“You have two minutes to disrobe or I’ll be doing it for you,” he hissed before walking out of the bathroom, leaving the door open.
I held on to the pillar stand that mounted a fern plant pot as I pulled off my bra, leggings, and underwear. I kicked them into a corner and slowly sauntered to the shower. I was winded at the door of it. Azmir’s shower could comfortably fit five people and stuff seven. There were at least a dozen jet nozzles in there so I knew that I’d catch water somewhere, but looking at the massive space inside overwhelmed me. I didn’t have the strength to wash. No sooner than that revelation hit, Azmir was right back at my side, placing my shower cap on my head, lifting me into the shower, and setting me on the bench.
I eventually noticed he was naked and gathered he was going to wash with me. As much as I was discomfited by my torpid state, I was relieved that he understood my needs without me having to express them. It was as if he’d read my mind. Azmir was always good at anticipating my needs. He knew that much of them would never be lodged if left to my own devices. I was not yet programmed to reach out for assistance. It was now clear to me that he understood this.
He took his time washing me until I adamantly told him that I would take care of my private parts and that he had to turn his head. He then began washing himself, providing me privacy. I knew that task would require no sensitivity, but a thorough and aggressive sweeping instead. When we were done, he dried himself off, returned to turn off the shower and carried me out to the center rug and dried me off. I sat back on the chaise when he hurried out of the bathroom and quickly returned, holding a short silk slip in one hand and one of his clean white tank tees in the other.
“I figured you’d need easy access in case you’re not done and will need something cool to help with the hot flashes.” He gave a soft smile.
He was being sensitive to my disgusting situation. If I wasn’t so sick, I’d lick him from head to toe. His body was still dewy, exposing his stony abs, masterfully sculpted shoulders, and muscular arms. He wore only a Supmia towel, also affording me a view of his strong columnar legs and bare feet. Azmir was a work of art, worthy of the highest bid.
I opted for his tee, seeing nothing sexy about this ordeal and therefore the slip should be spared. He helped me with it on. As I brushed my teeth, he stood close behind me, slipping on his boxers, basketball shorts, T-shirt, and black ankle socks. I couldn’t ignore the muscular contour of his lengthy frame. I was beyond content with his mildly slender, yet solid physique. Azmir wasn’t bulky like body-builders, but was cut up so well that nearly every muscle was defined.
Once out of the bathroom, he led me over to the sitting room. I insisted that I walked no matter how slow I had to wander to get there. He gathered pillows to set up a comfortable spot for me to rest in. As he handed me the remote, he stood over me to assess my disposition.
“I’m starving and I know you need to eat something, too. I saw you had leftovers from Chef Boyd’s meals this week in there, so I can find enough scraps to make myself a meal. For you, it’ll be BRAT.”
He must have read the perplexity in my face. “Bananas, rice, applesauce or toast. I called a physician friend of mine and gave him a rundown of your symptoms. I assured him it wasn’t likely pregnancy since you’re still within your normal cycle.”
What the hell? How does Azmir know my cycle? Did he count days? Even I wasn’t that good! I was too shocked by his sheer confidence in my bodily schedule to ask.
I continued to listen. “He says by the sounds of it, you have some sort of stomach virus and can be miserable for the next twenty-four hours, at least. So, that’s probably about all your system can handle right now. And the biggest challenge is going to be keeping you hydrated.” Azmir paused for my selection.
Errrrrrrr! “Toast.”