I reach down and pull the plug, and the water starts draining quickly. I carefully, ever so gently start backing out of her, and I know she’s back in that special place of blissful nothingness, subspace, because not a single muscle in her tenses, not even a flinch. Cautiously, I pick her up, looking up and around for a moment, seeing the shower is separate from her tub, and I step out with her in my arms and carry her into the much smaller space, pulling the glass door behind us and closing us in.
I look down into her face. Her eyes are open but vacant, and it would be eerie if there wasn’t a small smile on her lips. She looks blitzed out of her mind, and my chest practically puffs up knowing I was the one who did that to her.
“I need to wash us off again, baby. So I need you to stand up, okay?” I ask, but unlike every other time I’ve asked her to do something, she doesn’t jump to attention without hesitation.
Hoping she’ll be able to stand at least enough so I can hold her with only one arm, I lower her feet to the ground, breathing out a sigh of relief when I see her knees lock. She leans against me, her face nestling into my chest as I wrap my arm around her and hold her to me. I turn the showerhead away from us and twist on the water, and when it’s warm, I take it off the hook and spray us down. It takes some finagling, but I’m able to pour some body wash into my hand and use it to gently clean between her legs, quickly rinsing it off when I hear her intake of breath as if it stings. When the soap is off of her, she sighs, comfortable once again. I make quick work of cleaning and rinsing my cock, not bothering with the rest of me, and then shut off the water. I push open the door with one hand then pick her up once more, grabbing the two towels off the rack on my way out of the bathroom and carrying her straight to the bed.
I sit her on the foot of the mattress, wrapping one of the towels around her so she doesn’t get cold and using the other to dry off the rest of her body. When I’m done with her legs, I wrap the second one around my hips and finish drying her upper half. I grip the towel in my hand, my obsession with order and tidiness warring with my need to stay with her. The first half wants to go back into the bathroom and hang up the damn towel, but the Dom in me refuses to leave my sub like this.
Eventually, the Dom wins, and I toss the wet towel into her hamper, promising myself I’ll throw all of it into her washer before I leave, like a fucking gentleman.
I unhook my towel from around my hips and dry myself quickly, throwing it into the hamper, and then I pick Evie up and carry her to the head of her bed. I pull back the covers, knocking the decorative pillows that hadn’t fallen off during our first time together onto the floor.
I lay us down in the center of the bed, turning her so my front is flush with her back, even our legs locking together like jigsaw pieces. As I wrap my arm around her front and lace my fingers with hers, I feel her tug our hands toward her body until they’re nestled between her breasts. And with wet towels in her hamper and pillows strewn on the floor, with my shirt in another room instead of in line with everything else on her dresser and wet footprints along the bathroom floor, it’s then I realize… Evelyn is my dose, my drug, the perfect cocktail, and I’m exactly where I need to be.
Chapter 12
Evie
I’ve heard about those weighted blankets; I think it was in a Facebook ad while I was scrolling or something. Thousands of reviews saying how wonderful they were, how it was the best sleep they’d ever gotten in their life. Things like “great for anxiety!” and “perfect for people with RLS!” But I just never actually clicked the Buy button. One of those, meh, maybe later type of things.
As I come awake Saturday morning, my first thought is, Did I finally click the Buy button and just forgot about it? Because one, the weight pushing down on me feels wonderful and cozy, like I’m swaddled in warmth and being hugged, and two, I just had the best night of sleep ever. I don’t think I even rolled over in the night, when usually I toss and turn constantly. I once tracked my sleep with my Apple Watch, and the results were… laughable and depressing at the same time. The only time I even reach REM sleep is on Friday nights after my time at Club Alias.
But then my “blanket” moves, rocking its lower half against my ass, and I think, Damn, my blanket has some serious morning wood, and the night before appears clearly in my mind and my eyes pop open.
The first thing I see is my bathroom
