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136 | FRANCESCA P E NN

trouble looking at her shower. I remember the last time I was in it and what I did
to her.
“Strip.” God, I’ve been dreaming of her saying that to me for two long weeks.

Unfortunately, it isn’t in the clinical context being used now.
“Sanya…”
“Now, Henry.” With a sigh, I pull off my shirt although part of me likes the
attention. I miss her. We haven’t spoken as much as we would have presexfest. I see
a brief flicker of awareness in her eyes before she smothers it. Sanya studies my
body.
“You have a scratch on the side of your wrist. You are forming a bruise on the

side of your forearm, and you have a scratch on your elbow. How did you do this?”
“I fell while playing basketball.”
She shakes her head and unties the waist of my shorts. She pushes them down
with my underwear. She kneels in front of me to make sure my clothes do not rub
the wound. Again, something I want just in the wrong context. She helps me into
the shower.
“Give me the detachable showerhead.”
Oh, the memories I have with that showerhead. I groan as I hand it over. She
thinks it was because of the pain.

“I’ll be gentle,” she promises.
She rinses my arm then washes the scrapes with her vaginal soap. “Did you just
use your…woman soap on me.”
She nods. “You are supposed to use a mild, gentle soap on wounds. I can’t
think of anything gentler.”

Sanya moves to my leg, and the water hurts so much I bite my hand to keep
from crying out. When did knee scrapes become so painful? She eyes it with
concern.
“You scraped most of your knee.” She continues to rinse it a few minutes then
squeezes her soap in her hand. She washes it gently; it still hurts like a bitch. Sanya
rinses it again; I watch my blood wash down the drain with the soap.
Her eyes focus on me as if she is just now realizing I am naked. A hint of color
flushes her cheeks. Sanya springs to her feet and takes a step back.
“Do you have it from here?”