“Can I look over my shoulder at you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
When she did, concern crossed her expression as she noted a red mark on his thigh. He’d already seen it himself, knew it was probably something he’d hit when he’d fallen out of his chair. “It’s okay,” he said. “The skin’s not broken. It might bruise, but it’s not a big deal. Hey.”
Her face had creased like she was in pain. He leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand on the bed while he cupped her face. “Turn back toward the other way. I want to get you warm.”
“I’m okay.”
“I know that.” He tightened his grip, looked her in the eye. “Do as I say.”
She turned. He normally needed to rearrange his pillows to pad between his knees and other places susceptible to pressure sores, but this was fine for a short period. He didn’t want any barriers between them. When he was finally in the right position to put his arm around her waist, and she scooted her butt into the cradle of his pelvis, it was more than worth the risk.
He could feel the give of her buttocks against those faint tingling spots in his thighs, her back against his chest, her side against his circling arm.
He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling her. He was holding her in his arms, naked and smooth, a bundle of sweet female scents. The little quivers he felt had to be stress, but maybe other things, too.
“I loved watching you climax,” he murmured. “Did it feel good?”
A pause, then a slow nod. “I’m sorry about after.”
He tightened his arm around her. “You don’t apologize to me, not ever, unless I ask you for that. Got it?”
After a long moment, she nodded again.
“Good.” He paused. "Did you ever talk to Les about sex?”
He steeled himself against the horror of the possibility, but since his sister was a grown woman, he'd get through it.
"No." She shook her head. "No one talks to me about this. Except you."
"Have you talked to the head doc about it? Particularly the way your uncle reacted to you getting worked up like that? Having an orgasm?"
Which made him recall her next appointment with Dr. Taylor was tomorrow morning. Good timing.
"We talk about other things. Until now…it wasn't a topic we needed to cover. She says I need to, but I haven’t.”
While she seemed to respond well to his commands, he wouldn’t go that route on this. "Can you do me a favor? Can you bring it up with her?"
"I'll try. Yes. But I feel better…when you talk to me about it."
"I'm worried about fucking up, honey. Saying the wrong thing."
She tilted her head enough to look back at him. "Sometimes I think people are too careful around me. You know what I mean?"
Yeah, he did.
Her smile was tremulous around the edges. "It's like they think I'm carrying a bomb inside me, and if they say or do the wrong thing, I'll explode into a million pieces.” Her expression sobered. “But I guess I proved that’s what can happen.”
“That’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re dealing with a lot. What I’m trying to say is that’s why she’s there. Like my example about the PT. She’s someone trained to help you with anything I can’t, or you can’t figure out yourself. Just a suggestion, okay?”
Slow nod again. He had his hand over hers, and she moved it so his palm was over her breasts, his fingers resting in the hills and valleys, and then she cupped her other hand over that, pressed her hips deeper into the cradle of his. Anyone else, he’d say she was purposefully trying to tease him, but it was more like she was burrowing while trying to pull him around her like a blanket. He could do that.
He nudged her hair aside, put his lips to her neck, nuzzling her. “I liked watching you go over that edge, explode a whole different way.”
He stroked her breast, fingers extending from where she held their hands tangled. “I want to do that to you again.”
Her fingers quivered. “I’m afraid I’ll…explode the other way again.”
“Did it feel good to you, before that?”
She thought about it. “Yes,” she said at last.
“Then don’t worry about it. When you open a valve, the water pressure is intense. After that, it levels out, pours out in a smooth stream.”
Her lips pressed together. He lifted his head enough to get a better look at her, and narrowed his eyes when he caught a smirk. “You’re trying not to laugh at me.”
The smile broke through, and she did chuckle a little. He gave her a reproving pinch on her buttock, then smoothed his hand over it, resisting the very strong urge to fondle, take a firmer grip and knead. “So you don’t think I should pursue a career as a romance author? Or a poet?”
“I think you are a very good store manager.”
He laughed out loud. Her head turned, her eyes roving over his face, her lips parting.
She obviously liked watching him laugh. When she lifted her fingers to touch his mouth, he kissed them, then cupped her face, running a caressing thumb over her cheek. Her eyes grew thoughtful again. She settled her head back onto the pillow, dipped her head over their hands.
“What are you thinking?” he said, putting his mouth back to her throat, teasing there, giving her a hint of teeth. She shivered at the edge.
“Can I do that for you?” she said. “What you did for me?”
It didn’t surprise him that she’d thought of that. She was unfailingly generous, always thinking of ways she could help and serve others.
“You sure can. When I tell you it’s okay. Right now, I want to take my time enjoying your body, your reactions. All that arousal that happens between your legs? Eventually I want to taste it. Put my mouth there, make you come that way.”
She stilled. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking about that, but he decided to go another way. “You seemed to like the spanking the other night. It didn’t seem to upset you.”
“No...they didn’t ever…not like that. He—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. She flinched, and he cursed himself. Tried again, calmer.
“I said ‘don’t,’ because I didn’t want you to go there in your head.” He took a breath. “But is it hard to do that? It’s all right to tell me.”
“No,” she said after a long moment, confirming the truth he was having trouble accepting. “I like my life so much more now, Rory. But then, it was just different. Wrong or right, good or bad…it was just my life.”
She shook her head, “It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, when they praised me or were more kind, it made me feel…”
"Like you mattered."
"Yes. Dr. Taylor says that helped them keep me in a situation where I wouldn’t reach out for help, and I understand that. But she also said it wasn't wrong for me to accept that kindness for what it was worth. Or see my life how I saw it then, the bad and not so bad. If it helped me survive it." She took a breath. “But when you get mad about it, it feels like I’ve said or done something wrong, bringing it up.”
That made total sense. She had to be able to talk about this stuff, without him reacting. How the hell did he do that?