feels like such an intimate act. One I would never even think to want. But I don’t stop him. Be it the exhaustion taking over my mind, or the sheer thoughtfulness of the act, I can’t bring myself to deny Rowan this opportunity to do this for me.
Bringing the loofah up to my chest, he massages it onto my skin, his gaze never faltering from mine. My throat is thick, mouth dry, and every nerve ending in my body tingles. My breaths are coming out in short, shallow pants as I try to remain calm, as I try to relax under his touch. He’s tender with the way he cleans me. First my chest, then my shoulders, down my arms before he makes me lift them so he can clean underneath.
It tickles when he cleans my pits. When I squirm a little, he chuckles, airy and light, but he’s focused. Like his whole life’s purpose is to take care of me in this moment. In one of my many moments of weakness. The way he watches me, like he can see into every corner of my soul, is jarring. As if he knows my every thought, my every worry, every self-deprecating thing I say to myself, but even more frightening, is the way he looks at me like he can see exactly what he’s doing to me.
Swallowing over an insurmountable lump, I fist my hands underneath the water where he can’t see them, trying to ground myself as my nervous system frays at the seams. Every single part of my mind is screaming at me to get up, grab my clothes, and leave. I can’t do this. But then, Rowan’s hand dips below the water, loofah gently scrubbing my pubic area, his other hand softly soaping up my dick and balls, ignoring the raging erection. If it weren’t for the way his Adam’s apple rolls in his throat and the way he bites down on the inside of his cheeks when he feels it, I’d think he was completely unaffected.
Working his way down my legs, he massages the soap into my thighs, then to my calves, giving attention to my feet before working his way back up. Warmth spreads through my veins, his hands moving in a soft caress over my skin.
Once he’s cleaned the loofah off, he sets it to the side, wetting my hair with nothing more than his hands before grabbing the shampoo. He pours a dime size amount onto his palm, spreading it between both hands before bringing them to my scalp, working the gel into my strands. It feels so good, his hands scrubbing, and my body seems to finally be able to relax fully. When I was little, my mom used to play with my hair when she would put me to bed at night. It was my favorite. No one’s done it since she left, but I guess I still enjoy it just as much.
Eyes suddenly heavy, I let my lids drift shut as he takes his time, making sure it’s all clean.
Throughout all of this, no words are spoken between us, the sound of the water sloshing in the tub the only noise. The absence of speaking isn’t uncomfortable like I would think it would be. My body’s buzzing, every touch heightened, but it feels… natural. Like he’s done this for me a million times.
Rowan washes the shampoo off his hands before turning the faucet on and grabbing the cup he apparently had stashed on the floor, using it to rinse the suds out of my hair. Once that’s done, he applies a small amount of conditioner to the ends only. Something I don’t normally use myself, but the gesture tightens my chest. He barely has any hair, so I don’t know how he knows the proper way to apply conditioner, but I’m not all that surprised.
