by Rachel Lee
“I’m afraid you won’t be enjoying one for about five or six more weeks. But in the meantime, before the ice breaks the power lines, let me heat up some water and some cleanser.” She had a natural gas stove, but if the power went out, she wouldn’t be able to see anything. Certainly not well enough to bathe Luke.
“Be my guest.”
For all she said she needed the activity, however, Bri felt nervous. Somehow she didn’t think this was going to be a simple bed bath. No, she feared things were going to get rapidly out of hand.
Or maybe she feared they wouldn’t. She was past knowing what she really wanted now. Well, she knew she wanted Luke. But was she honestly ready?
She jumped up and went to get her two biggest pots for heating water. Given the ice buildup, she really did expect power lines to start going down. There was just so much they could handle. Trees, too. She hoped the ones near her house didn’t decide to crash onto her roof.
But there was nowhere to go. Not now. If she tried to back out of her driveway, she’d probably slide straight across the street and wind up getting scolded by a local officer.
They were here for the duration. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she carried the first steaming pot out to the living room.
Luke still sat in his wheelchair.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked.
“Because you changed the sheets just last night. It seems a shame to get them all wet. You can reach most of me sitting here, and the rest if I stand and lean over the bed.”
“I hear a planner at work,” she tried to joke, but it came out sounding weak. She’d bathed him any number of times this week and had managed, mostly, to separate herself from the intimacy of the task. She didn’t think that was going to be possible tonight.
“Let’s just get you undressed and into bed. Save my back and knee.”
“Sorry. Didn’t think of that. Self-centered again.”
Maybe. Maybe not. She suspected that after what she’d admitted about wanting him, he might be getting some butterflies in his stomach, too. The thought eased her own apprehension a bit. She wasn’t used to thinking of Luke as the nervous sort, but why should he be any different from the rest of the world?
A creeping awareness of all that hung on this began to grow in her. One way or another, this wasn’t going to end professionally. She knew it as sure as she breathed.
Her heartbeat was already speeding up. She was breathing a little faster. An urge to skip the whole bath and just dive into him was growing, but the idea of having the freedom to explore his whole body again, with the desire no longer a secret, appealed even more.
He would be pretty much at her mercy, given those casts, and that appealed to her, too. A dominant strain she’d never suspected in herself.
Almost before she knew it, a faint smile was growing on her face. The butterflies eased as she anticipated how delightful this was going to be.
Balancing against the side of the bed, he began to pull his clothes off. When it came to his sweatpants and underwear, he perched on the edge of the bed and stripped everything to his ankles.
Bri pulled the rest off. “Now lie on your stomach. And let me know if you start to get chilled. I can move blankets around.”
“Sweetie, I don’t think anything could chill me now.”
His nakedness was a familiar sight to her, and the years had done nothing to change him. He was still well-muscled, covered with taut, glistening skin. He’d never been a very hairy man, except for a thick beard and great hair. She liked being able to see all his charms with nothing in the way, but she also liked the way the thin dusting of lighter hair on his legs felt so silky.
Laid up though he was, he was still perfect.
As soon as he was facedown on the bed, she drew a blanket up over him.
“Hey,” he said playfully.
“I need to change. I’m going to get wet. Be right back.”
In her bedroom, she found a set of scrubs and donned them with shaking hands. Was she out of her mind? Probably. But at least starting with a bath would give her plenty of chances to change her mind. She could choose to remain professional and leave it at that. Or not.
She suspected the “or not” was going to be the outcome, but she felt safer knowing she would have a choice at least until she made it, one way or another.
When she returned, he still lay beneath the blanket with his arms over his head. Gathering her courage, she stepped up next to him and reached for the sponge, which she wrung out in the hot water. Then she applied some cleanser to it and tugged the blanket down to his waist.
Any thought of remaining professional fled almost as soon as she began to rub the sponge around his neck. He made a sound almost like a big cat purring, and encouraged her ministrations.
Never before Luke had she thought a bed bath could be sexy. But never before had she bathed a former lover. A perhaps soon-to-be-again lover.
Since he seemed to like it, she leaned into him, massaging as much as washing. Where her fingers touched his skin, she marveled again at how smooth and warm he felt. Memories began to surge, memories of other times when she had caressed him, learned him, loved him.
How had she ever given that up?
With each movement of her hands, the throbbing deep in her center seemed to grow. She fell into a rhythm almost in time with it, wringing, rubbing, leaning into her movements, moving slowly downward, strangely in no rush to finish this task.
By the time she reached his buttocks, he seemed to be moving gently under her hands, as if he felt the same way. As she washed his cheeks, he seemed to buck upward a little, bringing a secret smile to her heart. She loved having him lie beneath her ministrations like this. In the past, any time they had touched, it had been mutual, a joint exploration and expression where both of them had been actively involved. This was a new experience for her and she adored it.
“I’m loving this,” he mumbled. “Oh, sweetie, I could stay on this rack forever.”
“Rack?”
“If you think I’m not suffering, let me turn over.”
A laugh escaped her, one of real happiness. “I’m enjoying your suffering.”
“I suspected. Witch.”
She laughed again. “Legs first.”
“No complaints here. And while you’re at it, they’re aching from disuse.”
“I can only really do one. You’ll have to suffer.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
“Cold?”
“Not a chance.”
She moved on down his uninjured leg and he groaned as she massaged the muscles deeply. When she reached his feet, she massaged them, as well, washing them first, then rubbing them hard between her hands. He groaned even more deeply, a sound of unadulterated pleasure. Since she loved a good foot massage, too, she could easily imagine how it was affecting him. Something about a foot rub unleashed amazing relaxation. Although relaxation didn’t seem to be the direction in which they were headed.
Oh, no. She was about to shatter with the need building in her, but they’d hardly begun. She still didn’t know where this would end, but the torment was exquisite.
“Now?” he asked finally.
“Now what?”
“Can I roll over? You’re killing me with kindness here.”
Again she laughed, loving his honesty. Loving her own honesty, at least with herself. “You’re perfect,” she said, surprised by the thickness of her own voice.
“You used to say that all the time. I really liked hearing it.”
Before she could answer, he rolled over. No blanket covered him, and there could be no mistaking his arousal. He was as ready as she’d ever seen him, and it would have been so easy to toss the sponge aside and simply mount him where he lay.
But there were advantages to drawing this out. The lingering need might be painful, but it was also wonderful. She liked that he had to wait for her to do what she would with him. Ho
w seldom had she ever felt that he was at her mercy?
Yet some truthful part of her admitted that at these times he’d always been at her mercy, at least as much as she had been at his.
She drew a deep, steadying breath. She wanted to continue this, continue tormenting him in the most awesome way possible.
“We could skip this,” he muttered.
“I’m not going to spare you,” she murmured, struggling for breath. “Or myself.”
That drew a short, ragged laugh from him. “Have at it, darlin’. I’m all yours.”
She took him at his word. She washed his face gently, but as she moved on she became less gentle. His neck, his shoulders, his chest. She had always loved his chest, with smooth muscles developed by hard work. Perfect in every way.
She ran the sponge over him, but now she delayed. Wringing it repeatedly in hot water, she went over his chest again and again. His nipples pebbled until they were hard and she couldn’t prevent herself.
Leaning over him, leaving the sponge on his abdomen, she took one hard nipple into her mouth. He gasped, then groaned, as she lashed it with her tongue. One hand came up to grip the back of her head, holding her close, signaling that he wanted more.
She gave him more. Sucking the nub into her mouth, she drew strongly on it until a guttural groan escaped him. Then she nipped gently with her teeth. His hand tightened on her head and his body arched upward.
She pulled back immediately. “Be careful.”
“That’s a joke.” His voice sounded as if it were coming from under water. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand and knew the choice had been made for both of them. All the way.
She leaned farther, taking his other nipple into her mouth and giving it the same treatment. Shudders of pleasure ran through him and caused echoing tremors in her own body. They were becoming one. She could feel it and she was glad. The moment arcing between them was fusing them into a single experience.
“Bite me,” he whispered.
So she did, clenching her teeth harder until a deep cry escaped him. The shudder that ran through him this time shook the entire bed. It also shook her to her core.
Had she ever given him this much pleasure before? Had she herself ever felt this gnawing hunger so strongly before?
When she pulled back again he tried to hold her but she slipped away. There was more, a whole lot more, and she wasn’t going to miss any of it.
She soaked the sponge again and began to wash him from his pecs and down over his abdomen. His muscles seemed to squirm beneath her touch, and now that she was moving lower there was no mistaking the way his sex jerked at each of her touches.
He was more than ready. So was she, for that matter. The throbbing between her legs had grown until her entire body joined in, begging for his touches even as she denied herself in favor of teasing him.
During the years of their marriage, they had made love often, sometimes desperately, sometimes playfully. It had always been good, but she couldn’t remember ever having drawn it out this way before. Certainly not the first time or even the second on long, lazy days together. There’d been an impatience, even a ferocity at times, but nothing like this. This was amazing.
Several times she danced the sponge away from the thatch of thick hair between his legs. Finally he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Bri, for the love of...”
She turned, smiling at him, not sure he could even see it in the flickering light from the TV. She had him now. He was all hers.
But by the same token, she seemed to be all his. She didn’t know how much more she could take, either.
She warmed the sponge again but this time plunged into that thatch, rubbing it over him while another groan escaped him. Only then did she run it up his swollen length.
The shudder than ran through him was epic. For her part, she felt as if sizzling wires were running from her core to her breasts and then throughout her entire body. She would never have dreamed she could get this aroused without being touched herself.
Again and again she ran the sponge over him while his hips rose helplessly.
“Bri...”
She tossed the sponge into the pot and bent again, this time to take him into her mouth. He cried out. His hand clamped the back of her head. He filled her, deeper than she had ever taken him before, and she tasted his saltiness.
“Not this way,” he said gutturally. “Please. Not this time.”
She was past drawing this out any longer. “Condom,” she muttered.
“Like I came prepared?” He swore.
But she was. She always carried condoms to give out when she thought a young patient needed them. In a moment she had pulled one out of her purse, then rolled it on him.
“Now you,” he whispered. “Strip?”
She stepped back and pulled the scrub shirt over her head.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” he murmured.
“What?”
“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered. Hurry.”
So she dropped her pants, kicked them aside, then climbed carefully onto the bed, straddling him. His hands immediately cupped her breasts and squeezed, then pulled one to his mouth. As soon as he sucked on her nipple, she felt an arc of fire shoot from there to her center. This time it was she who cried out, and her body began to move helplessly in time to rhythms as ancient as life itself.
“Now,” he said. “Now.”
Reaching down between them, she guided him to her entrance. He found his way home as if he’d been searching for it forever.
When he filled her it was like the answer to everything that had been missing. She felt herself stretch to accommodate him, then every thought fled as she reveled in how good it felt to be joined with him. An emptiness was gone and this was so damn right.
She began to move, sliding along his length, and with the knowledge of familiarity he reached down to touch her sensitive nub, rubbing it just the way she liked, lifting her like a pole-vaulter on the tip of his finger, yet impaling her with his member. She felt strung out on impossible sensations of hunger, need. They drove her higher and higher until she felt dizzy as if she tumbled through the stars.
She felt his final thrust, hard and strong as he shoved deeply into her, and sensitive muscles felt the throb as he jetted his seed. Another movement or two on her part, along with the persistent touch of his fingers, and she followed him, tumbling in free fall to a completion so intense it nearly hurt.
She remained frozen as the sensation went on and on, making time disappear, then slowly collapsed on him.
His arms closed around her.
She had come home. The last place she had ever thought to be again.
* * *
She had pulled the blanket up over them when she rolled off him. They lay side by side with her head on his shoulder, waiting for the world to stop spinning, waiting for their breathing and heartbeats to stabilize. Hearing the familiar pounding of his heart beneath her ear felt so good. She never wanted to move again.
The keening wind, the rattle of ice against the windows, only made it feel cozier inside. Cozier in his arms.
“I think I need another bath after that,” he mumbled.
She lifted her head a few inches and glimpsed the smile on his face. “Yeah, right.”
“Reruns always welcome. Damn, that was fantastic.”
It had been. It had also been the only glue for their marriage. As the afterglow began to fade, all the niggling questions tried to rear their heads again. She had loved this man once. Maybe in a small way she still did. But love apparently hadn’t been enough.
And this might have been a huge mistake.
But she took out her mental broom and shoved those doubts aside for now. Moments like this deserved to be lived, not worried away.
Nursing had taught her how unexpectedly short life could be. Without warning, all the tomorrows were gone. Maybe that was part of what had troubled her in their marriage. Time was escaping them,
lost in long separations.
Slowly she sat up.
“Bri?”
“We’ve got to talk. Coffee?”
“Always.”
She eased across him and pulled on the scrubs she had left on the floor. “Want me to get you some clothes?”
“Do I need to be dressed for this conversation?”
“You can stay right where you are if you want.”
“Just hand me the sponge so I can clean up a bit.”
She stuck her hand in the water. “It’s cold. I still have a pot simmering on the stove. I’ll change them out.”
She emptied the pot of cold water and returned with the other. This time she was willing to let him wash himself. She didn’t want to get derailed again.
When she got back to the living room with coffee, she was surprised to find him sitting up in the wheelchair, wearing one of the fresh pairs of sweats she had cut to fit over his leg.
“You’re doing really well,” she remarked.
“Thank goodness for upper body strength.”
So once again they sat together, coffee mugs in their hands. The wind howled, flinging so much ice at the windows that it sounds like birdshot.
“So talk,” he said.
“I’m trying. I think by now you know it’s not easy for me.”
He sipped coffee and waited patiently.
“It occurred to me that all those petty reasons I had for being angry? They weren’t the real reason. I missed your support at times. I certainly missed you. Sometimes I felt so alone, as if I had to deal with everything by myself.”
“I don’t think that’s petty. In fact, I think you were justified. But you say that’s not it?”
“Just now I was thinking about how much I wanted to savor this time with you because I’ve learned, I’ve seen, just how short life can be. Nobody can be sure there’ll be a tomorrow.”
He nodded, but she was grateful that he didn’t try to answer. Once again she was starting to question her own feelings, and somehow she had to push past that and get it out. Get to the source of all the ugliness and resentment that had started to roil inside her during their marriage. She owed them both that, however stupid her thinking might be.
