Page 32 of Fixation
Warmth spreads through my chest as I take in her bathroom again.
She has both a shower and a bathtub—just like me.
And since the tub looks new, I’m guessing she bought it for the same reasons I did.
Sore muscles.
For all my practice in killing people and keeping them alive, I’m still human.
My back gets stiff. My fingers cramp.
Thing is, I’m short on time and even shorter on sleep.
A massage doesn’t fit into my schedule. From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t fit into Harper’s, either.
But Harper isn’t me.
She’s important. She can’t keep treating herself like second best.
She should be pampered. Nurtured. Worshipped.
This woman—who most days works ten times harder than I do—hasn’t taken care of herself the way she should.
I’m here to amend that.
Putting my concerns aside, I turn off the tap and go back to my patient.
I stop at the edge of her bed, removing my clothes. My shoes. They go in a neat pile on the armchair.
Harper’s next. “Let’s get you ready for your bath.”
I’m being technical about stripping her. Clinical, like I’m checking off a task on a patient chart. And still, it isn’t easy. It takes me a while to relieve her of three layers of pants, two T-shirts, and the green sweater that matches her eyes.
I don’t linger on her pink, taut nipples. Or the red splotches on her flesh. The dip of her navel. On her bare pussy.
“I’m here to help. I’m going to pick you up and move you to the bathroom,” I inform her, my voice detached.
Again and again, I remind myself this isn’t sexual.
That carrying her is just another form of care. I remind myself that she needs me, not the other way around.
Regardless, staying on top of it tests every shred of discipline I’ve got left.
“Deep breath,” I say when I lower us into the tub. She winces when I dip her head beneath the water. “And here we go.”
The sensation bothers her, and yet her body is too far gone to wake up for this.
Seems like I underestimated how badly she needs this rest.
How badly she needsme.
“There. You can relax.” With one arm around her, I keep her sitting upright while I reach over for her shampoo. “I’m here for you.”
My cock stirs as soon as her head rests on my shoulder.
To shake it off, I force a sharper kind of torment to the forefront of my mind.
Like…this one. The first time Sergey Ivanovich barged into my home. Right after the last of the guests left my father’s wake.
