Sinful Ecstasy || Park Jimin ✓

32: Everything

[One week later]

Jimin switches off the shower and takes my hand, leading me out and enfolding me in my bathrobe. Grabbing a towel, he wraps it around his waist, then takes a smaller one and begins to gently dry my hair.

When he's satisfied, he swathes the towel around my head so that in the large mirror over the sink I look like I'm wearing a veil.

He's standing behind me and our eyes meet in the mirror, smoldering black to dark brown, and it gives me an idea. "Can I reciprocate?" I ask.

He nods, though his brow creases. I reach for another towel from the plethora of fluffy towels stacked beside the vanity, and standing before him on tiptoe, I start to dry his hair.

He bends forward, making the process easier, and as I catch the occasional glimpse of his face beneath the towel, I see he's grinning at me like a small boy.

"It's a long time since anyone did this to me. A very long time," he murmurs, but then frowns. "In fact I don't think anyone has ever dried my hair."

"Nobody dried your hair when you were young?" He shakes his head, hampering my progress. "No. My step-mother respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her. I was very self-sufficient as a child," he says quietly.

I feel a swift kick in the ribs as I think of a small black haired child looking after himself because no one else cares. The thought is sickeningly sad. But I don't want my melancholy to hijack this blossoming intimacy.

"Well, I'm honored," I gently tease him. "That you are, Miss Lee. Or maybe it is I who am honored."

"That goes without saying, Mr. Park," I respond tartly. I finish with his hair, reach for another small towel, and move around to stand behind him.

Our eyes meet again in the mirror, and his watchful, questioning look prompts me to speak. "Can I try something?"

After a moment, he nods. Warily, and very gently, I run the soft cloth down his left arm, soaking up the water that has beaded on his skin.

Glancing up, I check his expression in the mirror. He blinks at me, his eyes burning into mine. I lean forward and kiss his bicep, and his lips part infinitesimally.

I dry his other arm in a similar fashion, trailing kisses around his bicep, and a small smile plays on his lips.

Carefully, I wipe his back beneath the faint lipstick line, which is still visible. I hadn't gotten round to washing his back.

"Whole back," he says quietly, "with the towel." He takes a sharp breath and screws his eyes closed as I briskly dry him, careful to touch him only with the towel.

He has such an attractive back; broad, sculptured shoulders, all the small muscles clearly defined. He really looks after himself.

When I finish he exhales, and I lean forward and reward him with a kiss on his shoulder. Putting my arms around him, I dry his stomach. Our eyes meet once more in the mirror, his expression amused but wary, too.

"Hold this." I hand him a smaller face towel, and he gives me a bemused frown. "Remember in Itaewon? You made me touch myself using your hands,"  I add.

His face darkens, but I ignore his reaction and put my arms around him. Gazing at us both in the mirror—his beauty, his nakedness, and me with my covered hair—we look
almost Biblical, as if from an Old Testament baroque painting.

I reach for his hand, which he willingly entrusts to me, and guide it up to his chest to dry it, sweeping the towel slowly, awkwardly across his body. Once, twice—then again.

He's completely immobilized, rigid with tension, except for his eyes, which follow my hand clasped around his.

My subconscious looks on with approval, his normally pursed mouth smiling, and I am the supreme puppet master. His anxiety ripples off his back in waves, but he maintains
eye contact, though his eyes are darker, more deadly.

Showing their secrets maybe. Is this a place I want to go? Do I want to confront his demons?

"I think you're dry now," I whisper as I drop my hand, gazing into the dark depths of his eyes in the mirror. His breathing is accelerated, lips parted.

"I need you, love," he whispers. "I need you, too." And as I say the words, I am struck how true they are. I cannot imagine being without Jimin, ever.

"Let me love you," he says hoarsely. "Yes," I answer, and turning, he hauls me into his arms, his lips seeking mine, beseeching me, worshipping me, cherishing me. Loving Me.

----------------------------

Jimin trails his fingers up and down my spine as we gaze at each other, basking in our postcoital bliss, replete.

We lie together, me on my front hugging my pillow, he on his side, and I am treasuring his tender touch.

I know that right now he needs to touch me. I am a balm for him, a source of solace, and how could I deny him that? I feel exactly the same about him.

"So you can be gentle," I murmur.
"Hmm . . . so it would seem, Miss Lee."
I grin. He stares down his nose at me in that superior way he has with his lopsided grin.

Leaning down, he kisses me gently. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me feel, love?" he murmurs and I smile before replying.

"Yes . . . I know exactly. Because you do the same for me, Jimin."

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