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“Calm down,” she murmured when he stiffened at her touch. She’d moved closer to him, pulled her legs up, and lifted herself on her knees so she could reach his head. “I’m just taking the hair tie out.”

She’d done that last time too. It did help for his hair not to be pulled so tightly against his scalp.

He couldn’t think of any good reason not to allow her even though her being so close to him was making him uncomfortably needy.

When she’d let his hair loose, she smoothed it out, running her fingertips against his head.

He closed his eyes again and heard himself exhaling an embarrassing moan because the light touch felt so good.

Her hand grew still for a few seconds, poised against his head. Then she must have made a decision because she repositioned herself again, lifting higher so she could reach him better.

Her fingers combed through his hair and then rubbed against his scalp. He sighed thickly again, wondering groggily why it felt almost as good as her mouth on his dick.

“You don’t have to do that,” he managed to mumble.

“I know I don’t. But I have nothing better to do right now, so why shouldn’t I?”

He didn’t have an answer to that question, and it felt too good—too relieving—for him to object or pull away.

She spent several minutes massaging his head and neck until he was a boneless wreck who could barely sit upright.

When she dropped her hands and scooted away, he was brutally disappointed. He had to bite back a plea for her tocontinue. He managed to get his eyelids open enough to see that she’d moved farther away on the couch and was sitting normally.

Of course she was. There was absolutely no reason for her to keep coddling him that way.

“Why don’t you lie down?” she murmured when she saw him looking over at her.

“I’m okay.” He didn’t mean it, but it seemed important for him to say it.

“I know you are, but you’ve got an hour to rest, so you might as well get comfortable. It will be easier for me to reach your head if you lie down. It seemed like it might have been helping you.”

“It was,” he admitted thickly. The promise of her continuing the massage was enough to overcome his pride and stubbornness. He let her pull him down into a reclining position.

He ended up with his head in her lap. He had no idea how that happened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled again when she stroked his hair gently. “I don’t like people feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for you. I was trying to help your headache.”

“You don’t have to do that either.”

“I know I don’t have to. But I’m your wife. If anyone is allowed to take care of you, surely it’s me.”

The matter-of-fact words silenced him. Stunned him strangely.

He’d never—not once—thought Eve would want to take on that kind of responsibility. Not for him. Her marrying him was enough to fulfill their agreement.

But she was taking it seriously. She wanted to be a wife to him for real. She’d told him so directly last night.

Not because she loved him but because she felt it was the right thing to do.

He choked on a groan as her fingers moved more purposefully against his scalp, pressing into trigger points he hadn’t known existed. He breathed raggedly as his body relaxed, as the whirling of his brain slowed down, as his headache eased.

He couldn’t seem to stop moaning, and it was embarrassing. Not like him at all. A weird, deep, clenched feeling kept tightening in his gut, and he didn’t understand it at all.

It felt like he needed to give her some sort of explanation. He had to fight to get his voice to work. “Not used… anyone… taking care of me.”

“I know you aren’t. But I’m your wife. So I’m allowed.” She stroked his beard. His neck. Her touch felt so good. It was easier when it was sexual. That could clearly be channeled into a distinct category of his mind.

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