I waited, breathless, for the feel of his magic fingers.
When it came, I reached out to the wall in front of me for balance.
With both palms pressed flat against the cool tile, I savored the feel of his fingertips kneading into my scalp and moaned.
"Feel good?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
"Always."
I drifted in bliss as he washed and conditioned my hair, shivering lightly as he ran a wide-toothed comb through the soaked strands.
I was disappointed when he finished and must have made some sound of regret, because he leaned forward and promised, "I'm not nearly done."
I smelled my body wash, then - "Gideon."
I arched into his soap-slick hands.
His thumbs dug gently into the knots in my shoulders, melting them with the perfect amount of pressure.
Then he worked his way down my spine .
my buttocks .
my legs .
"I'm going to fall," I slurred, drunk with pleasure.
"I'll catch you, angel.
I'll always catch you."
The pain and degradation of my memories washed away beneath the selfless reverence of Gideon's patient caretaking.
More than the soap and water, it was his touch that freed me from the nightmare.
I turned around at his urging and looked at him crouched before me, his hands gliding up my calves, his body an amazing display of taut flexing muscle.
Cupping his jaw, I tilted his head up.
"You can be so good for me, Gideon," I told him softly.
"I don't know how I could ever forget that.
Even for a minute."
His chest expanded on a quick, deep breath.
He straightened, his hands gliding up my thighs, until he towered over me again.
His lips touched mine, softly.
Lightly.
"I know today was all kinds of f**ked up.
Shit .
the whole week.