"Oh!" I said. It was horrible to see him in such pain. "Let me clean that up for you."

Glad I could do something to help him, I grabbed some cotton batting from the dressing table and walked to the sink that stood in the corner of the room to moisten it with some cold water. I drew close to him and then spread my legs so that I had one thigh on either side of his lap and his head was level with my breasts. I was so close to him that the heat from his body made mine even warmer and I could see every tiny scar on his face. My whole body was singing and tingling, and I was sure he'd hear how fast my pulse was racing. My cunt hovered just a few inches away from his naked, sweaty, glistening torso. His cornflower blue eyes looked up into mine.

"Be gentle with me," he joked. "I couldn't take another blow tonight."

I didn't reply but instead bathed his wound with the wet cotton, cleaning the blood and the sweat from his broken, swollen skin. The injury beneath wasn't all that bad. I cleaned him up, touching him more tenderly than I'd ever touched anyone. Soothingly I stroked his hair and told him that it was all going to be okay. Without thinking about what I was doing, I pulled his head toward me and cradled it in between my breasts. I had meant it as a comforting rather than sexual gesture, but his soft damp cheek on my cleavage sent a jolt of arousal through me that made me gasp. Over the locker-room smell of his dressing room, I could detect another, musky scent: my own juices beginning to ooze out of my pussy. If I could smell it, surely he could, too.

I rocked him back and forth as he nuzzled his head deeper and deeper into my cleavage. When he lifted a bandaged hand to my top, pulled down a strap to expose my breast, and put his lips gently to my nipple, it seemed like the only course of action he could have taken.