It’s one order I can’t protest because I’m filthy, and I think it’s very likely I’ll probably need three showers before the day is through so I can feel like I actually washed it away. I step into the stone shower and under the spray, blinking through the steam as I wait for Judge to leave. Only, he doesn’t.

Instead, he tugs off his shirt and kicks off his boots. When he reaches for the zipper on his riding breeches, I swallow so loudly, I’m convinced he heard it. But he doesn’t seem to notice or care. And then before my eyes, he yanks off his breeches, leaving him standing there in nothing but a pair of black briefs.

I swallow again when he approaches, shaking my head infinitesimally. “I don’t need any help.”

He sighs. “For once in your life, just do as you’re told, will you?”

He doesn’t give me an opportunity to decide for myself, but rather he turns me in his arms and reaches for the soap. I’m frozen, my nerves unsettling me as I anticipate his touch. I don’t know what it will be like. Nobody has washed me in a very long time. The last time was when Antonia tended to my wounds in those weeks following the beating that left me with my scars. But Judge isn’t Antonia, and I feel the presence of his fingers on my skin in a way I’m certain I’ll never feel anything else.

They are rough and large but gentle at the same time. Like everything else he does, he washes me with a thoroughness that ensures he doesn’t leave a single spot of skin untouched. I’m almost grateful that he started at my back so he can’t see the expression on my face. But I’m certain he can still feel the soft shudder of my skin as his hands glide over it. My ass is still sore as hell, undoubtedly marked with his handprints, which he lingers to examine for a few moments before cleaning them tenderly.

I close my eyes and try to take myself to another place, but my mind drags me back to the present. To the hands touching my body. To the strange feelings stirring in my belly when he pulls me against the hard plane of his body and his fingertips edge around my ribs. I suck in a sharp breath when he washes my belly and then stop breathing entirely when his hands glide over my breasts, pausing there for a moment longer than what I’m sure is necessary. If I didn’t know any better, I would think I heard him biting back the sound of a groan, but I can’t see his face. I can, however, feel his cock against me, even through the material of his briefs. It’s warm and… huge.