PAMELA
After the doctor’s exam, I gather the tray of broth, water, and saltines and sit down next to Dylan. I don’t know how he can sit on the edge of the bed in his position, but he’s doing it, although he has a white-knuckled grip on the sheets beside his hips, but I don’t point that out to him.
“You need to eat and drink,” I murmur.
“Can feed myself, ain’t completely broken,” he grunts.
I think about that. No, he can’t feed himself. He really can’t do anything himself. If it weren’t for me, he’d be dead. Scooping up some broth in the spoon, I lift it to his dry lips. “I’m sure you can, but you’re going to let me take care of you,” I say.
He snorts, opening his mouth to take some of the broth. “Tastes like shit,” he mutters.
“It’s bone broth,” I explain.
“What the fuck is that and why?” he asks.
I shove another spoonful in his mouth before he realizes what I’m doing. “It’s good for you, that’s why.”
“What’s wrong with regular broth?”
“It’s not as good for you,” I say as my sole explanation, mainly because I don’t really know the difference, I just hear everyone talking about the amazing benefits of bone broth, so that’s what he’s getting.
“Sounds like some Gen-Z hype bullshit.”
Lifting my eyes to his, I know that mine are wide, but his are dancing. He’s screwing with me. Pressing my lips together, I bring another spoonful of broth to his lips. He takes it, his eyes never leaving my own and I didn’t realize spoon feeding someone broth was so sexy and intense, but here we are.
He reaches out to the tray and grabs a cracker. I watch as he shoves it in his mouth, chewing a total of three times before he swallows it. Then he does it again, once, twice, three times before he reaches for the glass of water and drowns the whole thing practically in one gulp.
It’s hot in here, or maybe it’s just me.
Most likely it’s him.
“Gotta try to move,” he grumbles.
Putting everything back on the tray, then placing that tray on the floor, I stand in front of him and offer him my hands. His eyes flick from my hands to my eyes, then he tilts his head to the side.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, his voice husky and raspy and so damn sexy.
“Helping you up,” I say with a firm nod. He chuckles, then tries to push up to his feet before falling back down on his ass with a groan. “Let me help you,” I practically beg, my entire body shuddering at the way he winces in pain.
“This is embarrassing as fuck,” he grinds out.
I decide now is not the time to tell him that I watched the doctor insert and take out more than one catheter and that he let me borrow a bedpan just in case. I don’t tell him that the bedpan was needed and that I’m the only one who was around to clean it. I’m thinking he wouldn’t want to know any of that.
Because honestly, I was trying my hardest to hold it together, but thinking if it was me and he had to do all of the things that I did, that I would probably prefer death.
“You were near death, Dylan. You won’t be able to just jump right up and do everything you could a week ago. Give it time and let me help.”
He shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue with me. He lifts his hands and takes my offered ones, then I brace my feet and tug him up to standing. He stumbles and I am forced to take a few steps backward, but then find my balance.
Together, we walk toward the bathroom. “Fuck, I gotta take a leak,” he announces.
Biting the corner of my lip, I help him so that he’s propped against the wall, then I slip out of the bathroom, and let my head fall back against the wall as I wait for him to do his business. Again, I don’t tell him that I’ve seen every inch of his body.
Every hard sexy inch of his physique.
Pinching my eyes closed, I try not to think about that sexy hard body. I try really hard. I shouldn’t look at him like that, he’s old enough to be my dad. I shouldn’t think about the way his muscles moved and flexed while he was sleeping, or about the way that he looks naked and the fact that all I wanted to do is trace his flesh with my tongue.
I shouldn’t be fantasizing about sex at all. My entire life has been about my being sexually owned by men, and yet, that’s all I can think about with him. This is not the man I should be thinking of. I should be thinking of a future for myself and taking care of myself.
Men should be the last thing on my mind and if they aren’t, what I should be fantasizing about is a stable man with a great job. A banker, an accountant, someone that is going to come home every night to me and want a family.
But I wasn’t raised that way and a good man like that wouldn’t want me anyway. Plus, I wouldn’t really want him. I want Dylan. He’s the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to, probably because he’s the only man who hasn’t looked at me like he was salivating over raping me the day I turned eighteen.
The shower water turns on and it causes me to break out of my dream state. Pushing off of the wall, I hurry into the bathroom, only to stop completely where I stand. Dylan is standing to the side, his entire body on display for
