A Lovely Shade of Ouch

by Tymber Dalton

  Now fear set in. “George?” She walked around the house, even opening John’s bedroom door and going in there to see if she could find him.

  No George.

  With a lot of pain, she got down on her hands and knees and looked under the couch, under the chairs, under the table, under her own bed since her bedroom door had been open.

  No George.

  Panic, and now tears, set in.

  She fumbled at the sliding glass doors and threw them open, terrified that somehow, he might have gotten out and into the pool, when—

  She froze. Only because she realized the table and chairs that had been in the far corner of the lanai were now moved and wedged in between the hot tub and the pool.

  At the far end of the lanai where the table and chairs used to be, apparently not complete but in progress, lay George’s outside enclosure.

  In progress, because it was twice as big and now an L-shape, and was only half-filled with substrate and plants from the plastic storage tubs. Positioned partly under the roof overhang, and partly in the sun, not only had John enlarged the enclosure, he’d put new weed barrier cloth underneath it, with hardware cloth under that for strength and support. She knew that because George was currently sunning himself on a patch of the black weed barrier and the hardware cloth was barely visible underneath it. It looked like John had wrapped it around the edges on the outside of the wood frame and stapled it into place.

  That was where John found her standing ten minutes later when he arrived, unexpected and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. He caught her just as she’d managed to stop crying, but the sight of him let loose another flood of tears.

  He walked over, arms open. She let him pull her in for a hug, unable to express her gratitude.

  He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Dang, I thought I’d have more time before you got home to get it finished.”

  “I was looking all over the house for him because I thought he got loose and…thank you.”

  “Sorry. We were going to surprise you. I even got George a bow to put on his shell.”

  That started her laughing. “This is…I’ll pay you back.”

  “No, you won’t. I wanted to do this for him. I felt bad about him doing laps in that other one. I figured I’d be going a little stir-crazy, too, if I suddenly got downsized like that.” He dragged a chair over for her from the table and went to get the romaine lettuce from where she’d dropped it on the counter when she realized George was MIA.

  Then she watched as John hauled in several more bags of topsoil, coconut coir, and three more paving stones to make basking rocks for George.

  “How did you know what to put in there?” she asked.

  “I researched. Hey, Tortoise Town has to be right.”

  “Tortoise Town?”

  “Yep. That’s what I’m calling it.”

  “Did you take the day off work just to do this?”

  “Yep.” He smiled up at her from where he was transferring plants from the indoor enclosure. “I needed a day off anyway. I feel bad I gave you a scare.”

  “No, don’t worry about it. This is just…I have no words.”

  So. Many. Ellipses.

  Her thoughts had drifted past the point of knowing what to say to him. She was left with being forced to do little more than simply process.

  She didn’t have words. John had rendered her speechless.

  Wait until I tell Tilly.

  He’d even made provisions for the UVB and basking lamps and set them on a timer, hooked to an apparently new electrical outlet he’d installed along the back wall with external conduit.

  “Been meaning to add another couple of outlets out here anyway,” he joked.

  “I have no idea how to thank you for this.”

  His smile widened. “You just did. Like I said, fixing things, making them better, that’s my fetish. It was my pleasure to do this for you. And George. I’m already working on what we can do to improve the house for him when it gets colder this winter. I’m going to install a heat lamp, but set it on a temperature-sensitive switch so it’ll automatically trip and turn on if it gets too cold.”

  “They make such a thing?”

  “Sure.”

  She watched him work. Realization hit, and she spoke the words before she thought about them. The pain pill, probably. “This is how you’re avoiding your grief, isn’t it?” she quietly asked. “Over your friend.”

  His shoulders tensed a little, but he didn’t respond at first. “We all work through things in our own way,” he finally said.

  * * * *

  John had called Nancy that morning before he drove down to their house to visit her. As he’d expected, with the funeral over, most of their friends and extended family had gone back to their lives, leaving Nancy and the kids, except for her brother and his family, alone.

  After visiting with them for about an hour, he’d hit his emotional limit and made excuses that he had to leave.

  Working on George’s enclosure without gloves, cutting the hardware cloth with tin snips and having the pokey ends scratching him, digging into his flesh, that’d been therapy. That it was helping Abbey made the pain so much sweeter.

  I’ll take my masochism where I can get it, any way I can get it.

  And, obviously, she was happy with the results.

  He knew George was. The tortoise had immediately started exploring as soon as he’d transferred him over to the new enclosure.

  If anything he did made her not want to move out, he’d do it and keep doing it. Get her comfortable. Make her happy.

  Serve her.

  He suspected he was already well on the path to winning Tilly over. Once that happened, even Abbey wouldn’t—he hoped—be able to refuse.

  Even if all she did was live there and be his roommate, he’d be happy with that. Able to quietly serve her without her even realizing it.

  Maybe, one day, something more could happen.

  And if it didn’t…

  He didn’t want to think like that yet. He darn sure wouldn’t say it out loud for fear of coming off looking like a creepy guy.

  At least George was happy. And seeing the smile on Abbey’s face as she watched her beloved pet shamble around his new home would keep John satisfied for quite a while.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Sunday before Abbey’s surgery, there would be a Suncoast Society munch. Abbey had given serious thought about not going, but John talked her into it with logic, that it might be a while before she felt like going out once she had surgery. At least she didn’t have to worry about Tom being there. He’d flown home that first weekend, texted her a thank-you for picking up his mail, and asked if she could pick it up again the next week, too.

  Tilly told her to tell him to go to hell, but Abbey refused to be like that. She was determined to be the better person, completely at peace with how she’d handled herself and the situation.

  This week, the munch was being held at Torino’s. “I thought you didn’t go to many of the munches,” Abbey said to John.

  “I don’t, usually,” he said. “But I’ll go with you.”

  Not once in the nearly two weeks she’d lived with him had he been inappropriate. If anything, she felt bad that he wouldn’t let her help out more with chores. He kept telling her once her back healed that she could pitch in, but he’d sic Tilly on her if he caught her overdoing it.

  “I don’t want you going if you don’t want to go,” she said.

  “If you think I’m letting you drive all the way there alone, think again.”

  Her condition had deteriorated to the point that, for the past couple of days, Tilly had come over to drive her to and from work. Her last day of work had been Friday, and she’d spent most of Saturday either in bed, on the couch, or in the hot tub. John had become an expert at applying the leads for her TENS unit to her back, the only other thing that gave her any bit of pain relief besides the pain pills.

  “I could cal
l Tilly and see if they’re going,” she said.

  He gave her “the look,” as she was beginning to think of it. An arched eyebrow, the opposite corner of his mouth twisted in a scowl, his chin dipped as he stared at her. A look that meant he was done talking about it and had settled the issue in his mind. Usually the look he gave her when she tried to help clean up dishes or do other chores and he shut her down.

  “No,” he said. “I want to go, I’m taking you, and that’s that.”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d meant it sort of smartassedly, but it slipped from her mouth before she realized what she’d said.

  He laughed. “Be careful how you say that around me.” He walked over to where she sat on the couch and stared down at her. “Just because I’ve bottomed to you before doesn’t mean I won’t go all Dom on you to keep you in line until you’ve healed from your surgery. I’m a hell of a lot more scared by Tilly in her Domme mode than I am by you.”

  “Go all Dom on me, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He gave her “the look” again. “Ninety-five percent of my life is spent in a dominant headspace. I’m responsible for overseeing the health, welfare, and safety of hundreds of people in the course of my job. I’m no stranger to dealing with the press, attorneys, or upper management. You think I can’t apply that same backbone to you and this situation, think again, girl.”

  Her throat went dry as she stared up into his eyes. Today, in this light, they looked a little more hazel than green, but they were intently focused on her.

  She knew damn well he was joking around, but the thought seized her that, for once, it’d be nice to have someone to lean on in that way.

  Especially when her upcoming surgery terrified the living fuck out of her.

  She made a point of not blinking as she returned his gaze. “Yes, Sir,” she said again, more than a little amused to see the front of his shorts begin to tent.

  * * * *

  Oh…fuck.

  John wanted to grab Abbey by the hair and drag her to bed and knew there were a bunch of reasons that couldn’t happen, the first being her back injury, the second being they would need a long talk first.

  But with that tone, and that look of playful defiance, and that damn, gorgeous pouty lip of hers, it didn’t help that she was sitting at the perfect position he could shove his shorts down and—

  Fuck, focus!

  He knelt, grabbing her hands, eye to eye with her. “Abbey, I didn’t mean you had to—”

  “I know.” She still returned his gaze with those gorgeous green eyes. “But you said you like to fix things, right? That it’s your fetish?”

  He nodded.

  She squeezed his hands, hard. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “Even if it’s just between us for right now, until this is over…can I have that? It can be our secret. You don’t have to tell anyone.”

  He had to think for a moment before it finally hit home what she was asking. She hadn’t talked much about the surgery itself, even though he knew she wasn’t looking forward to it. He sat on the couch next to her and put his arms around her, his cock now wilting as the full impact of just how terrified she really felt struck home.

  “I’m scared about what’s going to happen after,” she whispered. “What if there’s a problem? What if he sneezes while he’s doing it and I’m in a wheelchair for the rest of my life? What if it doesn’t fix my pain and I’m hurting this bad, or worse, for the rest of my life? Who will take care of George if something happens to me?”

  He stroked her hair, his cheek pressed against her head, his eyes closed as he inhaled her scent and yet still tried to focus on what she was saying, to remain there for her.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “It’s all right to be scared. I’d be nervous if I were going through it. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. However you need me.”

  He kissed the top of her head, lingering. “If that’s what you need from me right now, I’m here for you. And no matter what, I promise I’ll take care of George. That’s one worry you don’t need to have.”

  He felt her sobs before he heard them, her body trembling, then shaking as she tried to hold them back and couldn’t. He suspected it was due in part to her nerves, and partially to the pain meds. He’d asked Tilly about it, noting a pattern of Abbey getting really emotional not long after taking a dose. Tilly had confirmed it was likely a side effect amplifying Abbey’s frayed emotional state.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Anything My girl wants or needs, that’s what My girl gets,” he softly said. It felt like the easiest designation, not sub, not slave, certainly no play would be happening right now. A term of endearment that didn’t ask or promise more than either of them could deliver at that moment and didn’t need any lengthy negotiations attached to it.

  She took a deep breath and relaxed in his arms. “What time do you want to leave for dinner?” she asked in a voice that didn’t sound much like the woman he’d come to know over the past couple of weeks. She sounded completely vulnerable in a way she hadn’t before.

  He cradled her chin in his palms, brushing her tears away with his thumbs. “We’ll leave at six. I want you to wear something comfortable. And do not forget your cane, understand?”

  She nodded. It was nearly impossible for her to stand up straight now without assistance. When she laid on the couch, she had to either be on her side with one knee drawn up, or if on her back, have several pillows under her knees to prop her legs up. He could only imagine the pain she was in.

  When it came time to leave, he made her hang on to his arm and helped her out to the car, getting it started and letting it run with the AC on while he went back to lock the house and set the alarm. On the drive there, she rested her hand on his thigh, a sweet, nearly painful distraction as his throbbing cock got uncomfortably pinched by his jeans.

  He wouldn’t adjust himself though, not a fan of CBT usually, but the pain a welcomed distraction nonetheless.

  There were a few familiar cars in the restaurant’s parking lot when they arrived. “So here’s how we’ll handle tonight,” he said. “I don’t want you discussing things that will upset you. All you have to say about Tom is that you’re no longer together, he took a job out of state, and that you’re living with me now.”

  He was all too aware of a couple of single “do-me” male submissives that frequently attended the munches. He’d heard Tilly talking about them. How they would swoop in and try to pester single female Dominants for attention.

  “Tonight,” he continued, “you stay on my arm, and let people make whatever assumptions they want to make. If anyone bugs you, I’ll take care of them for you. Understand?”

  She smiled. It was an increasingly rare sight lately as her pain levels climbed. “Yes, Sir. What about the introductions?”

  “We just say our names. Tony’s running it tonight. I’ll ask him not to give us a hard time.”

  He started to unfasten his seat belt when she reached out and stayed his hand. “Thank you, John,” she said.

  Those three words, from her, filled him like cool water on a parched afternoon.

  He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her lips. “You’re very welcome, Ab,” he said. Then he waggled his eyebrows at her to lighten the mood. “Thank you for willingly letting me indulge in my fetish.”

  A slightly wider smile from her that time.

  He’d consider it a win.

  * * * *

  Tilly and her guys showed up a few minutes after their arrival. John had seated Abbey at a table and went to speak with Tony, but then intercepted Tilly and had a quick word with her, too. She nodded and made a beeline for Abbey, settling in on her other side.

  “So what are you two planning, huh?” Abbey asked.

  Tilly smiled. “Noneyo.”

  Abbey rolled her eyes. “Is too my business, when it’s me y’all are plotting against.”

  “They’re not plotting against you, Abbey,” Cris said from Landry
’s other side. “But you are outnumbered.”

  John returned from talking with Tony. “He knows not to give us a hard time. He’ll call on me first, then you, then Tilly. That way we can get our intros done first and fast and it won’t look weird.”

  “Oh, great,” Tilly joked. “Sure, throw me on the sword.” Her smile belied her words.

  “Take one for the team, love,” Landry joked.

  Despite needing another pain pill toward the end of dinner, Abbey was glad John had talked her into coming. He and Tilly together fended off an annoying single submissive guy who was new and didn’t realize what a tool he was being toward Abbey. Normally, she would have no problem shutting down someone like that, but tonight it just wasn’t in her.

  There was no fight, no strength. Every ounce of will she had was focused on trying to hang on until her surgery.

  I just need to make it through Wednesday.

  She felt like a wuss about that. She darn well knew there were people out there in chronic pain far worse than what she was going through, who lived with it. Normally she wasn’t someone to knuckle under when it came to pain. This level of pain, however, was a totally alien feeling. Like someone had stuck a sharp filet knife into her spine and was forcibly turning it every couple of hours. A pain that didn’t fade, that only got worse.

  When they returned home, it was still early, but she didn’t want to go to bed yet.

  John, however, apparently saw right through her.

  “We need to get you comfortable,” he said.

  “I’m going to be stuck by myself for a couple of weeks,” she said, trying not to pout. “I want company while I can have it.”

  “Then we’ll settle you into your bed and I’ll come in there and watch TV with you. Deal?”

  Incredibly simple. And it would give her a guilt-free way of snuggling with him. She did miss that about Tom, missed human contact.

  Missed having another body sleeping in bed with her.