little time writhing fully naked in myself. My next bath was going to be even more stimulating, I could tell.
Caleb’s grumbling recalled me. “Fucking water hurts like hell."
"So you didn't use the soap?"
"If the water hurts this much, it's getting all the crap out on its own."
"Nice try. You going to do it yourself, or do I have to lather up your leg for you?"
His hand went back to covering his groin. "Just hand me the damn soap."
I grinned. Clearly, he was going to be fine, so it was time for me to start having some real fun.
"Fuck!" he hissed as the water ran over the wound.
"Poor Caleb." I pat his shoulder and got another towel. "Now rinse it real good and let me help you up."
"I can get myself up."
“You’ve left me in no doubt about your ability to get yourself up, Caleb, dear. But just this once, okay? The tub's slippery and I wouldn't want your towel to fall askew."
"Now I know you're enjoying this. And it’s all your fault. Stop enjoying my pain.”
Did I deliberately put my arm around his body so my palm stroked his bare, warm side? Maybe. Was his quick indrawn breath because of my touch or because it hurt to stand on his wounded leg? Only the hardening erection he wasn’t managing to hide knew for sure. “Sure, as soon as possible. Come on, back to the other room. And you'd better let me put the ointment on."
"Are you crazy?"
"Nope. But look what a wimp you were about the soap. The ointment is gonna hurt even more. You wouldn't do it right."
He rearranged the towel carefully as he sat down. "I am not a wimp."
"Course not.” I spread his knees so when I knelt between his thighs I could still see the wound. Maybe it was because he’d removed his work vest, but he certainly didn’t smell bad. “Now hold still. If you're a good boy I'll get you a sucker later."
"Such wit. Fuck!"
"Be still!" I trapped the cut leg between my ribs and my arm.
"Ow, fuck! Ash!"
"Almost done. There." I leaned forward to blow on the wound, the way Gran always did to take the sting away. I swear I didn't mean for my cheek to brush the towel. And I'm pretty sure Caleb's groan was one of pain.
"Do you want me to tape down the bandage, or?" I was a little hot in the face. "Or, you could do it, and I'll try to sew up your pants."
Caleb wasn't looking at me. I think it was the injury. "You'd do that?"
"Sure," I shrugged. "I have needle, I have thread, it's a natural."
He cleared his throat. Twice. “Um, yeah. That’d be great. Thanks."
So I took his pants into the studio, leaving him on the love seat with the gauze. The gash was actually a little large, I'd need to put a patch on it.
"So you think you'll walk again?" I called over the low wall between us.
"One day very soon," he confirmed. "Though I guess you do win the turf war—no way I'm hunkering down for photos tonight."
Mentioning his territorial aggression was his tactical error. I shuffled past the muted calico I'd landed on and chose a left-over scrap from a baby quilt. Lavender, with duckies. A nice orange thread to accentuate their little beaks, and the pants were better than new.
He was sporting about it, at least. He quacked when he saw them. I cursorily inspected his bandage, patted him on the knee, and promised I'd stay in my room while he got dressed.
Whew.
I had to flop on my bed hugging on my pillow a little. The man had a mouth on him, in addition to the damn fine legs, on top of the moment in the clearing when his eyes said clear as day, "You, I'll trust.” And the heat. His arm across my neck as I’d helped him to the tub had branded me. And the quack.
Timing, humor, communion.
Snap the hell out of it, Ash, he's taken . Or, kinda. He's staked out. Whatever the situation, I needed to snap the hell out of it.
"Ash?" The liquid timbre of his voice did not help me snap. "Ashlyn?”
"Yeah, I'm here. You decent now?"
"Rarely, but my fly's done at least."
He edged himself over on the love seat, so I sat beside him. "Caleb, listen,
Caleb’s grumbling recalled me. “Fucking water hurts like hell."
"So you didn't use the soap?"
"If the water hurts this much, it's getting all the crap out on its own."
"Nice try. You going to do it yourself, or do I have to lather up your leg for you?"
His hand went back to covering his groin. "Just hand me the damn soap."
I grinned. Clearly, he was going to be fine, so it was time for me to start having some real fun.
"Fuck!" he hissed as the water ran over the wound.
"Poor Caleb." I pat his shoulder and got another towel. "Now rinse it real good and let me help you up."
"I can get myself up."
“You’ve left me in no doubt about your ability to get yourself up, Caleb, dear. But just this once, okay? The tub's slippery and I wouldn't want your towel to fall askew."
"Now I know you're enjoying this. And it’s all your fault. Stop enjoying my pain.”
Did I deliberately put my arm around his body so my palm stroked his bare, warm side? Maybe. Was his quick indrawn breath because of my touch or because it hurt to stand on his wounded leg? Only the hardening erection he wasn’t managing to hide knew for sure. “Sure, as soon as possible. Come on, back to the other room. And you'd better let me put the ointment on."
"Are you crazy?"
"Nope. But look what a wimp you were about the soap. The ointment is gonna hurt even more. You wouldn't do it right."
He rearranged the towel carefully as he sat down. "I am not a wimp."
"Course not.” I spread his knees so when I knelt between his thighs I could still see the wound. Maybe it was because he’d removed his work vest, but he certainly didn’t smell bad. “Now hold still. If you're a good boy I'll get you a sucker later."
"Such wit. Fuck!"
"Be still!" I trapped the cut leg between my ribs and my arm.
"Ow, fuck! Ash!"
"Almost done. There." I leaned forward to blow on the wound, the way Gran always did to take the sting away. I swear I didn't mean for my cheek to brush the towel. And I'm pretty sure Caleb's groan was one of pain.
"Do you want me to tape down the bandage, or?" I was a little hot in the face. "Or, you could do it, and I'll try to sew up your pants."
Caleb wasn't looking at me. I think it was the injury. "You'd do that?"
"Sure," I shrugged. "I have needle, I have thread, it's a natural."
He cleared his throat. Twice. “Um, yeah. That’d be great. Thanks."
So I took his pants into the studio, leaving him on the love seat with the gauze. The gash was actually a little large, I'd need to put a patch on it.
"So you think you'll walk again?" I called over the low wall between us.
"One day very soon," he confirmed. "Though I guess you do win the turf war—no way I'm hunkering down for photos tonight."
Mentioning his territorial aggression was his tactical error. I shuffled past the muted calico I'd landed on and chose a left-over scrap from a baby quilt. Lavender, with duckies. A nice orange thread to accentuate their little beaks, and the pants were better than new.
He was sporting about it, at least. He quacked when he saw them. I cursorily inspected his bandage, patted him on the knee, and promised I'd stay in my room while he got dressed.
Whew.
I had to flop on my bed hugging on my pillow a little. The man had a mouth on him, in addition to the damn fine legs, on top of the moment in the clearing when his eyes said clear as day, "You, I'll trust.” And the heat. His arm across my neck as I’d helped him to the tub had branded me. And the quack.
Timing, humor, communion.
Snap the hell out of it, Ash, he's taken . Or, kinda. He's staked out. Whatever the situation, I needed to snap the hell out of it.
"Ash?" The liquid timbre of his voice did not help me snap. "Ashlyn?”
"Yeah, I'm here. You decent now?"
"Rarely, but my fly's done at least."
He edged himself over on the love seat, so I sat beside him. "Caleb, listen,
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