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I nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t use it, you lose it, as my therapist says.”
She nodded and stood up from the bed. “So…how about a sandwich? Then I want to throw a pot.”
I blinked. “Why would you want to throw a pot? Is that something you normally do after making a sandwich?”
She grinned. “No. It’s not even remotely close to what you’re thinking.”
Twenty minute later, I watched in rapture as Blake ‘threw a pot’ as I slipped my leg back into the prosthesis.
However, it wasn’t ‘throwing’ an actual pot. It was making one.
“This is all in the hands.” She demonstrated, putting her whole upper body into shaping the square of clay.
She dipped her hands into the water and came back to it, smoothing out more and more until she had the square of clay into an actual round…thing.
My eyes were glued to the wheel and the clay as it spun.
It was about the size of a large coffee can, and as I watched, she dipped her thumb into the top of it, burrowing out a hole.
“Alright,” she said. “Pull up a chair and come sit down behind me. You can make it from here.”
I did as she asked, placing the kitchen chair directly behind her stool and leaned forward.
“Dip your hands into the water and then place them directly on top of mine,” she explained.
I did.
The clay was surprisingly cold under my hands.
It also felt incredibly weird, but at the same time extraordinarily cool.
“It’s exactly like that scene in Ghost,” I said laughingly.
She snorted. “Except we’re a lot messier, and there’s no way I’ll have sex with you with all this mud all over me.”
I leaned forward and bit her neck, causing her to jump and make the bowl go lopsided.
“Damn, that was looking pretty good, too,” I frowned.
She did something with her fingers, pulling the pot slightly out, and fixed the wobble almost immediately. “There. Fixed.”
I let my hands drop from hers as she got more in depth with the pot, amazed at how she made the pot so tall.
“I never would’ve thought you could make something like that with your hands,” I said thoughtfully, letting my beard rasp against the soft skin of her shoulder.
She shivered.
“It takes practice,” she said breathlessly. “Trust me, I didn’t get this good overnight.”
“No, I didn’t think you did. You’ve got some real talent, though. I didn’t see this stuff at your house at all. What did you do with the pottery that’s finished?” I asked her, drawing a pattern in the mud covering her arm.
She snickered. “My parents’ house. Well, their garage in particular. I have a whole shelf in there filled to the brim with my pottery. I moved it there after I broke up with David, and never moved it to my house.”
“Tell me about him,” I said softly.
She shrugged, body going tense.
“He ruined my life. Gave me hope and then took it all away,” she whispered, taking her hands off the pot and standing up.
Which put her ass in my face.
Not that I was complaining.
She was wearing a t-shirt and panties.
Which meant there wasn’t anything hindering my view because the t-shirt stopped just above her ass.
Her panties were cute, too.
Little pink bows decorated the sides, and lace lined the edges.
They were those cheekie ones that left half of the ass cheeks exposed, which inevitably drew my attention.
My hands met her ass, completely ignoring the fact that I was smearing clay all over her legs and butt cheeks.
“Hey!” She snapped. “Stop that.”
I couldn’t help myself.
I really couldn’t.
“How much longer are you going to play with that pot?” I asked, my dick suddenly impressively hard.
She snickered.
“Couple more minutes, you filthy boy…then you can have me” she tittered, bending over so that she could reach all the way inside of the pot. “Just don’t move and startle me. This is the hard part.”
I did what I was told, hands cupping both thighs as I waited for her to finish.
The whole time, though, I knew that we were about to get dirty.
I’d give her the couple minutes it took to get finished. But once that was done, I was fairly sure we’d be on the ground, going at it in the mud splashes.
And I was right.***I’d never slept in the same bed with a woman.
Not for a full night, anyway.
I was a get it done kind of guy.
I didn’t waste time fucking around.
When I was with a woman, I got both of us off quickly, and then split just as fast.
With Blake, though, I found myself excited to do all those things I’d previously refused to do with other women.
I knew the minute my eyes opened that Blake was underneath me.
Partially, anyway.
My hand was cupping one breast, and my mouth was resting near the top of her head, sharing her pillow.
My other arm was stretched out underneath us both, and was just on the verge of unbearable.
My arm was asleep, and had been for some time if the state of feeling in my appendage was anything to go by.
Reluctantly, I rolled over, withdrawing my arm as carefully as I could. Although it turned out to be not so careful since I had no feeling in it.
I woke her.
She followed me as I rolled, spooning my back.
“I like being the big spoon,” she said softly.
So softly that I wasn’t really sure if she was awake or not.
“You’re awake?” I asked her.
“Mm-hmm. For a couple minutes. I have to pee and I don’t want to get up.”
I just shook my head, burying my face into the pillows.
“You know where the bathroom is,” I said, eyes closing at the exhaustion that pulled at me.
She left the bed with a little laugh, making very little noise.
So little, in fact, that I was nearly asleep again when she returned.
And stuck her cold as fuck feet right against my thigh.
“Fuck,” I jolted, rolling over and pinning her to the bed. “You’re dead.”
Her eyes widened, and my arms moved until my hands were in the perfect spot, and I attacked.
“Ahhhh!” Blake screamed, giggling and squirming to get away from me.
