Nix doesn’t bother announcing what he’s about to do. He simply drapes the throw blanket over my shoulders before picking me up. A measure between a shriek and gasp falls from my lips while my arms automatically snake around his neck. I hold Nix as he carries me upstairs with Colt trailing us. As much as I hate being in Nix’s arms, it’s a relief to be able to rest against him. My body and my brain are too tired, too overwhelmed.

Instead of putting me in bed, Nix takes me to the bathroom, where Colt runs water in the tub. It doesn’t take long to fill, and Nix is gentle as he lowers me into the scented, steamy water. It’s miraculous, loosening up my sore muscles, giving me a little bit of comfort at last.

They sit on either side of the tub, both of them washing me slowly, almost tenderly. Nix runs a soapy rag over my arms while Colt takes my legs. When the rag makes contact with my extremely sore inner thighs, he eases the pressure, barely brushing against me before gently running the rag over my pussy.

Nix gets up, returning a few moments later with a nightshirt and a couple of towels. Colt helps me stand, wrapping one of the towels around my body while Nix wrings the water from my hair with the other. They don’t say a word to each other through all of this, and neither of them speaks to me. They don’t need to. I don’t have anything to say anyway, and I doubt I would have the strength to speak even if I did know what a person says in a situation like this.

Once I’m in bed, tucked in, Colt moves for the door—but Nix doesn’t. “You coming?” Colt asks him, but Nix waves him off before turning back to me.

I’m so exhausted I can hardly keep my eyes open. “What do you want?” I whisper.

“I want to make you come.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I’m too sore, anyway.”

“But you deserve it.” He’s already pulling back the blanket that he only just tucked around me.

“You don’t have to, really. I just want to sleep.” I may as well be talking to myself for all the good it does. He stretches out near the foot of the bed and parts my thighs, working the nightshirt up to my hips. Now I know why he didn’t bother bringing in panties. Was he already planning on this? What does it matter? My body is not really my own anymore, anyway.