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“I don’t know about anything else. Obviously, I haven’t…” His words trail off and I nod, understanding that he’s not sure what other physical limits we might find, because he doesn’t have any experience with them.

“Has anything we’ve done so far made you feel uncomfortable?”

“Physically?”

“Or emotionally?”

“Err…I don’t think so.”

It’s another half-truth, but I don’t call him on it. Soon I’ll know him well enough to understand what he’s not saying, but for right now, I’ll let him keep his thoughts to himself.

“Do you want to look at the things I got for you, or shower first?” I ask, pushing my boxers over my hips and kicking them off my feet. I’m more than comfortable being naked in front of him, and I’m enjoying the way his eyes are devouring me.

“Sh…shower,” he mumbles.

“Good boy. Why don’t you get undressed, then we can get clean?”

His hands are slow as he self-consciously starts to undress. I could help him, but I won’t. I want him to get used to being naked and seeing me naked.

My dick is hard, but I don’t touch it, nor do I ask him to. I want him, but tonight isn’t about sex—at least not yet anyway. For now I want to create intimacy with him, and doing simple things like eating and showering together feels like a great way to start to build things between us.

It seems to take forever, but eventually he drags his shirt over his head, revealing his smooth, hairless chest. His nipples are small and pink, and my mouth waters with the urge to mark them with my teeth—a visceral brand of my ownership.

Steam billows through the open bathroom door, reminding me of the cold shower he took last night. If I have my way, that’ll never happen again. But I’m not sure how I can stop it without forcing him to move in with me.

Maybe I need to push Bay and Penn to talk to him about the apartment they mentioned. It’s been over a week, and I’d like to think that if they’d offered it to him, he’d have mentioned it to me. But I can’t ask Henry about it without letting him know that I spoke to the Barnetts about him, and I don’t want him to know that I crossed the line and started meddling in his life before I even kissed him.

My mind spins while Henry achingly slowly unfastens the buttons on his pants and pushes them over his hips. Unlike hisfleece pj’s, his work clothes all fit, but his pants still easily fall to the floor, bunching around his ankles.

I want to go to him, to kneel at his feet and pull down his boxers, but I force myself to stay where I am and watch. His movements are meticulous. Stepping out of his pants, he bends down to pick them up, then neatly folds them before placing them on top of his shirt beside the mound of bags on the end of the bed.

His touch is almost reverent as he smooths the creases from the worn clothes, and I wonder how long it took him to save the money for them. His things aren’t designer, but he always dresses nicely, and from the way he folds his socks together and places them on the pile, he’s either a neat freak or someone who values his belongings.

It feels like it takes forever, but eventually he’s naked except for his navy boxers. Licking my lips, I swallow thickly, anticipation humming through my veins as I wait for him to take them off. His eyes find mine a moment before he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down.

I don’t know if he intended the action to be flirtatious, but it is. The moment the boxers fall past his hips, his dick pops free, the head pink and wet. He’s hard—his permanent state whenever we’re together—and my fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, to wrap my fist around him and exert my control over him and his body.

“Did you touch yourself today?” I ask, my voice low and rough as I prowl toward him.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head to reinforce his words.

“Good boy,” I praise. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell him, curling my palm around his throat and tipping his head back so I can kiss him.

He softens into my hold immediately, exhaling a sigh, like my touch is all he needs to relax. I wonder if he’s ever had this.Did any of the foster families he stayed with ever teach him the importance of touch? Did anyone show him that a hug can mean a million different things and that sometimes comfort is more intimate than sex?

Pulling away from his lips, I wrap my arms around him and pull him into me, holding him tightly and ignoring how hard we both are. Maybe it’s weird to be naked and aroused and just happy to be close to him, but I don’t care. I want to show him that I want all of him, not just his cock and his tight little hole. I want those things too, but what’s building between us is about so much more than just sex.

It takes him far too long to hug me back. By the time he lifts his arms and wraps them around my waist, I’ve almost given up on his returning my embrace. But I’ll hug him a million times more if that’s how many times it takes for him to seek my touch the way I’m desperate for his.

“Let’s go get clean,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head as I reluctantly pull back.

“Together?” he asks.

“Yeah, Kitten, together.”

Taking his hand, I lead him into my bathroom, then motion for him to step into the tub first. Following him in, I position him beneath the warm spray as I reach for the soap and fill my palms with it, coating every inch of his skin in the suds.

Just like the first time we did this, I leave his dick, balls, and hole until last, and by the time I touch his length, his cock is painfully hard and dripping. Instead of giving him the release he so obviously needs, I smile down at his arousal, then ignore it, and instead focus on washing his hair.