14. Keats

14

KEATS

T esting the bath water, I decide it's the right temperature. My clawfoot tub was a luxury the designer said was needed to fit in with the checkered tile and feel of the old house. I've never used it, though.

Turning off the faucet, I stare at Esme who is sitting on a stool, mute, with a glass of whiskey in hand. She looks nearly lifeless. Completely deflated and heartbroken. Maybe still in shock. A mixture of it all, and still she let me guide her away.

It took a few hours to put out the fire. Afterward, we listened to the firefighter explain the situation. Apparently, Mrs. Tiller forgot to replace an old toaster, and it short-circuited. The firemen were able to extinguish the fire, but the smoke and charred house remain. Luckily, only the kitchen and living room in Esme's house have been destroyed, and not everything. Even more important, Esme wasn't in the house.

She's exhausted, and I've forgotten that I was already lacking sleep from the day before.

"Come on, let's get you in the tub." I walk on my knees to her and set her whiskey on the sink vanity before I begin to help her undress. First her blouse, and then I tug her jeans off as her legs part open. Reaching around her, I unhook her bra. Everything smells of smoke, and there is no way she can put these back on.

"It's gone." She's motionless. I help her up and into the tub. I'm about to leave her for a second to search underneath my sink for hotel bubble bath or anything remotely usable for the tub. Esme grabs my wrist. "Don't leave me."

"Just grabbing soap," I assure her.

Finding a small bottle and grabbing a washcloth, I return to her as she stares blankly forward. I pour the small bottle and hang the cloth on the rim of the tub. Peeling my shirt up and off, I strip down and step into the warm water to sit behind her, positioning myself so she's between my legs.

Immediately she leans into me. "All my photos."

"Shh, don't worry about that now." I kiss her neck, and the overpowering smell of fire is drenched in her hair. I begin to comb the strands with my wet hands. As much as Esme has backups of everything she photographs, my guess is she means the photos from when she was younger on the wall.

"I feel so numb."

Wetting the washcloth, I begin to scrub her arms, going slowly and gently. I'm not even second-guessing taking care of her now. It's pure instinct.

"Try and relax. There is nothing you can do right now."

I give up on the need for suds to spread over our bodies and instead rest with Esme. Her fingers skim the surface of the water, and I kiss her shoulder. We don't need to say anything; tonight's events are enough to occupy our brains.

"I'm so tired." Nothing that she says has any tone, only somberness.

Stroking her arms, I want to comfort her, and I'm not sure if I'm doing this all right. "It will be okay. "

She tips her head up, attempting to glance over her shoulder. "Maybe in this moment it is. I fear for tomorrow."

"You don't need to. I'm here."

Esme nestles further into my body, and we're a fit perfect for this tub.

"I won't wake up tomorrow and find this was a nightmare, will I?"

Rubbing her arms with my hands, I reply, "I can't promise that. But I hope being here in the water with me isn't a nightmare." I try to make her smile, and when I do my best to curve my head around her body to check, I see a very faint stretch of her lips, and that's good enough for me.

We stay this way for quite a while, just lying in the tub, and I clean her with the cloth. When the water cools and we both smell of peppermint from the soap, I get out and wrap a towel around my waist and bring the other up and open wide to wrap around her when she stands.

Now isn't the time to admire how beautiful she is completely naked. I need to get her warm.

In my room, I give her one of my shirts to sleep in, and she leads her own way into my bed, pulling the duvet up. She's intent on sleeping. If she's like me then her body must feel weighted down.

Staying in my boxer briefs, I opt not to wear a shirt because I will just get too warm. Joining her in bed, I scoop her protectively in my arms until her head is tucked under my chin. I gently reach to turn the light off.

To my dismay, she rolls out of my arms and lies on her side. Mirroring her position, we face one another, and I kiss her forehead. "Try and sleep," I whisper.

Her only answer is to peek her head out to kiss my lips. A chaste kiss, a parting before sleep kicks in.

But I'm mistaken as she hooks her leg over me, and with her in only my shirt and nothing else, I realize that I should have offered her shorts, too.

It doesn't matter, as she wants one thing, and she rubs her body against me. "Please," she murmurs.

This is what she needs now.

Maybe I should question her on this, but she's already reaching between us to slip her hand inside my boxer briefs. This is how people sometimes deal with grief, and I'll give her this.

I begin to trail my fingers up her legs, smooth from the bath. Esme scoots my briefs down until my cock springs free, already hard. Her legs part open, and I swipe my fingers between them to feel how much she wants this.

I move to enable me to bring my mouth to her pussy, discarding my underwear in the process. Lying on my stomach, I push the fabric of my shirt up to reveal her breasts. Spreading kisses from her bellybutton up, I slow the journey up to take a nipple in my mouth, and I hear a gentle gasp. Gently squeezing her tits with my palms, I remind myself that she is fragile glass right now.

Which is why I abandon her breasts and retrace the road of my kisses and move down, pausing just above her pubic bone, and her hips tilt up, offering me more.

"You're so beautiful," I utter softly against her skin, and I drag my lips along the line of her hipbone.

Esme has a shaky breath but sinks her nails into my hair to guide me lower, as she knows exactly what she wants.

Immediately, I give her clit an open-mouthed kiss, and she cries out my name. Sucking, I swirl the tip of my tongue, and her hips swivel. How have I not taken more time to worship her this way before? Lapping her up, I'm addicted and want more. When she begins to ride my mouth, I follow her cues and take over the rhythm she wants and pin her hips down to keep her still against the mattress.

Esme needs to relax, and that means I will give that to her. I could get lost in doing this for her. I want to make her come until she's in such a state that she'll fall blissfully asleep.

Exploring her, I drive my tongue within her for a quick taste, and her moan is soft but effective for me to be encouraged that I'm getting just the right spot. But she doesn't give me a chance to go deeper as she is guiding me to slither up her body to kiss her lips.

"Please," she quietly pleads.

Her hand glides between us to guide my tip to her entrance, and I slide right in. Taking her with me, I lie on my side and move inside her with her leg hooked over my hip. It gives me a better position to hug her close, and Esme is intent on framing my face with her hands while I thrust deeper inside of her.

We are on overload, our bodies extra sensitive, grinding a rhythm together. Every light kiss sends electric currents through our bodies, every hard pump cementing us closer to being inseparable, and my hand on her hip keeps her down so she doesn't float away because that's what it feels like; we're not on this earth. Or rather, we're forgetting about where we are.

She nips my shoulder and encases tighter around my cock. We sync together, and our breaths grow heavy. This isn't like what we've done before. It's more intimate and maybe even confronting, because this doesn't feel like a game.

No words leave us as we chase our release, with no chance of slowing down, either. Only when she begins to tremor in my arms, letting a heaving sigh of calm leave her lips, and her body relaxing all around me, do I allow my own relief. I fill her up, not at all bothered that she'll be marked with me for the rest of the night.

Because when I roll to my back and she tucks into my body, I know she has no plans on leaving this bed.

I brush her hair with my fingers as she listens to my pulse beating extra hard, and her fingers feather over my chest. She is clinging to me, and that's completely the way it should be.

"Close your eyes, Esme," I murmur against her hair and plant my lips on the top of her head.

"Just stay like this until I fall asleep." I can hear the fatigue in her voice, but her breath has evened out.

"I'll give you whatever you want." I'm not even sure she heard me because I'm not certain that thought left my mouth.

But it's true.

And as she drifts to sleep in my arms, having let me take care of her all night, I realize something else.

There is more meaning underlying my statement.

I have feelings for her. I'm not just the guy helping her tonight. I'm the guy who wants to protect her and the man who won't let her walk away.