Page 37 of Six
Still, Rague, with his muscular body, rugged appearance, and don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, could take his pick among hookups. That can’t be the reason behind his help.
“You should take a shower, kitty,” he says matter-of-factly. I open my mouth, ready to keep questioning him because I want answers, but fuck, I do smell. My interrogation intent dies a sudden death.
“Okay, but I can walk,” I throw him a serious look before moving to the edge of the bed. This time, my legs feel stable when I stand up and I walk slowly but dignified enough to the bathroom.
Rague opens the shower stall and turns on the water. Then he stands there in front of me. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t talk. Just keeps staring. I take it as a challenge, and turning my back—and amazing ass—to him, I slowly pull the grey maxi-dress/t-shirt off in one swift move. If he thinks I’ll act like a shy girl, he’ll be sorely disappointed. I slightly bend to leave the garment on the floor, exposing my best asset to him, and I hear a groan. But when I look back at him, I don’t see any difference in his expression. Except his jaw is ticking again.
With a shaky smirk—because this little minx act took a lot out of my weak body—I enter the stall and let the water and soap wash any evidence of the sickness away from my body. I take my time, enjoying a nice shower for once.
When I’m done, Rague is waiting for me. His eyes never move below my neck, what a gentleman—and a douchebag. How can he not peek at all this amazingness? Still, he doesn’t.
He pushes off the sink and takes the last couple of steps separating us. He has a big, fluffy towel in his hand and shows it to me with a question in his eyes. Speechless, I nod, and he starts drying off my shoulders and arms, he pauses at the sight of the huge bruise on my side. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but instead of being afraid, I’m turned-on by it.
No one has ever shown me this level of care. It’s so damn…intoxicating.
Then he notices the thin, raised skin that forms round burn scars peppering my chest. I stiffen, hands fisted tightly, ready for his next reaction. Rague eyes them with so much unbridled fury that I tense even more.
“Who did this to you?” he hisses, his eyes turning into two endless pools of darkness while he searches mine. I look straight back at him, unable to glance away. But the words are stuck inside my throat, forming a lump. Tears threaten to fall, but I push them back inside. There’s anger in his expression, but also worry and…understanding? Fuck, I feel so raw. Like an open, gushing wound. How does he do it? How does he strip me of all my shields?
His eyes are on my pecs again. Is he disgusted by the burns? Just as the thought forms inside my head, Rague drops to his knees. And I’m fucking lost for words.
“You will tell me,” he declares; his tone is filled with finality.
He then squeezes my hip reassuringly and resumes his task, taking great care in drying off my stomach, dick, and balls. I reach back to grab the shower door to steady myself while my cock gives a tiny jerk, trying to get hard. But my emotions are a twisting mess, and I can hardly breathe having him this close to me, touching me so reverently. He’s treating me with such consideration and gentleness, I’m speechless.
His arms curl around my body to rub the soft towel on my booty. He spends more time than needed on my butt cheeks, and I find myself smiling at his curly head, while enjoying the massage. In this position, he reaches my nose, and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. The warmth of his body radiates into mine.
After drying my legs and feet, Rague tilts his face up from where he kneels; his hands are clenched tightly in the towel. And I see it, for a fleeting moment, the stark need in his dark eyes. I feel like I could drown in it. But then I blink, and he’s standing once again. He quickly dries my hair, and then tosses the towel in the hamper and pushes another jumbo t-shirt over my head. This one is red. Doesn’t hand me any briefs.
When I’m once again lying on the bed, I feel exhausted. Rague gives me two pills to take and then passes me a bottle of sports drink before sitting in the armchair. I start sipping the cold sour liquid and then stop, struck by the realization that I…trust him.
Is it because he saved me from certain death? Took me to his house, kept me warm, called a doctor, and watched over me? And did I thank him for that?
I open my mouth with the intention of doing just that when I notice the small banjo near his feet.
I point at it. “Did you play it while I was sick?”
He nods. I have a vague memory of a certain melody. “Did you play a song by Pink?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
I give him a large smile. “I could listen to her all the time. I even named our cat after her.” Rague’s lips twitch at my enthusiasm. “When did you learn?” I ask, snuggling more comfortably against the pillows.
“My foster mother suggested it when I was a kid. Started with playing the piano, then the guitar. But this little banjo is my favorite.”
Wow. “I’m impressed. You must love music.”
“Music helps, makes things somehow clear, calm,” he explains.
I hum. “It silences not only the noises on the outside, but also the ones inside.” My mind goes to Sully and his earphones at night. Man, I miss him, but I’m happy he’s away from all this shit.
When I focus on Rague again, he’s giving me that intense stare. My dick takes notice, but my body is too drained to move forward.
“Can you play for me again? Whatever you like.” My voice sounds soft and hesitant when I ask. His deep, dark eyes look down at the banjo, but he doesn’t attempt to grab it. I’m quite certain he will refuse as he stands up. But instead, he lifts the instrument and comes to sit at the foot of the bed, banjo on his lap. One thick leg bent on the sheets, the other down, foot on the ground.
His hands are large, fingers thick and strong, but he holds the instrument gently. I see a reddish tattoo on the inside of his wrist, but the neck of the banjo is in the way, hiding most of it.
When he starts playing, his fingers move effortlessly and gracefully. He plays Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah.” His singing voice is low and deep, gruffer and not as pleasant as the warm timbre he speaks in. But I love it. I feel we’re in a judgment-free zone where we can enjoy and just be. So, I hum along. I always liked this song. And it made me wonder more than once if loving someone would actually make me feel that elated and exposed.
