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“You were tied to the bed five minutes ago.”

“That doesn’t mean you get promoted.”

“To what?”

I start laughing and nearly choke on the water. Kell takes the glass away until I recover.

“See?”

“Don’t become unbearable.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, you do.”

A low pulse of resonance moves through him, suspiciously close to laughter.

He gives the glass back. I drink the rest. When I’m done, he sets it on the nightstand, pulls the comforter over me, and takes my hand for a moment, his thumb moving once over the faint mark at my wrist before he lies down beside me.

I expect him to settle beside me. Instead, he reaches for my hip.

“Turn over.”

I do. Kell moves in behind me, and his body closes around mine.

My back fits against the broad warmth of his chest. One arm slides beneath my pillow while the other comes around my waist and draws me close until there’s no space left between us.

His hand rests over my stomach. His mouth brushes the back of my head.

The contact is softer than anything we’ve done tonight. The joke I’m about to make disappears.

Nothing is being asked of me now. No decision. No instruction. No response he needs me to produce. He’s simply behind me, warm and solid, his arm heavy across my middle while my body is still loose from everything that came before.

I lie here and let him hold me. Kell strokes his hand slowly over my stomach, then back again. His thumb brushes along my side before tracing the same path a second time.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs near my ear.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay.”

He kisses my hair. I close my eyes.

His fingers keep moving. Across my stomach. Along my side. Back again. Slow enough that my breathing starts matching the rhythm without my permission.

For a while, neither of us says anything. Then Kell speaks so quietly I almost miss it.

“I liked taking care of you.”

My next breath catches. His hand is still moving, but mine has gone completely still against the sheet. I consider pretending I didn’t hear him. Instead, I reach for the safest possible answer.

“That’s called aftercare.”

“I don’t care what it’s called.” His deep voice rolls through me.

Of all the responses he could have given me, that one leaves nowhere useful to go. My mouth opens and closes again. His hand slides down my arm and finds my wrist.

“You do things for me all the time,” he says.