Page 28 of A Mistake of Worth
Michael brushed a kiss over his hairline and drew him upright until they were both sitting, bodies still pressed together. No words. No rush. Just touch and the quiet between heartbeats.
When Henri’s breathing steadied, Michael shifted and rose from the bed, guiding Henri up with him. Henri followed without resistance, pliant in his hands. Their skin brushed as they moved, the faint tremor in Henri’s legs a reminder of everything his body had endured.
“Come on,” Michael murmured. “Let’s wash off.”
He kept a steady hand at the small of Henri’s back as they crossed the room, steps slow, unhurried. The carpet gave way to cool tile, and Henri shivered at the change in temperature. Michael reached past him to turn on the shower, adjusting the handle until the water ran warm and soft. Steam began to curl upward, fogging the glass and filling the space with warm, moist air.
Michael reached for his hand. “Come here.”
Henri stepped in without protest, and Michael followed, guiding them both beneath the spray.
This wasn’t about washing off sex. It was about erasing Marc, about rinsing away everything that still clung to Henri’s skin.
Michael moved slowly, reverently. He lathered soap between his palms and worked it over Henri’s back, shoulders, and arms. Gentle but thorough. No demands. No rush.
Henri leaned into him, breath evening out. Quiet surrender.
Michael tilted Henri’s chin up, brushing wet hair from his forehead, letting the water cascade down his chest. He dropped a kiss there, just above Henri’s heart, then rested his forehead briefly against it.
When the soap was gone, when there was nothing left of Marc but memory, Michael reached for the towel. He wrapped Henri in it first, drying him as though he were something precious. Henri didn’t hide. Just let it happen.
Michael toweled off in silence, then lifted Henri effortlessly, setting him on the bathroom counter. “Stay here,” he said, the command as much for Henri’s comfort as it was for his own.
And then he stepped into the bedroom to strip the bed and make space for something new.
He could feel Henri watching him as he moved around the bed with quiet efficiency, pulling fresh linens from the cabinet beside the dresser.
“How did you know those were there?” Henri’s voice carried softly from the bathroom.
Michael glanced up with a half-smile. “Made a mess of enough hotel rooms to know where they keep the extras.”
A knock at the door interrupted his bed-making. Henri wrapped himself in a robe and answered it, returning with a small package in his hands. He sank into the chair beside the bed, staring at the package with hollow eyes. They both knew what it contained. Marc’s “more suitable” toy.
Michael crossed the room, gently taking the package from Henri’s unresisting fingers, and set it aside.
“We’ll deal with that later,” he said, though his jaw clenched at the thought.
He stared at Henri sitting in that chair, still wrapped in the hotel robe, staring at nothing. The hollow look in his eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders. It was wrong. Everything about this sterile hotel room felt wrong now. The place where Marc had orchestrated Henri’s humiliation, where he’d forced Henri to perform.
Michael couldn’t leave him here. Henri would spend the night alone, probably replaying every degrading moment, convinced he deserved it.
No. Not happening.
Michael made a decision. “Get dressed,” he said, abandoning the half-made bed and reaching for his own clothes. “Pack your things.”
“What?” Henri asked, but Michael was already pulling on his pants.
“Pack,” Michael repeated, more firmly this time as he opened his phone and pulled up a car service app. He glanced up to find Henri still standing there, confusion etched on his features. “Now, please.”
Henri moved to comply, though his movements were uncertain. “Why am I packing?”
“Because you’re coming back to my flat in Camden Town,” Michael said, affecting an exaggerated British accent on the word ‘flat.’ The absurd accent drew a small smile from Henri. Exactly what Michael had hoped for.
Henri shook his head, smile fading. “I don’t understand.”
Michael crossed to him, pulling him into his arms. “I don’t want you here alone. Not when he knows where you are.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Henri protested weakly.
