I insisted on her letting me help her get dressed this morning, and I didn’t even think about what it would be like for her to do this alone.
“Every time I—oh God,” she whimpers when she attempts to lift her arm over her head. “My ribs are on fire.”
“Let me help you.” She continues to cry when I try to pull the tank top over her head. “Fuck it.”
I grip the seam under her arm and tear.
“I hope this isn’t your favorite top,” I mutter as I try to avert my gaze from the lace covering her amazing tits. Now isn’t the fucking time for my dick to get hard.
“It’s nothing but a torture device because of my broken ribs,” she adds. “I hate it.”
“Can I help you bathe?”
“Wanna wash my back again?”
I bite back a retort that’s certain to include a laundry list of all the dirty things I want to do to her. “I want you to stop crying and stop being in pain. Let me help you.”
She stands, and I take a step back, busying myself with the water temp and grabbing a washcloth while she slips out of her panties and works open the front clasp of her bra.
I clear my throat as she steps over the ledge of the shower, allowing my eyes to sweep down the length of her body only once before focusing completely on my task at hand. As it turns out, however, her back appeals to me just as much as the front side of her, and my cock grows hard within seconds.
I know she notices the damn thing because it’s impossible not to with the way it’s tenting my jeans, but she ignores the thing so I do too.
My single perusal is thrown out the window when she asks me to shampoo and condition her hair because fuck, shampoo suds running the length of her body and down the crack of her perfect ass is completely different from regular soap bubbles. Despite the heat of the water, her nipples stay furled the entire time which means my mouth waters to lick the rivulets of water from her skin, and I feel thoroughly tortured by the time the water runs clear and she steps out.
Of course, being the gentleman I am, I insist on helping her dry off and redress, and I weep a little on the inside when her skin is once again covered with clothes.
My sorrow doesn’t last long because by the time we step out of the bathroom, her eyes are droopy and she’s exhausted to the point of letting me help her to bed.
It’s late afternoon, but I don’t expect her to wake before morning unless her pain levels increase.
I head out of her room before I do something stupid like crawl in bed behind her and pull her to my chest, only to find Jinx passed out on the couch with his phone on his chest. I know he set things into motion with Shadow to find out about Jeremy Murphy’s father. There’s nothing we can really do until we have more information, but the fact that there’s a man out there willing to even make a verbal threat against Simone makes me want to fly to Vermont and beat some sense into the man myself.
We’re going to have to speak with Simone about that asshole, but it’s not going to be today. She deserves a little time where she isn’t forced to think about what happened, and I’m hoping that she won’t be pissed to the point of trying to throw us out when she finds out we invaded her privacy.
Jinx’s mild snoring draws my attention from the window, and I consider curling up on the floor and passing out. I should head back to the clubhouse because nothing will happen to her with my buddy asleep mere feet away on the sofa, but just like the nights we spent in the hospital, I just can’t seem to put any distance between me and her.
On quiet feet, afraid of getting caught, I head right back down the hallway and into her room, closing the door behind me before stripping out of my partially damp jeans. I could sleep on top of the covers to keep a level of separation between the two of us, but I don’t. I gently pull back the covers and crawl in behind Simone.
I don’t touch her or pull her against my chest. I don’t wrap my