A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,38
night, I’d never seen all of Oliver Leonardo Cucinelli. Not like I’m seeing him now.
I can’t help but feel even his complete nakedness barely scratches the surface of the man he is, and I want so desperately to be given the full, unfiltered view.
Sadly, that gift is neither mine to give nor mine to take.
He steps into the tub with obvious hesitation.
“I put Epsom salts in the water,” I warn. “They’ll really sting your skin before they soothe the tenderness.”
He nods but remains silent as he slowly, slowly, slowly lowers himself into the water. The moment his limp noodle hits the surface, he winces. His biceps bulge as he holds himself up, gradually acclimating to the sensations before finally sinking to a fully seated position. He sighs and closes his eyes, relaxing back against the tub with his arms spread out on the sides.
“Okay?” I question, studying him for signs of lingering unease.
“This is nice,” he murmurs. “You were right. It hurts at first, but then it is wonderful.”
All his naked, wet muscles on display in this tub are wonderful, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I’m sure he needs this as much as I do. “The longer you can stay in, the better you’ll feel afterward. Try to make it at least ten minutes but twenty would be much better.”
I slide toward the edge of the tub to get out.
His eyes pop open. “You’re leaving. Does the sight of me disgust you so much now?”
“The sight of you is the furthest thing from disgusting,” I tell him in all honesty. “I don’t want you to be disgusted by the idea of both our filth contaminating the water. I’ll get out, so you can relax.”
“I am reminding myself that the hydrophilic micellar properties of soap trap the naturally occurring oils from our bodies within their spheres, so there is actually no dirt contaminating the water.”
“There’s no soap in this water,” I blurt. “Only Epsom salts.”
His eyes widen, but he tries so hard to maintain a neutral expression. That level of disgust is impossible to mask though. He swallows thickly. “Can we add some soap?”
“Yes!” I might have been a condescending jerkface in the kitchen, but I can still salvage this bath for him. He’s asking for my help now; I’m not giving it unsolicited. I dive for the bottle of body wash that I brought over from my condo and pour thick streams of it into the water. I swish my hands around, creating bubbles. Just to be really thorough, I grab the bar of Ollie’s soap from the dish built into the wall and lather my hands then slap them against his chest and start rubbing.
He covers my hands with his own, his movement much steadier than mine in spite of being seconds from leaping out of this tub even though I was the one ready to bolt a few moments ago. “Liv, I am far too sore to lose control again, but perhaps it is best if—” He stops mid-sentence then glances between our chests. “Actually, this is a brilliant idea. Continue. I will wash you as well.”
I clean him in a manic frenzy, determined not to focus on all the hard-packed muscle beneath my fingertips. Lather, wash, rinse, repeat. No time for exploration of everything that’s been out of my reach for so many years.
His touch is also methodical but in an entirely different way. He slides his soapy hands up the length of one arm then the other. His fingers tap delicately along my shoulders like he’s learning the bone structure beneath my skin. He flattens his palms against my collarbone then sweeps down to cover my breasts with his large hands before curving his fingers beneath them as if he’s measuring their density.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, afraid to read any meaning into his examination.
“Desensitizing,” he mumbles absentmindedly. His hands continue to sweep down my sides, sliding across my belly. He directs, “Lean back.”
I do, reclining against the opposite wall of the tub while holding my breath. This was exactly my intent early this morning when I rolled over and bared my ass for him—to help him become used to the sight of my naked body which he admitted makes him feel out of control. Not that I don’t want Ollie to lose control with me, but I don’t want him to feel guilty or frazzled about it. After the way I talked to him in the kitchen, I don’t dare admit