Page 114 of Aine

No words are exchanged as he strips and steps back inside the shower. I remain still as he grabs the loofah off the floor and brings it to my shoulders. He keeps his eyes strictly on the parts he’s washing, his movements much gentler than mine were.

A small part of me is embarrassed being naked in front of him, but after being exposed to Owen’s entire pack, I no longer feel a strong sense of ownership over my body. Damien doesn’t seem to mind being naked, the man having taken to parading around the home in his underwear almost every day.

I wonder if it’s a beast or Damien thing.

I stare at his chest, my gaze gradually shifting to his shoulders and arms. It would be easy for him to pin me down and hurt me. He could do it before I even realized what was happening.

Despite that thought, I don’t feel threatened.

Before I can change my mind, I grab his wrist. He freezes at the sudden touch, looking at me curiously as I take the loofah from him.

My cheeks heat up as I press the object to his chest, wanting to wash him. I’ve been meaning to return the favor for a while now but haven’t been able to work up the courage to see it through.

I can feel his unease as I begin to wash his body, the feeling painful. Does he not want me touching him? Is he worried I’ll dirty him? Uncertainty and doubt win as I drop the sudsy object onto the floor and turn around. I should’ve known better than to think he’d want me to wash him.

A heavy arm wraps around my midsection and forces me to spin and face him. I stare at his chest, avoiding his gaze until he places his fingers underneath my chin and softly pushes my head up.

He bites at his bottom lip, his expression and emotions hidden as he tries to read me.

“I like your touch,” he eventually admits, finally figuring out what’s gotten me upset. “It’s hard being around you naked like this, and I struggle to stop my physical reactions when you touch me. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

Understanding immediately what he’s referring to, I lower my eyes. He’s not entirely hard, but his length is larger than in its softened state.

My jaw clenches as I hold back a smile, happy I’m invoking this reaction out of him. I was under the impression he was no longer attracted to me.

I stole peeks the first couple of times we showered together, but after seeing only a soft, flaccid penis, I accepted he no longer wants me. He was hard even when he washed me after I pissed myself. I ignored it and we both pretended it wasn’t there, but I knew it was.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Damien asks.

Most of his questions are rhetorical, but after a moment of silence, I realize he wants a response. I stare at his face for a couple of seconds before shrugging.

He continues to stare, not accepting that as an answer.

I open my mouth to respond. Nothing comes out, but Damien is patient as I fight with myself and try to speak.

He’s not going to hurt me. I’m safe.

“I thought,” I start, pausing to clear my mind of the fears that accompany speaking. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

His surprise courses through me at the same moment his jaw drops. The sound of the water pouring from the showerhead is deafening as I wait for his response. I don’t have to wait long for one, Damien unable to hold back the abrupt laugh that slips from his lips.

“Aine, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He bends so his face is level with mine. “I have to think about Alex’s ugly mug whenever I’m near you so I don’t get hard.”

I’m sure my face is embarrassingly red as Damien’s joking expression is replaced with a serious one.

“My little human, I may not have shown it properly when we first met, but I can assure you I always have and always will want you,” he promises.

My eyes trail back to his hips, unable to look away as he grabs the loofah and gently places it in my hand. By the time I finish washing him, he’s so hard, it’s got to hurt, but he doesn’t acknowledge it and brushes me away when I tentatively reach for his length.

“Not yet. Not until I’ve earned it.” He presses a kiss to my palm to soften the blow of his rejection.

It helps, and I feel loads better about my failure of a morning the rest of the day. Even when he grows frustrated by my lack of appetite and panics when I stub my toe on the coffee table, my mood is better than it’s been in days.

Damien curls his body around me as we lie on the couch, his fingers playing with mine.

“Are you ready for bed?” he asks, smiling into my cheek as I trace small patterns in his palm.

I nod, my eyes drooping as he nudges me off the couch and leads me upstairs. My exhaustion makes me malleable, and I let him maneuver me around as he helps me into my pajamas and pulls back his sheets.

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