by DM Davis
She smiles. “Don’t be. It’s nice that you worry about me.”
God, this woman, so sweet and innocent despite the way life has treated her. My fingers delve into the back of her hair, holding her gaze. “It’s my honour to worry about you.” I press my head to hers. “I will love you through sickness and health.”
Her hand grasps my wrist still holding her close. “You’re gonna break me, Theo.” Her voice is laced with saddened resolve.
Wrapping her in a hug, she buries her head in my neck. “No, Lauren. We’re going to make you whole.”
Her stuttered breath on a sob tears at my heart. “I’m going to love you so bloody hard, there won’t be room for pain or sadness.”
She chuckles through her tears. “That’s not possible. You know that, right?”
I squeeze her, taking in her scent on a deep inhale and then letting it go. “Way to kill the romance,” I deadpan. She laughs again, amazing me with how quickly she recovers. “Alright. I’ll love you so bloody hard there will only be a miniscule amount of room for pain and sadness. Better?”
Her lips graze my neck, making me shudder. “Yes, better.” She sits back, wiping her tear-stained, makeup-free face. “You’re too good to me.”
“No, baby, I’m exactly the right amount of good for you.” The perfect amount.
We clean up breakfast and talk more about our families. She shares that both of her brothers have been diagnosed with PKD and that her sister, like her, doesn’t have it. Her brothers’ diagnoses is also why she doesn’t drink. Eventually, one or both will need a kidney transplant. She wants to be the first in line to donate, and not drinking and taking care of her body increases the chance she’ll have a viable kidney to donate.
“The hard part is, I might not even be a match, but I could still donate a kidney and it would go to someone else on the transplant list, and then my brother would get a stranger’s kidney. It’s like the kidneys get thrown in the ring, and the best match wins. In the end, my donation will help, but it doesn’t quite feel the same as it would if I was able to give the kidney directly to one of my brothers.”
“I had no idea.” It’s impressive. She talks about the disease, the statistics, and transplants with true insight.
“Yeah, me neither. And who knows, when it happens, it might be a completely different process by then, or maybe I’ll be a perfect match.”
I pray, by some miracle, she doesn’t have to donate. The idea of her voluntarily being cut nearly in half to get to her kidney is more than a little disconcerting.
“Okay, enough about me. Tell me about your parents, your brothers and sisters.”
“My dad, Sawyer, is a philosophy professor as well. My mom, Janie, is a pediatrician. Connor, my oldest brother, is an orthopedic surgeon. Charlotte is the next oldest and she’s a lady doctor—gynecology and obstetrics.”
“Holy moly, you have three doctors and two professors in your family?”
I chuckle at her surprise. “And two more teachers. Christian is a music teacher, and my sister Claire is a grade school teacher.”
Lauren shifts in my arms to face me, her side resting on the back of the couch. “Don’t balk when I say this.” Her little pointer finger raises in emphasis, accompanying the arch of her brow. “It’s impressive. Three doctors and four teachers is impressive. But besides the brains in your family genes and the dedication to schooling, what impresses me most is the heart that it takes to be a teacher or a doctor. Both, in their own ways, are service jobs meant to help people and for the betterment of society as a whole.” She cuddles back under my arm, her hand landing on my thigh. “That is what I call impressive.”
I rest my head on hers. “I love the way you see the world.” She doesn’t stick to superficial thoughts or expectations. She goes deeper, below the surface, to find the true meaning—purpose.
We sit in companionable silence for a moment, but we have a few things to discuss before I leave.
“Will you keep me company while I pack my bag?” I stand and pull her to the guest room, not giving her a choice.
“I guess that means you’re leaving soon?” I don’t miss the hint of sadness in her words.
Wrapping her in my arms, I gaze down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. “I don’t want to, but I need to get home, do some laundry, grocery shop, and prepare for the week.”
“I understand.” The light behind her eyes fades as she pulls away emotionally, preparing to erect her protective walls.
I tug her closer. “Don’t do that. Don’t lock me out.” Forehead to forehead, I breathe her in. “You shared a lot with me this weekend, and it means everything to me that you did.” I run my lips across hers and groan when I pull away. “I like having you in my arms, asleep or awake.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“I want to talk to you about tomorrow, but first I want to be sure we’re alright.” Her blue eyes search my face, and my skin heats under her attention. “I don’t regret anything that happened this morning in bed. I don’t want you to regret it either. I know sex is off the table, but I’d like to be able to make love to you like I did today.” Her blush is irresistible. “Do you regret if? Is it too much? Despite how much I want you, I’ll curtail our contact based on what’s acceptable to you. Tell me what level of intimacy is alright with you.”
“I don’t regret it. I’m embarrassed, but I’m okay with what we did.”
Thank fuck.
“Don’t be embarrassed, and don’t doubt that I want you every second of every day.” Another kiss. “If I had my way, we’d never spend a night apart, and you’d get well acquainted with exactly how much I desire you on a daily basis.”
She sighs, and her head falls to my chest. “The things you say.”
“Truth. I only speak the truth.” I rub her back, and she sinks into me. “As much as I want to stay, we’ve only just gotten back together after nine days of hell. I don’t want to overwhelm you with how much I want you. I believe me going home is for the best.” I need my girl to be sure about us when we’re apart. It’s easy to be lulled by the sexual haze that surrounds us. She needs to choose me with a clear head.
“I’ll miss you.” The vulnerability in her eyes has me wanting to give in but also hardens my resolve. She needs to be sure.
“I’ll miss you too. I’d like to see you tomorrow. I’d like to start one-on-one self-defense training in addition to the classes, which”—I raise a brow and pin her with my best professor scowl—“you will begin attending, again. Correct?”
Her sheepish smile puts a stupid grin on my face. “Yes, I’ll be there, and yes, I’d love any and all additional instruction you can spare.”
Spare? “For you, all my time is yours.” I’m a selfish prick like that.
In a matter of minutes my bag is packed, and she walks me to the door.
“I’ll call you later, wish you sweet dreams.”
Her lips crash to mine. She’s as desperate as I am to delay my impending departure. I worship her with words of comfort between kisses, putting it all out there, sparing nothing.
It’s everything or nothing with this woman.
And nothing is not in the realm of possibilities.
SHE’S HERE. I SENSE HER PRESENCE before I spot her in the distance, a meadow of wildflowers between us.
Lauren leans on a white picket fence, her face raised to the sun. “I miss you.” Her voice trails to me on the wind.
“I miss you too. Don’t leave,” I whisper. She’s too far away to hear, but miraculously, she does.
Her smile broadens, her face still soaking up the sun as if it gives her life. “I didn’t leave. You did.”
I wish she’d open her eyes and let me see the blues I crave. “You needed time,” I offer as explanation.
“I need convincing, reassurances, not distance.” She lowers her face from the sun, her eyes glowing as she rakes my body with her gaze.
My steps still as I soak up the sight of her. The ai
r is visible in thick waves of heat dancing between us. Her perfume tickles my nose and feeds the need to hold her close, burying my face in her neck. “Then come to me.”
Her dress flows in the wind as she runs through the gate and across the meadow. Blonde curls bounce, cascading around her face and shoulders, lifting weightless in the air to fall again.
“Catch me.” She leaps, her smile bright and her laughter joyous.
My arms wrap around her the moment her body melds with mine, her arms circling my neck, and her legs, my waist. “Always, my love.”
When I wake, my dream floods my senses. My bed feels cavernous and empty, and the ache in my chest is nearly insurmountable.
Thank God it’s lecture day. It keeps my mind focused, allowing the day to pass with little free time for wandering thoughts of Lauren and our weekend together. I’m even more spellbound than I was before—completely and utterly enraptured.
My day ends at half past two, allowing plenty of time to arrive at Simon’s, change clothes, and plan our first private lesson. I greet Simon and his wife before heading to the men’s locker room to change into my workout gear. I grab a notepad and pen, water, and a towel before entering the training room we’ll be using tonight.
As I finish up my notes, that familiar buzz of awareness has me glancing up to find Lauren standing in the doorway, her eyes already pinned on me. In a black skirt and a blouse the colour of her eyes, with her long hair cascading down her shoulders, she is beauty personified. Her smile has my heart leaping to attention before my body follows suit.
I float on air as I travel the distance between us. Clasping her hand, I kiss her cheek and relish the warmth on my lips. “Hullo, gorgeous. Been standing here long?”
“Long enough to enjoy the view.” Her bashful blush contrasts with her bold words.
“Come with me.” I lead her to the back room where we’ll not be disturbed. Once inside, I slip her bag off her shoulder and set it down. With nothing but the air between us, I hold the side of her face, my lips hovering over hers in anticipation. Waiting.
Her lips part on a fortifying breath as if she forgot to breathe—as if she’s anticipating our kiss as much as I am. She tips her chin, joining her mouth with mine, and I’m brought to my knees—hanging on by a thread—by the steam-train of lust coursing through me. If her nails biting into my skin and her body pulsing against mine are any indication, she’s onboard the passion train, as well.
Swinging around, I pin her against the door with a not-so-gentle thud that has her gasping her surprise and her tongue joining mine. Our hands traverse the planes and curves of each other’s bodies, tugging and pressing, demanding more…
“Bloody hell.” I jerk back, both of us panting. Her hands grip the door as if it’s the only thing holding her up. My hands tug at my hair to keep from grabbing her. “Damn, woman, it’s good to see you.”
Her slow smile breaks into a giggle and quickly rolls into a full body laugh. Her arms cross over her middle as she doubles over with laughter.
I shake my head, let out a punch of air, and adjust my hard-as-steel cock, but in my joggers it’s of little use. “I’m glad you find this humourous.”
That only seems to send her into another fit of giggles.
“Lauren,” I chastise with little impact. I cross my arms and wait, fighting the smile that threatens to break free.
Slowly, her cackling stops. She stands, swiping at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She chuckles, apparently not fully recovered.
My hands fall to my sides, waiting her out, my brow pinched in my best professor glare, which apparently has the opposite effect on her as a cheeky grin creeps across her lovely, beet-red face. “Are you done?”
She nods and steps closer, her hands clasping the sides of my shirt, pulling it taut. Her devilishly teasing eyes flit over my face before she lays her head on the middle of my chest. “I’m happy to see you too.”
My arms wrap around her of their own accord. “Yes, that’s quite apparent by your laughter.”
“Hey.” She steps back. “I wasn’t laughing when you kissed me.”
“No, I suppose you weren’t.” I draw her back to me, pressing my head to hers. “I don’t like sleeping without you.” I can’t dismiss the rightness of being wrapped around her in slumber.
“You missed me?”
Fuck, did I ever. I tossed and turned. The vision of her in my dreams was my only solace—a cheap substitute, to be sure. “Yes.”
Her lips graze my cheek. “I missed you too.”
My pounding heart begins to settle as her words remind me that I’m not in this alone. She feels it too. She’s with me.
I hold her a moment more before she leaves to change. Remaining behind, I regain my composure then head to the room.
When she enters the training room, she’s wearing black pants and t-shirt that fits her curves perfectly. She sets down her water bottle and towel, and joins me on the mat. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I motion for her to sit next to me. “We’ll begin with stretches, much like the one self-defense class you attended,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, enough already. I had my reasons, but yes, I should have still attended class.”
“Or at least told me you weren’t coming,” I mutter. I worried when she didn’t show, and she didn’t answer her phone or texts. She said she needed space, but she didn’t say she would skip classes. I didn’t like hearing it from Silvy.
Lauren’s shoulder bump brings my focus back to her. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you next time,” she promises.
“Or better yet, don’t miss any more classes—group or otherwise.”
Another eye roll from my blonde vision has me manning up. Stop acting like a pansy who got his feelings hurt.
My feelings were hurt, but I don’t have to act like it. She’s not my ex who continually disregarded my feelings. Keep your baggage in check.
We start with leg stretches. I move from one stretch to the next, and she follows me seamlessly.
“I want to increase your flexibility, and then we’ll work on strength training.” I see the question on her lips before she even asks. “Yes, we will work on defensive moves, but I want to take it slow today. Not overdo it.”
She nods without complaint, so I continue to stretch our quads as we change positions. “When fending off an attacker, areas to focus on to cause the most damage are: the eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knee, and legs. Our training will focus on movements that inflict the most damage to these areas. Your movements must be quick, precise, and purposeful. This will be the focus in our sessions.”
I stand, offering my hand, and pull her to her feet. “It’s important that you listen, focus, and do as I say. Do you agree to this?” I’m all business—keeping my emotions at bay. I’ll do more harm than good if I let my emotions get the better of me. I can’t dwell on her attack—not now—not here, other than to consider what moves she could use to fend off multiple attackers. She needs me to be strong. I will be her rock.
“Yes.” Her response is succinct and calm, the way I need her to be.
“Good,” I respond with a nod.
We continue stretching our backs, arms, legs. I watch her every move. She’s focused, determined, and…beautiful.
She smiles when she notices. “Do you like what you see?” she braves with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You know I do.” Very much so.
We linger in the moment, silently acknowledging the electricity that’s never far when we are near.
I clear my throat and attempt to stifle the attraction that is all too present in the room with us. “Right, let’s move on to strength training. You need to keep your core tight.” I stand behind her, my hand splayed over her stomach. The scent of her invades my nostrils, and I nearly growl my approval. My fingers flex, and her muscles contract below my touch. “I don’t want to aggravate your back. Sore is acceptable, but pain—injury—is not.”
He
r desirous gaze meets mine over her shoulder, but the addition of gratitude solidifies my determination to teach her over my desire to lay her down on this rather convenient mat and make her moan my name.
“Thank you.” Her reverent voice reinforces my decision.
“You’re welcome.” My lips still on her shoulder for a beat, my eyes closed.
One, two, three.
I open my eyes, disentangle myself from her body and pat her bum. “Lie on your back.”
Once settled, I continue, “We’ll start with bicycle crunches. I’m sure you’ve done them before, but I want to show you the proper technique for maximum results.”
She only nods, her knees bent, her hands and feet flat on the mat. The perfect neutral position.
I demonstrate, alternating leg-elbow movement once, and then again before she joins me. We do a set of fifteen reps. Rest. Then, two more sets of fifteen.
When finished, I check how she’s doing. “How was that? How’s your back?”
“I’m good,” she breezes. “I can do more.”
“No.” I want to take it slow with her back, see how much it can handle. “Let’s move on. We can add more reps next time.”
We go through all the exercises smoothly and quickly. She does them in silence, no complaining or requests to do less. She’s a machine, a determined machine.
When we take a break, we’re both drenched in sweat. I wonder if we should continue or end for the night. I don’t want her to be too sore. “How are you feeling? Should we stop? I don’t want to go too hard your first day.”
“No, I’m fine.” She swipes at the glistening sweat on her chest and neck. “I’d like to learn some self-defense moves.”
“Your wish is my command.” I lean in for a quick kiss. “Thirty minutes. No more. Alright?”
“Okay.”
After a few more sips of water, we resume. I add on to the moves she’s already learned—and those she missed from the group classes—only this time, I’m padded up, and she practices on me. Not full force, but enough to understand what it feels like to hit someone in the places she needs to, to accurately inflict the correct amount of pain and damage.
