Disoriented, Faith snapped awake, and then remembered, 'I'm at the Blue Star Inn.'
The bed was empty beside her and there were faint sounds coming from the bathroom. The sky outside was gray and it matched her mood. The aches in her body had found new strength, after being overpowered by the pleasure she'd felt last night.
Faith trudged to the bathroom, impatient for some Tylenol, and thinking, 'No more sex.'
The bathroom was steamy. Holder stood naked shaving his reflection. That was okay, because she was naked too and it only seemed fair. Faith really didn't give a damn if there were ten men in the room -- naked or dressed -- as long as they didn't get in her way.
Holder stopped shaving to look.
'What's he doing? Smiling?' her headache pounded harder from the thought of someone happy at the sight of her.
"Good morning, Sunshine."
"Get real," she grumbled, dragging her fingers across his buttocks as she passed.
Finding the medicine bottle and shaking out two tablets, Faith pushed him out of the way, popped the pills, cupped her hands under the running water, drank them down and moved onto the toilet where she sat and peed.
Then she wandered into the shower. It had seats. 'Great. I'm already tired of standing.'
Adjusting the temperature up beyond hot to sterilize, Faith sat in the spray, waiting for medicinal relief. 'What the hell am I doing here? I should be home. I've got so much work to do.'
Without a word, her naked man with the nice ass entered the shower. He sat down on the other seat and began soaping a washcloth. Kneeling, he began to wash her legs.
That felt kind of nice.
After the initial sudsy application, he apparently didn't like the washcloth and soaped up his hands instead, which felt even better.
Faith just watched -- almost detached.
When her legs were lathered, he brandished a safety razor and began carefully removing the stubble.
Her body tensed.
"Relax, Babe, I know the difference between cutting down trees and trimming limbs." Performing some kind of friction test, he rubbed his smooth cheek against her thigh.
Faith just closed her eyes, ignoring the fear factor, and let the man work unimpeded. Soon, both legs were shorn smooth without blood loss.
"Are there any tools you aren't an expert with?" After all, if he was going to provide full body-mechanic service she ought to know.
"I'm not very good with sewing machines. So don't ask me to make you any clothes."
He began washing the rest of her, with masterful precision.
"You're going to spoil me, Holder." Suddenly her aches weren't so bad. 'Must be the Tylenol.'
"No I'm not. I'm just giving you some tender loving care. Or maybe I'm just taking advantage of your weakened condition." As self-incriminating evidence, he vacuumed one of her nipples into his mouth for a moment, and then demanded, "Get your head wet so I can feel up your scalp."
Faith bent over and rested her elbows on her knees and her jaw on her fists.
First, Bill washed her back and then, pouring shampoo into his palm, his fingers began kneading her not-so-throbbing skull.
She felt the 'not-so' change to not at all.
When the hair was done, he stood and directed the spray to rinse off the soap.
"Okay, Babe, stand up so I can get those hard to reach places." A wicked smile telegraphed his intent, while his soapy hands bubbled over with joy.
Thinking 'Might as well let him finish what he started,' Faith stood up and placed one foot on the seat.
Bill squatted eye level with the dirty bits. Reaching between her legs with one hand, he slowly swiped his fingers down from her spine and onto her buttocks, working them into the cleft. When he reached the bottom he cleansed the area with provocative oscillations. And then, with a fresh coat of soap, he repeated the act for verification. This jack-of-all-trades and master of her body, stood and lingered, soaping up his digits while admiring his handiwork. Pulling her gently against his chest, he turned her back into the spray and massaged her tush, separating the hills to flood the valley.
Faith, weakened by the intimate attention, leaned on him for support, feeling more than just tired. 'Why am I letting him do this? I said no sex. But this isn't really sex...'
A sudsy hand slipped between her legs and it suddenly became sexual. His fingers, disguised as washing machines, plinked clitoral neurons into the spin cycle.
"Mmm," She moaned, lips against his chest.
And then he stopped, turned her into the spray, and fluffed her pubes for a complete rinse. "There ya' go girl. All done," he said, patting her buns on the way out.
Following him, she muttered, "Thanks... I think," and walked into a towel he held open. Then got wrapped, patted and stroked dry.
A robe appeared and she slipped into it.
Bill pointed to the side of the tub, and said, "Sit, so I can comb your hair."
'Why am I acting like such a baby?' She sighed. 'Because it feels so good,' she decided. 'It's nice to be pampered and fussed over. It's nice to be his, and to be without any lofty purpose for a while.'
"Everything all right, Babe?"
"No, but it's getting better," she said, forcing a smile to please him. 'Why do I please him? What does he see in me?' The thought nagged her psyche, until his damp, naked body moved away to dry itself and she enjoyed watching the process. His penis had a little starch in it. There was satisfaction knowing she'd put it there, in an offhand way.
"I'm going to Rochester. Do you want to ride along? I'll be stopping to see my brother and I have to pick up some things from storage. I'll be back late."
This trip didn't sound very appealing, but the idea of spending the day alone didn't either. Irrational fears popped up. Fighting them back, she replied, "You go on. I'll wait here and sleep."
Sulking, Faith left the bathroom and flopped onto the bed, face first. Her head started to throb again.
Feeling ugly, Faith thought, 'Sure, go have fun without me. I don't want anybody to see me like this anyway,' and then chided herself, 'I'm such a baby.'
The bathroom door opened.
She sensed Bill was looking at her. 'I'm such a selfish bitch, laying here, having a pity party.'
The mattress compressed under his weight. His hand rubbed her bottom through the robe, and he said, "I'm hungry. Do you mind if I grab something to eat?"
Keeping her face buried in the quilt, Faith answered with a flat, "No."
His weight lifted from the bed. Without warning, powerful hands gripped her waist, rolled her over and bodily dragged her to the edge. The robe bunched up around her hips and her legs hung down.
Kneeling between her thighs, he said, "Thanks, Babe," and nuzzled his smooth cheeks between her smooth thighs.
She felt his warm breath against her hair. He placed her legs over his shoulders, and plied his tongue easily between her labia, while his hands worked over the top to spread her open. Feeling the tingle of desire growing, Faith said, "No, Bill, stop."
He sprang away from her, apologizing, "I'm sorry, Faith," and covered her with the robe. "I thought after the shower you'd be a little turned on and might like some relief," he laughed softly, and said, "I know it turned me on."
"Is that all I am, a good sport fuck?" Her voice was angrier than she intended, and it felt mean. But it also felt good in a strange way, to strike out and judge his reaction. To test if she could chase him off, and prove she was nothing important, like she felt.
Bill stood, glaring. "That hurt, Faith."
"I'm a bitch. It took you six days to find out. You must be slow." She rolled over onto her stomach to hide the tears. "I need some sleep. My body aches all over. Sex is the last thing I want."
Touching her calf, he said, "Sorry Faith, I shouldn't have pushed. I just thought you were feeling better after last night and..."
"I'll shoot up a flare when I'm ready, Holder," she interrupted, "That way you won't get your signals crossed."
His footsteps sounded quick and determined, striding to the closet. When Faith heard the outside door close, she cried out, "Saving my life doesn't mean you own me!" Then softly, she whimpered, "Sure, just run away. Leave the crazy bitch. You don't need me screwing up your life. Go build a skyscraper to prove what a man you are, not some puny bunkhouse."
Ten minutes later, noises downstairs broke into her brooding funk. Clutching her robe closed, Faith moved to the stairs, and yelled, "Who's there?"
"Sophia, get your scrawny ass down here and eat some breakfast."
Feeling immense relief, Faith answered sweetly, "Coming Mel," letting the robe fall open as she descended.
This was her first visit downstairs. She stopped halfway to study the room. French doors, similar to the upstairs, opened onto a private lakeside deck. A comfy couch and two matching chairs were arranged facing the water. In a corner stood a cabinet where she guessed the TV was hidden. In the back was a small dining area with a fridge and microwave.
