“Well, as long as you understand that I really do mean it when I say I know what I can tolerate—and that you don’t need to worry.”
She nods. “Okay. I believe you.” She ponders something a moment, then claps her hands on her thighs, over the blanket. “Okay, so. Here’s my plan—I need a shower, and then we pack up and check out, go eat, and then hit the road. I dunno about you, but I’m sick to death of this freaking room.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say. “You, um…are you good to shower on your own?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Why—are you volunteering your assistance, Mr. Britton?” It comes across equal parts silly yet suggestive.
“I am indeed, Ms. Park.” I touch my hand to the back of hers. “I mean that in a just-help-you sense, too, Jolene.”
She tangles her fingers with mine. “I know.” She kicks the blankets aside, wrinkling her nose at the smell released—stale, musty human, and sickness; sickness has its own particular scent. “Sorry about the smell—that’s why I need a shower.”
“No worries.”
“There goes the mystique, right?” She shifts to the edge of the bed and plants her feet on the floor, testing her body as she works slowly and carefully to her feet. “Not too bad. A little achy, but not bad.”
She walks normally, if a bit slowly. She’s noticeably thinner, having gone most of three days without eating on an already thin frame.
She stops at the doorway of the bathroom, hand on the frame, looking at me over her shoulder. “Something you should understand about me, Wes: the transitions from bad day to good day and back can be pretty abrupt. It hits me like that, just…all at once, like a freight train. But when it starts to fade, like right now, I like to try to just…go right back to acting normal. Even if I may not feel a hundred percent, once I can get up and move on my own, I’m not gonna sit around and wallow in my own stink. So, I guess I’m saying it might be kind of jarring. And I just hope you can keep up. Because now that I’m feeling better, Cancer Girl is gone, and I’m just Jolene again.” Her eyes rake me, search me. “And by that I mean, the Jolene who was in that bed with you before I started feeling crappy. If you know what I mean.”
Don’t walk on eggshells, she means. Once she indicates she’s back with the program, forget the bad day ever happened. She wants the fun back. The sensuality, the exploration. Put the bad day behind us and get back to the good.
I cross the room, stand facing her, gazing down at her. “So what you’re saying is, you don’t need help in the shower, but I should still help out. You know. Just in case.”
Her grin is heated. “Exactly. It’s been a rough few days for you, too, I know. And also, we really should conserve water, right? Shower together?”
I touch her cheekbone, trace down to her jaw. “You know, I’ve only ever showered alone.”
“Me too. But that’s a duh. I’ve never done anything.”
I bend, touch my lips to hers. “The real question here is how hot do you like your showers?”
She smirks. “Somewhere between scalding and ‘I might be on fire.’”
“No cold showers for you?”
She shudders. “God, no.” A dark expression crosses her face. “Bad experience with cold showers. I, um—part of this whole leukemia thing is being prone to infection. So, I’ve had some pretty bad fevers, of the variety that means I have to get dunked into a cold shower before my brain fries like an egg. So yeah. No cold showers for me.” A sigh. “Aaaaaaaand…mood killed.”
I press against her, walking her backward into the bathroom. Kick the door closed. Her vivid, expressive green eyes seek mine, looking for something—I’m not sure what. Falseness? Pity? Hesitation?
She won’t find it.
I have to trust that she knows what she wants and what she’s capable of and ready for. If she wants to put the sickness behind us, then I’m on board. Compartmentalize—like it seems she does. Cancer Girl and Jolene are different people, in a sense. I can separate them. Trust her, follow her lead.
The heat and the eagerness in her expression make it easy to fall into the right mentality, the right mood. Her desire for me—visible in her eyes, her expression, in every line of her body—ignites my own.
I shake my head. “The mood is very much alive, as a matter of fact.”
I reach past her and twist on the hot water. Peel my shirt off and toss it on the floor at our feet. Keep my eyes locked on hers. I know she’ll be nervous about getting totally naked with me for the first time, so if I get naked first, maybe that’ll put her more at ease. Moving slowly and with telegraphed deliberation, I unbutton and unzip my jeans and step out of them. Nudge them aside with my foot. Her hands lift to touch my chest, a hesitant graze of her fingertips against my skin, as if reminding herself that it really is okay to touch me.
I’m a little nervous for this next step, myself. It’s been a while since I was naked with anyone.
I hesitate. Lick my lips and swallow. Not trying to hide my own nerves; if she sees my nerves, her own won’t feel as out of place.
Hook my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear at my hip bones. I’m nearly fully erect, by now. Her eyes widen, anticipating. Flick down, then almost too quickly back up to mine. As if embarrassed to get caught looking at me.
I slide the underwear down, past the rigid bar of my hard-on, and then straighten as they drop to the floor, and I toe them aside. Naked, now, I cover her hands with mine, still resting on my chest.
“Jo, listen to me.” I sidle closer. An inch, maybe less, separates our bodies, my naked one and her partly clothed one. “You’re allowed to look, and you’re allowed to touch.” I release her hands and touch her cheeks, then her arms, then rest my hands on her hips. “And by allowed, I mean looking and touching are encouraged. That’s what this is about.”
She swallows hard, and her eyes drop to my erection—her eyes fly open wide. “Wow,” she breathes. “Just…wow.”
It’s difficult to not grin at a reaction like that. “That old thing? Had it for years,” I quip.
She laughs, but her eyes don’t leave my arousal. “It’s…it’s huge.”
I honestly have no idea how I…compare, or measure, or whatever. It sounds kind of douchey to say I’ve never had any complaints, especially since there are only two people who could complain, and one of them was a virgin. But if Jo says it’s huge, in an awed tone of voice, I’m not going to argue or complain. It does make a man feel good about himself to hear that.
She looks up at my eyes, then, as steam begins to swirl and writhe between us. Her hand trails down my chest, to my stomach. Halts, hesitates a few inches above my member.
“There’s no right or wrong, Jo,” I whisper. “Touch me if you want, or don’t, if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” she says in a rush. “I just…I guess I’m nervous, and it feels kind of silly to be nervous, but…”
I shake my head, keep my hands on her hips. “It’s okay to be nervous.”
“Can I…admit something else that might be kind of embarrassing?” She presses her fingertips into the indentations at my hips, daring nearer. “I, um…I know about sex, like, I’ve had sex education. The birds and the bees, or whatever. Obviously. I just…I don’t know…” A sigh, and she starts over. “I’m very sheltered, as you may have gathered. You gave me my first orgasm the other day. And I didn’t even know…” A shake of her head. “I knew about orgasms, like I’ve heard of them. But knowing the facts doesn’t prepare you for the reality. And that’s my own body. Touching you is…different.”