Page 6 of After Care

Suddenly, I felt more offended that he couldn’t say what he wanted to do to me. I didn’t think I was that uptight. That old.

“Try me,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

“Nah, I think sexed up is good enough for you, darlin’. Anything else would be too much.”

My heart dropped. He was correct in many ways. I was well past the point of wanting my body parts crassly labeled or physical interactions demeaned. On the other hand, I also wanted someone to want me that passionately, just once in my lifetime. To clarify, I wanted someone who just wanted to fuck me, like being with me was the greatest moment of their life. Like they would never get enough, deep enough, connected enough—to me. It was a silly fantasy.

“I see,” I offered, my voice quiet. My shoulders fell, defeated. I knew what he meant. It was nearly the same thing my ex-husband said. I wasn’t fun anymore. Tommy’s hand remained at my hip, but the other hand brushed back my barely-there hair, caressing around my ear. There were not enough locks to curl behind it. It was another reminder of how incomplete I felt.

“Actually,” he teased. “I don’t think you do see. You’re that fine wine. Perfected and waiting to breathe. And I’m sensing you’re ready to be uncorked and sampled.”

My mouth fell open, a popping sound filling the space between us, and that’s when his mouth descended.

Two warm, large, plump lips melted over me.

And I stilled instantly.

It had been nearly two years since I’d been kissed, and it definitely had not been like this. His mouth moved over mine, too harsh at first, too aggressive, until he realized I wasn’t responding. Thick fingers combed into my short hair, and his hand at my hip tugged me flush against him.

“Kiss me back, darlin’,” he growled against my mouth.

My lips followed his lead, tentative at first. A tug of the lower lip. A suck on the upper bow. A lick across the seam, and I opened for him. My body crushed against his, arms sliding up his firm biceps to grip his shoulders. My tongue met his, curling and colliding, crashing with his as I breathed him into me, willing him to get closer. My breasts remained firm against his chest, and I nearly cried at the lack of sensation, but the rest of my body responded. The drumming between my thighs beat triple time, making up for other areas.

Our mouths moved together, and he tipped my head for better access. We were making out like teenagers—lips exploring, hands slowly groping, an energy building around us that took my breath and shook it like glitter in a glass jar. Then his palm came to the side of my breast, and I halted, releasing his lips so quickly, a soft pop echoed between us.

“I can’t…” My voice trailed off. Oh, God, this was embarrassing. This was the worst thing. I didn’t know how to say it. “I can’t…”

His thumb caressed the side of my breast, rubbing harder, pressing firmer.

“You don’t think I’ve felt a fake tit before, darlin’?” The query stopped me. I hadn’t realized I’d curled up on my toes to reach his height. My feet fell as flat as my heels would allow at the question. My hands slipped from his shoulders, drifting over the hills of his biceps and skipping to his chest. I palmed the firmness of his pecs. Solid. Strong. Real.

“How did you know?” The question was stupid. Of course, he’d touched other women, most of whom, I assumed, were younger than me. Of course he had. Groupies surely had implants. Some women had them for funzies, enlarging what wasn’t there or enhancing what God already gave them. Either way, my situation was different. “Don’t answer that. Never mind.”

“Jealousy just shifted to a different shade. Still like you wearing it, beautiful.” The words brought tears to my eyes, and I rapidly blinked. I couldn’t be jealous. Of course, he’d been with other women. Look at him, I screamed to myself. Although, I was more upset over the fact he called me beautiful, and I didn’t feel that way.

“I think I should go,” I whispered, lowering my head and almost resting it on his chest, but I held back. The thick pad of his finger tipped up my chin.

“Tell me what just happened here.”

“You kissed me.” I giggled without humor. In fact, my whole body shook with the after effect of what we’d just done.

“When I touched you,” he clarified. My face shot up to look at his. His dark eyes beamed down at me, but there was a softness to the edgy black. His eyes shimmered like ink instead of granite.

“I can’t…I just can’t let you touch me there.”

“Why not?”

I sighed, taking a step back. Two large hands caught me on my shoulder blades and brought me back to him. He massaged along my bra strap, thumbs circling in a way that would make a normal woman relax. Instead, I tensed.

“I have breast cancer. Had.” The doctor’s words echoed in my head. “I have no sensation in my...” I choked on the word. Nipples. I didn’t have any. Masie had convinced me to get nipples tattooed just to make myself feel better, but they were two dimensional. It wasn’t the same thing.

He didn’t respond, but his hands slipped to my hips.

This is it, I thought. He’s going to thank me for the night. Or worse, not thank me at all, just step back and walk away. My head lowered in shame. Cancer wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t even embarrassed I had it. It wasn’t contagious. It wasn’t that kind of disease. But I also didn’t want it to be a crutch. The last thing I needed was his sympathy.

Preparing myself mentally for the blow to my ego, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and…

The sides of my dress rose up my thighs. The thick, tight cotton swept upward, revealing more skin to the air conditioning and the roughness of his jeans. My knees already brushed denim, but my upper thighs were feeling the softened fabric as well.