I move my injured arm.
HolymotherfuckergoddamnChrist.
But it works. My cock is no longer interested in being on the receiving end of a blowjob.
Thank God for that.
Lines crinkle across Isabelle’s forehead. “Are you okay?”
No. “Couldn’t be better.”
She helps me remove my legs from my jeans and pushes herself to her feet. “Okay, that was the hard part.”
I’m not so sure about that. Because the next part involves her rubbing the soapy washcloth against my body and wiping it clean. Maybe if she were some crotchety old nurse, I’d be fine. But Isabelle’s movements are tentative, her touch more like a sensual caress than a sponge bath.
Christ, I’m not sure how many more days of her helping me like this I can survive.
Right now, being shot seems like the easy part.
Surviving Isabelle’s touch? Not so much.
5
Isabelle
It’scommon knowledge that men are creatures who are readily aroused. It doesn’t take much—but it’s easy to misinterpret their body’s reaction to mean something else.
For example, when Jayden got a hard-on while I was giving him a sponge bath, it wasn’t because ofmespecifically. Like the rest of mankind, his body is wired to physically respond that way.
It’s biology.
The survival of our species.
No, my body didn’t suddenly heat up at the thick outline through the cotton fabric of his sexy black boxer briefs.
Nope, not at all.
I finish bathing him and leave the bathroom to give him privacy so he can complete what he needs to do…and because I require a few minutes to recover. To bring my body under control.
If that’s at all possible.
What I really need is a cold shower to extinguish the heat inside me—especially in my lower belly.
Shit.To think I’ll have to do that again for the next few days until he’s able to shower.
My phone pings with a new text. I read the message from Adam.
Adam:Are we still on for tomorrow?
Me:Yes!
After I help Jayden put on clean clothes, we go downstairs to his kitchen and start dinner. His kitchen is gorgeous and well-stocked, especially for someone who’s away a lot and who isn’t a gourmet chef.
I don’t mean the ingredients. That’s kind of lacking in the fresh food department because he was away for several days. I mean the professional-grade cooking equipment. You would think he’s a world-renowned chef based on his collection.
“Soooo…exactly how often do you make fresh pasta?” I point at the pasta maker in the open drawer.
“I’d say I’ve made it maybe four times. Five tops. I love the taste of it but fuck, it’s a lot of work to make it yourself.”
