His eyes darted to the shower, then back to me. “Do you want to take a shower?”
I lowered my gaze. My body was a mess. Shame filled me and tears burned my eyes. I swallowed hard, desperate to hold the tears at bay while my lower lip quivered.
Jungkook’s hand gently took my chin between his fingers. “Let me help you, Reina.”
Our gazes held. The love he gave was like writing on a fogged window, but the steam from the hot shower wiped it out. He said he loved me. I couldn’t say it back. I felt dirty. Broken.
“Is it okay if I take your clothes off?” His words were soft as a whisper.
I swallowed and opened my mouth to give permission. I couldn’t find my voice so I just nodded. Gently he helped me up and I stood like a child, my gaze never wavering from him.
He reached around me, his big hand feather light against my skin and all the while, his eyes remained on my face. As if he waited for panic to kick in. Gripping the hem of my tank top, he pulled it gently over my head and discarded it on the floor. He hooked his fingers in my panties and gently slid them down my legs.
He removed his tie, then his jacket followed. Panic flickered in my chest. My chest squeezed. Oxygen couldn’t find its way into my lungs. Tremors rolled down my body.
“I’ll leave my clothes on, Reina,” he quickly assured and my eyes found his, looking for truth in them. “I’m just going to get rid of the jacket, vest, my holster and shoes. Okay?”
I swallowed hard. Another nod.
His holster followed, then he kicked off his shoes and socks.
He gently nudged me into the shower, both of us stepping under the spray of it together.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he rasped, reaching for a cloth and bodywash. “You can hit me too. Hard.”
My lips tugged up. It was as if I gave him the biggest gift, because light flickered in his eyes. Our gazes locked, and it was as if he held his breath. But words failed me.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I answered softly, my voice barely a whisper.
He started to wash my body, the primrose scent filling the luxurious shower. He lathered every inch of my body, softly and so gently, it almost brought tears to my eyes.
He lowered down to his knees, washing my left foot, then my right foot. Then he rose to his full height, and washed my hair. He poured shampoo into his palms, then slowly rubbed it into my hair, his touch feather light.
Then he rinsed it off, and repeated the process with the conditioner.
When he was done, he brushed his mouth against my forehead, then turned off the water and reached for the large, plush towel, patted my body dry and then wrapped it around me. He did the same process with my hair, patting it dry.
“Good?” he asked, his voice thick with emotions. Not sure what kind and I didn’t dare to ask.
“Thank you.”
A terse nod. We stepped out of the shower together, water dripping off his clothes. “You’re going to get sick,” I murmured.
His gaze followed down his body, then came back to me. “Are you okay if I take my clothes off?”
“Sure.”
His movements were efficient and quick as he stripped out of his clothes. For a few moments, he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door open. I watched him head to the closet, digging out a change of clothes. I watched his muscles shift as he changed into a dry pair of boxers and pulled a pair of pajama pants on.