Page 13 of Scar

She smiles as she reaches for the shower head and switches on the water. For an en-suite, this bathroom is huge, with a deep large tub with a shower head attachment and a separate huge waterfall shower.

“Head back,” she orders.

I shift on the chair and lean back. If I thought fighting an erection while she was cutting my hair was hard, then her washing my hair was even harder. As she leans over, her breasts are practically in my face. With the smell of her perfume and her fingertips massaging my scalp, it’s no good. I can feel my dick hardening, pitching a fucking tent under the towel. She is unaware of the effect she is having on me, too busy washing my hair to notice. I need to pass out. Fuck, I need to just black out now to save myself from embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” she asks as she rinses the shampoo.

“Fine,” I grit through my teeth. She falters what she’s doing and steps back, looking at me with concern. My face is set rigid, and every thought in my head is trying to deflate the massive and painful erection.

She presses her hand to my cheeks. “You’re burning up,” she says, her voice etched with panic. “Come on, under the shower. We need to bring your temp down,” she says in a rushed breath. Her face is full of concern, and I mean, she isn’t wrong. I need a fucking ice cold shower to control my fucking dick.

I open my mouth to protest, but she’s too busy moving around the bathroom in such a panicked frenzy. She grabs my hand and some-fucking-how manages to yank me upright. Her gaze flicks from my face to adjusting the shower temp.

“Come on, I will get in with you,” she ushers. I step into the shower, immediately tensing as the cold water hits my body. She quickly steps under it with me. “Oh shit, that’s cold.” She shivers.

“Angel, you don’t need to be in here with me,” I tell her through chattering teeth.

“No, it’s, it’s okay.” She shivers. “I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself,” she says, shuddering.

“You’re getting soaking wet,” I tell her.

She looks down at her jumper and jeans. “Oh shit, I didn’t think.” She shivers. I’m unable to tear my eyes away as she removes her jumper. “I was just worried you would end up passing out,” she says as she chucks the jumper out of the shower and begins unbuttoning her jeans.

It’s at this point I look to the ceiling to avoid looking at her very wet semi-naked body. “I’m good now,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Oh, um...” She pauses. “Maybe I was a bit hasty in doing this. I just know it’s good for keeping your temperature down.” She sighs. I glance down at her, and her wet hair is now stuck to her porcelain cheeks. She anxiously nibbles on her bottom lip while looking up at me, and the temptation is overwhelming. My eyes slowly trail down her body, and if my dick was hard before it’s fucking rock hard now. Her voluptuous body is so soft, and I want to trace every curve with my fingers and tongue. She sucks in a sharp breath, and her arms quickly move around her middle.

I frown and grab her wrists, pulling her arms to the side. “Every curve of you is stunning. Don’t ever cover it,” I tell her.

Her gaze finally snaps to the tent I’m pitching, now covered with only a wet towel which just clings to it.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you, um...” she stutters, trying to look away, but her eyes keeping landing right back on it. “It’s like a car crash I can’t look away from,” she mutters.

“Angel, please don’t ever refer to a man’s dick like being in a fucking car crash,” I warn her.

Her big green eyes look up at me. “Do you want me to, um, leave you to relieve yourself?” she asks, gesturing down to my crotch.

I shiver as I remember that we are in fact stood under a cold shower. “Unless it’s going to be your mouth, pussy, or hand relieving me, I’m good. I don’t wank off like a teenage boy,” I grit out.

She tries to push her wet hair away from her face. “Right.” She nods, tapping her chin with her index finger, like she’s genuinely trying to solve an everyday solution.

“Angel,” I growl. Her gaze snaps up to mine. “I’m getting out of the cold shower now,” I tell her.

Her eyes go wide, like she has forgotten where we are. Then she moves and quickly turns the shower off. She steps out of the shower and I ogle her behind, not caring anymore that she’s already seen I’m hard. May as well make the fucking most of it at this point.

She turns with a fresh towel in her hand, and as she holds it out to me, she looks away. I drop the towel that’s around my waist and stand there completely naked before her. Taking my time, I don’t rush to take the towel she’s holding from her, wanting to see if she will chance a look. I want her to chance a look. Suddenly, my head feels light, and I wobble slightly. She turns as if knowing something’s wrong, and her eyes land on my dick. They go wide with shock, and I smirk with pride and amusement. My body may be thin, borderline malnourished and covered in bruises, but my dick can still cause that reaction.

I place my hand on the side of the wall to steady myself. She huffs and rolls her eyes, wrapping the towel around my waist, only she accidentally knocks the head of my dick with her hand as she does it.

“Fuck!” I hiss in pain.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she apologises, still holding the towel around my waist. “Put your arms over my shoulders and let’s walk you to the bed. There are some sweats and a T-shirt there for you,” she demands. Her tone stands for no messing, but I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My body is still feeling weak. She helps me to the bed, and I sit on it with a sigh, sounding like an eighty-year-old man. “Do you need me to help you dress?” she asks. I glare at her. “Okay.” She smiles. “I’m just going to go and get dressed in the bathroom,” she states awkwardly, pointing her thumb over her shoulder before she quickly scurries across to her closet. After grabbing what she needs, she then scurries back into the bathroom.

I watch her go, a smile spreading across my lips. After she closes the door, I pull on the sweats, not bothering with a top. I slowly and stiffly climb into the bed, and a deep groan escapes my mouth.

Elsie comes running out of the bathroom, her hair freshly brushed, dressed in a tank top and shorts. “What’s the matter? Do you need me to call you an ambulance?” she asks, panicked.

My eyes instantly drop to her large breasts that are moving freely, barely contained in the tank top. Her nipples pebble, and as I look into her eyes, I quickly pull the quilt over me.

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