Page 75 of My Fixation

“Arms up,” he says gently.

I obey without thinking. The shirt disappears over my head and is set aside. There is nothing demanding in the gesture. The kind of gesture and care I’ve spent my entire life pretending I didn’t need. His hands settle briefly on my shoulders. His touch warm and steady.

Conor helps me step out of the rest of my clothes with the same quiet efficiency. Never rushing. Never making me feel exposed even though I’m standing naked in front of him.

By the time the tub is full, steam has filled the room. The scent of eucalyptus wraps around us. Conor rests a hand against my back.

“Get in.”

I step into the water and immediately feel some of the tension leave my body. The heat sinks into aching muscles, into old injuries, into places I hadn’t realized I’d been holding tight all day. A sigh escapes me.

“Better?”

I glance up to find Conor watching me. Concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. Honest. “A lot better.”

For the first time since sitting down with Neil, my mind begins to quiet. Not completely. But enough that I can finally breathe.

Conor kneels beside the tub. He wets a washcloth and works soap into the fabric before reaching for me. Every movement is unhurried. He treats me like something precious. Something worth taking care of. The realization makes my throat tighten. I can’t remember the last time someone looked after me without expecting something in return. Maybe I never have.

The warm water and steam loosen muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched. The ache behind my eyes begins to fade. For the first time all day, I stop thinking. Stop replaying conversations. Stop dissecting memories. Stop wondering what comes next.

Conor washes me with gentle strokes of the cloth. When he runs it over my chest and stomach, I can’t help but wish it were his hand and not the cloth touching me. I close my eyes and lean my head back. Willing my body not to react. My breathing quickens without my permission as thoughts of his hands on me flash behind my eyelids.

My cock begins to thicken. Muscles that had just started to relax bunch and tighten. I can feel the color rising up my neck. I slowly move my hand to cover my now hard cock.

“Hands at your sides.” The command in his voice has me obeying immediately. Despite my embarrassment, I do as he says. That is what I want, what I need. His command, my obedience. His decision and my surrender.

“You won’t hide anything from me, Jaxon.”

He uses the handheld sprayer to wet my hair. Warm water runs down the back of my neck. The scent of sandalwood fills the air as his fingers work shampoo through my hair. The simple act should feel ordinary. Instead, it feels unbearably intimate.

“I want to see all of your reactions.” His voice is quiet.

The water starts again, rinsing away the last of the shampoo. For a few moments neither of us speaks. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. It actually gives me the space to just be. To simply exist here with him. Here, where there are no expectations, no decisions. No memories demanding my attention. Just the sound of the water and Conor’s steady presence beside me.

Eventually, he has me stand. I do so without question. Conor helps me rinse away the soap before shutting off the water. The sudden quiet settles around us. Steam curls through the room. Softening everything.

A large towel immediately wraps around my shoulders. Soft enough that I can’t stop myself from leaning into it. The sensation draws a contented sigh from me. He begins drying my hair with another towel. Gentle despite the size of his hands.

The simple act sends an unexpected wave of emotion through me. Because nobody has ever taken care of me like this. Not when I was a child. Not after the military. Not even Trent. The realization should hurt. Instead, it makes my chest ache in a different way. A hopeful one.

When Conor finishes, he rests a hand against the back of my neck. The familiar touch immediately settles something restless inside me. Without a word, he leads me from the bathroom, and I follow willingly. Trusting him to guide me.

We walk into the bedroom we’ve been sharing. The room is quiet. Peaceful. The fading sunlight paints everything in shades of gold. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Conor simply looks at me. I told him what I needed. What I wanted. To be cared for. To stop thinking for a little while. To forget. And somehow he’d given me exactly that, and with a level of care I’ve never experienced before.

My chest tightens. Would Conor still look at me the same if I told him what I really want? Would he think that I’m too fragile to handle my deepest desire? He said he would do anything. Over the past few days, Conor has given exactly two orgasms, but he never pushed for more. Each has been so sweet and gentle, but I want more. I want him to command my body. Would he want that?

“What is it, A Chroí?”

I don’t respond, not with words. I let the towel he had wrapped around my waist fall to the thick carpet. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if he can hear it. I drop to my knees in front of him. Lowering my head, I place my hands behind my back. Conor’s only reaction is a sharp inhale of breath.

For a split second, I think I have made a huge mistake. Then his hand brushes gently over my hair.

“Look at me, Jaxon.” His voice is deeper now. I look up without hesitation. “Is this really what you want?”