Page 57 of Obey

“Are you sore? Is that why you’re fidgeting?”

I clench my butt cheeks. I wasn’t sure I was going to enjoy butt-stuff, but I’d be only too happy to explore a bit more in the future.

“Not sore, but there’s a definite ‘something’s been in here’ signal. A little discomfort, nothing major.”

He hums, and it vibrates against my back. “You want a bath?”

I’d love one. But I’m not sure I’m ready to be alone yet.

He buries his face in my neck, kissing me. “I’ll come with you if you want some company.”

“Aftercare?” I turn my chin so it’s in line with my shoulder.

His shaking head makes my hair move. “Because I want to.”

I try not to react, but there’s something about the fact he wants to spend time with me rather than it being straight up aftercare he would give to just anyone else that makes me smile. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He kisses my cheek, and it hits me we haven’t done a lot of kissing, actual kissing on the mouth. I reach a hand up to caress his jaw, tilt my head back, holding my breath in case he rejects me. The gentleness with which his lips meet mine makes me tremble. He turns me so he can deepen the kiss, our tongues tangled in a slow and lazy dance of emotion.

It’s powerful, moving, and so tender I almost need to double check it’s really him. Except this is him. Our session earlier showed me the real Jagger, the man inside the grump’s body. The sweet, tender, nurturing and caring man who wants to take care of me.

He’s like an armadillo. Crunchy and hostile looking on the outside, but once you get to his innards, he’s a big soppy ball of goo. Though I’d obviously never tell him that.

When his hand cups my jaw, I melt into him.

Time stops. There’s no him and me, just us. His kiss is soft, the bristles of his stubble graze against my skin, his breathtickles my face, and despite the intensity of our kiss, he doesn’t rush, or push, or get demanding with his mouth. It’s easy, lazy, comfortable, and gives me goosebumps, making my toes curl.

Something in this moment blossoms between us. It’s like a seed was planted on the plane, and now that he’s stopped fighting it, it’s growing in the sunlight. There’s a nagging at the back of my mind about his wife, is she ex? Am I helping a man commit adultery? Guilt clutches at my chest, tightening around my body.

Is it awful of me that right now, I don’t want to care? But I can’t help it. “Are you married?” My voice is a whisper, but from the way his body tenses, there’s no doubt in my mind that he heard.

“No.” He doesn’t offer any further explanation, nor does his body relax, and his answer has only left me with even more questions. Is he divorced? Or just separated?

He kisses me again, probably to stop me from prying further. It’s the best kiss of my life. Harry never kissed me like this, and when it finally slows to a stop, I’m more breathless from that kiss than I was from all our sexual activity earlier.

He presses a soft kiss to the tip of my cold nose. “I’ll go get the bath started.”

I check out his naked booty as he walks away from me. It’s like he knows, because he stops for a moment. When he steps out of the room, I hug my knees inside his shirt. It smells of him, and eau de Jagger might be my new favorite scent.

The bath is full and bubbly when Jagger calls me into the bathroom. His hands skim my hips under his shirt as he helps me get naked, and as soon as the shirt is off, his lips and hands are all over my body. Quick, delicate kisses make me shiver as he moves from one shoulder, across the base of my neck to the other.

He steps into the tub before picking me up and settling into the hot water with my back against his chest.

A yawn strangles the words brewing at the back of my throat. I don’t want to break this spell or ruin the moment by saying something stupid. I can’t remember a time when I felt more comfortable, safe, protected than I do in this moment.

He uses a washcloth to make warm water cascade over my chest while continuously dotting kisses on my cheek and temple.

“I could nap again.” It’s true, there’s a heaviness in my limbs that hasn’t gone away with my nap.

“I’ve got you.” His voice is so sure, so confident, I can’t help but believe him.

He brushes my arms with the cloth. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

I’ve read about this in books, too. I always thought in books it’s fine, but in real life I’d never let a guy try to wash my hair. But I’m curious. What’s the big deal about it that makes so many smut authors put it in their books?

I’m already sold on the joint bathing. Maybe I should give him a chance to wash my hair, too.

“You might get covered in blue dye.”

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