Page 53 of Hold Me Tight

I swallow, the words coming easier this time. “I want you to touch me.”

“Good girl,” he says.

The praise lights through me like a spark catching tinder. His hand finally moves, slow and sure, exactly where I need it.

He shakes his head as something fierce and unyielding flickers in his eyes. “You’re wrong about that,” he says, his tone carrying the kind of conviction that brooks no argument. “Orgasming isn’t a luxury you have to earn. It’s not a reward for being good enough or working hard enough. It’s basic self-care. Every woman deserves that kind of release. To remember what her body can feel and is capable of.”

His hand slides higher, grazing skin already tender and alive from his earlier touch. “You should know that. You should feel it often. And if no one else has reminded you lately…” His gaze locks on mine. “Then let me.”

The tenderness in those words slices straight through me, splitting me open in places I didn’t realize were still locked tight.

His fingertips move with quiet purpose. Every stroke is patient, as if he’s determined to commit each reaction to memory.

The water rocks gently around us, ripples lapping against the porcelain. My breath hitches as my hips lift, chasing more without meaning to. There’s a plea coiled in my throat, but the words refuse to form.

His mouth finds the side of my neck, the warmth of his lips brushing that sensitive spot just below my ear. The contact is electric, but it’s what he says next that ties me in knots.

“As long as you’re here,” he tells me, each word sinking in deeper than the last, “I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.”

The promise in his voice doesn’t just touch me. It surrounds me, settling over my skin like something warm and immovable. A shield I didn’t know I’d been craving.

My head tips back, lips parting, his name spilling out on a ragged cry as the ecstasy builds to something wild and unstoppable. It crests and breaks, scattering my thoughts until I’m nothing but sensation. My body shakes beneath his hand, every shudder pulling me further under, every beat a reminder that he’s the one holding me there.

When my lashes flutter open, he’s still watching me. Not with arrogance, but with quiet awe.

Droplets cling to his forearms where I’ve splashed him, running in slow, silvery trails down his skin. I expect him to strip off his clothes and climb in with me, to close the last bit of space left between us.

Instead, he leans in and gently brushes a damp curl from my forehead, his touch so careful it threatens to break me open all over again. His thumb rests against my temple, his eyes locked on mine, as if memorizing this exact second.

“You deserve to be touched like that every damn day,” he says. “To be cared for until you can’t remember what it felt like to go without.”

His words strike deep, unlocking a part of me that’s been sealed up and silent for years.

And then he straightens, walks out of the room, and closes the door behind him with a click.

The quiet rushes in like a tide as I sink deeper into the water, my limbs loose and my skin still buzzing from his touch.

But my mind is anything but calm.

The warmth wraps around me like a blanket, but it doesn’t soothe the storm he’s left in his wake. My body betrays me, chasing a truth I’m not ready to admit.

I know this wasn’t just about pleasure.

It was about him and what this meant.

How everything just changed between us.

I stare at the ceiling, hoping for a little bit of clarity.

For answers.

For something to tell me how the hell I’m supposed to make sense of this thing that shouldn’t matter but suddenly feels like everything.

It should’ve just been a release.

A simple favor.

A fluke.