Noah came into the kitchen the next morning moving like every muscle had submitted a formal complaint.
He wore dark sleep pants and one of my long-sleeved shirts. His hair remained damp from the shower. The cane tapped once against the floor before he abandoned it beside the table.
“You overdid it,” I said.
He lowered himself into a chair.
“You participated.”
“I warned you.”
“You did not warn me that orgasms use the entire body.”
“I assumed you had prior data.”
“Lost data.”
I placed eggs and toast in front of him.
“How bad?”
“Hip two. Shoulder one. General dignity seven.”
“Head?”
“One.”
“Any sharp pain?”
“No.”
“Then eat.”
He drank tea first.
His mouth still looked swollen from the night before.
The sight did unreasonable things to me.
Noah noticed.
“You’re staring.”
“I am assessing.”
“Professionally?”
“No.”
A sleepy smile appeared.
“Good.”
We had not had intercourse.
We had not even attempted it.
After the loft, we made it upstairs with enough desire to start kissing again. Noah asked me to touch him in bed. I used my hand and mouth until he came a second time, slower than before, his body relaxed beneath mine.
