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I wish I’d hated it. I really, really wish I regretted it, but the truth is, it was everything I wanted and more.
I just dislike the circumstances.
Eli carries me in his arms for the third time tonight and walks me to what I assume is the bathroom. Warm water envelops my skin as he carefully sinks my entire body in it and leans my head against the bathtub’s pillow.
The temperature is a much-needed balm for my aching core and I resist wiggling my toes. There’s a rustle of clothes before the water swirls with movement.
I don’t realize he’s joining me until I feel him position my body between his legs, and then he leans me back against his taut muscles and rests my head on his shoulders.
Holy hell.
Is Eli taking a bath with me right now?
My skin heats, and I’m thankful for the water that plays as a camouflage to my chaotic state.
This is such a cruel predicament. How am I supposed to play pretend when his majestic body envelops mine? Hell, I can feel his semi-hard-on nudging against my arse.
The first time he’s gotten naked and I don’t get to see it. Fantastic.
Only, Eli didn’t just join me in the bath. I smell my favorite honey and roses shower gel, and then, to my utter surprise, Eli washes me. He starts with my arms and my breasts, then goes down below. I relax as much as possible, despite the circumstances, and he lifts each of my legs up to clean the insides.
Most of the time, his arm is draped around my waist to keep me balanced.
It’s almost impossible to not let out any sounds, so whenever I don’t feel his eyes on my face, I bite my lower lip.
Being bathed by my emotionally stunted husband wasn’t on my bingo card this year.
Excuse me while I freak out a little.
He takes his time cleaning every bit of my skin, exhibiting an amount of patience I know for a fact he’s not capable of.
Wait.
Is this another cruel dream of mine?
My stomach sinks at the very possible realization, but instead of surrendering to the gloom, I choose to live in the moment.
Even if it is a dream.
After what seems like forever, Eli wipes my face with a lukewarm towel, removing every ounce of dolling up I attempted.
This time, I contemplate stopping him. Yes, he saw me without makeup when I woke up in the hospital, but that’s the only time he has and if I have a say, ever would.
I just don’t feel as confident without a layer of high-end products. Especially not in front of him.
The pampering session ends too soon as he lifts me up in his arms, wraps a towel around me, and carries me outside. Again, he takes his time drying me gently and with ease, as if he’s used to this.
Usedto this?
What a bizarre thought.
He sits me on the bed again. Only, this time, it’s against the headboard instead of himself. With feather-light touches, he slides a soft nightgown over my head and tucks me in, pulling the silk duvet to my chin.
I can feel his eyes on my face and before I can hide underneath the covers, he wraps his fingers around my throat and strokes my pulse point as he brushes his lips against my forehead.
My mouth parts and I’m surprised I don’t explode like a box of dynamite.
Who is this person? He’s not the Eli I know.
