Page 42 of On Thin Ice

“C’mon,” he whispered eventually, pressing one last kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I made a noise of protest when he shifted away, but he just chuckled quietly, cupping my cheek for a second before sliding off the bed.

I let him coax me upright, the room spinning briefly. My legs shook so badly that Bell had to steady me with an arm around my waist, his palm splayed against my ribs. The short walk into the bathroom felt like a marathon, each step sending little aftershocks of pleasure-pain through my oversensitive body.

Bell started the shower, steam quickly filling the small space and fogging the mirror until our reflections blurred into indistinct shapes.

I let him hold me under the spray, the hot water cascading over my shoulders, down my back, between my legs. I winced slightly at the sting against the sensitive, used parts of me, but the warmth soon eased the discomfort. He soaped me up with gentle touches, creating a thin lather that slid down my chest, my stomach, my shins.

When he rinsed me off, his hands followed the paths of water sluicing down my body, ensuring every trace of soap was gone. Nobody had ever touched me like this—like I was something worthy of taking care of.

I leaned back against him, my body sagging in relief.

“I’ve got you,” he said, holding me up when my knees threatened to buckle under the weight of everything I was feeling.

I’ve got you.

Those three words cracked something open inside me, a dam holding back emotions I’d kept contained for years. I didn’t cry—not this time—but I felt the pressure behind my eyes, the tightness in my throat that warned me tears weren’t far off.

No one had ever had me, not like this.

When the water started to cool, tepid then chilly against my skin, Bell finally nudged me out of the stall.

“Here,” he said, grabbing a towel from the rack and shaking it open.

I stepped into it and he began rubbing me down, his movements efficient but gentle. He dried between my fingers, behind my ears, in all the places people—myself included—usually forget. When I was mostly dry, he wrapped the towel around my waist and patted my hip bone.

“You should sit,” he murmured, guiding me toward the toilet. “You look like you might fall over.”

I sat on the closed lid while he dried himself off, the porcelain cold through the terry cloth. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling dazed and weirdly shy.

He moved with unconscious grace, the muscles in his back flexing as he dried his hair.

“That was … umm …” I trailed off, at a loss for words that could encompass what had just happened between us.

“Too much?” he asked, a flicker of concern passing over his features.

I shook my head so hard the bathroom spun briefly around me. “No. Not too much. Just …” My sentence hung unfinished as I struggled to find the right words to describe the seismic shift I’d just experienced. “Intense,” I finally settled on, the word seeming woefully inadequate. “It was really fucking intense.”

Bell’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile as he crouched in front of me, resting his forearms on my thighs and bringing his face level with mine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was pretty intense.”

His thumbs stroked circles against my knees. “You okay, though?” he asked, his voice serious, eyes searching mine for any hint of regret or discomfort.

I nodded, the movement jerky. “I think so. I just …” I ducked my head, unable to hold his gaze, feeling my cheeks burn with renewed heat. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

He tipped my chin up with the fingers he’d used to fuck his cum back into me, the memory making my stomach clench with renewed desire despite my exhaustion. He made me look at him, his eyes soft but insistent, refusing to let me hide. “There’s nothing wrong with liking it like that, Ethan. Nothing wrong with wanting it.”

His voice was so fucking gentle and filled with a tenderness, I hadn’t ever known I needed.

The truth was, before Bell, sex had never been what I’d hoped it would be. Quick, mechanical fucks in darkened rooms, too afraid of discovery to actually enjoy the moment hardly seemed worth the effort. Get in, get off, get out. No lingering touches. No talking. Certainly no intimacy, not like this.

I’d heard other people talk about sex like it was something they’d die without, but that had never been me. And I’d started to think that maybe I just wasn’t built for it the way others seemed to be. I’d watch porn, but nothing ever really clicked. Some things turned me on in theory, but when I watched those clips, my body and mind somehow detached from one another, I found myself wondering why.

But the things that Bell and I had just done? The things he’d donetome? It’d opened my eyes about what Iactuallywanted. We’d been filthy and raw, and to someone with barely any experience, so fucking kinky, but it’d also been tender in ways I hadn’t known to crave. The way Bell had taken control while simultaneously making me feel safe. The way he’d pushed me past shame into something purer. The way he’d cared for me after, like I was something to be cherished. It was as if he’d unlocked a door I hadn’t known existed, revealing parts of myself I’d never had the courage to explore. Wouldn’t have ever explored, probably, without his guidance.

Maybe this was what I had needed all this time—sex that was both dirtyandsweet.

“I did like it,” I whispered, the confession barely audible over the hum of the bathroom fan.

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