For the Sub by Sierra Cartwright Page B

Doms have been remiss,” he said. “If you were mine, bathing me would be a Friday night obligation.”
    “One I’d enjoy, Sir.” The experience of combining service and sensuality would be sublime. “Did your wife do that for you, Sir?”
    His one word answer was flat. “No.”
    Wondering if she was being reckless, she persisted. “Would you have liked her to?”
    He didn’t reply.
    Brandy knew she didn’t have the right to push for an answer, but curiosity made her hold her tongue as the question hung in the atmosphere while she continued the soothing ministrations across his already-clean skin.
    When she was certain he didn’t intend to respond, he said, “It never occurred to me to make it a requirement.”
    “I’m glad I offered,” she said.
    “So am I.”
    “You miss her.”
    “Every minute of every day.”
    “Have you considered remarrying?”
    He faced her. The hollowness beneath his cheekbones startled her. She knew then that the pain she’d seen in his eyes hadn’t been her fanciful imagination.
    Feeling somewhat at a disadvantage, she stood.
    “Losing her fucking sucked,” he said, palpable anguish making his voice raw. “No way will I take that chance again. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
    “I’m sorry for your loss.” She chose her words with care. “I can’t imagine how bad it hurts.”
    He exhaled. “Thank you for that,” he said. “A lot of well-meaning people have fed me platitudes.”
    Which, no doubt, was one of the reasons he spent time alone. “If you want to talk about her, please feel free.”
    “You’re a persistent woman, Brandy.”
    “Most people use the word annoying,” she said with a trace of a smile.
    He responded in kind. “I was being polite.”
    She slid the soap into its dish and took down the showerhead. “May I?”
    “I’m enjoying it,” he said, facing away from her again.
    She suspected they both needed the emotional reprieve. She took her time rinsing him, directing the warm water over his shoulders then moving the spray back and forth, going lower with each pass, making sure every bit of lather was gone. Then she asked him to turn around.
    Brandy reached for the soap. She was glad he’d told her about Eleanor and about where he stood when it came to relationships, but in a way she was sorry it had ruined the mood.
    He caught her hand and put it on his chest. “Stop lollygagging and get on with it, beautiful sub.”
    Responding in kind, she asked. “Lollygagging, Sir?”
    “You’re supposed to be bathing me.”
    She appreciated every moment of touching him, his hands and chest. A neat line of hair arrowed downwards in an oh-so sexy way, leading her to his semi-flaccid penis. She caressed his shaven balls and silky skin, crouching to stroke his perineum. With each touch, his erection grew. She savoured the connection, the way each of them had the power to make the other respond. “I could get you really clean if your legs were farther apart.”
    “You need a bigger shower,” he said.
    “This seems about right to me, Sir.” She was at his feet and couldn’t move away.
    “Hard to argue with that.”
    She made certain she’d reached every bit of him, touching, arousing, before rinsing him. “Towels are on the shelves near the door.”
    He exited to give her more space, and she rinsed off quickly, anxious to be with him again. While she wasn’t accustomed to having a man around, this seemed natural.
    When she’d turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain, he wrapped her in a towel and helped her over the tub’s rim. A white towel hung loose around his hips, making his skin tone a bit darker by contrast. Every time she saw him, she was struck by his decadent masculinity. “You do a lot of little things to take care of me, Sir,” she said. Which drove her to serve him more. “It’s unusual.”
    “Is it? A good Dom takes care of his sub, sees to her needs and comfort. It’s not all about telling someone what to do