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It was the something more that made my breath shaky and my heart drum in rapid staccato.
And when I clenched around him, screaming out my pleasure, I cried, too.
Tears skated from the corners of my eyes to fall into the hair at my temples.
“I know,” he whispered before taking my lips.
I clutched his shoulders and clasped him to me, feeling for the first time in my life, that I was where I was supposed to be.
* * *
Swaddled in Boxer’s arms, I drifted off to sleep, my cheeks wet with tears. When I woke up, I expected to see sunlight streaming through the blinds of the bedroom, but it was dark, and he wasn’t asleep next to me.
I sat up and listened for a moment. I heard Boxer moving around in the kitchen and wondered what time it was. The man didn’t believe in clocks.
I turned on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed. I found my underwear on the other side of the room, and then I put on Boxer’s discarded flannel shirt. It was soft from many washings.
He was standing at the counter, bare chested. His white bandage was stark against his skin, reminding me of what he’d gone through.
My soft footsteps on the wooden floor made him turn around. He was in the process of finishing off the last of the pie.
“Could you be any cuter,” I said with amusement. “Sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night to eat all the pie. You weren’t going to share it, were you?”
“Nope.” He grinned at me. Boxer held out the fork to me, his hand underneath it to catch anything that fell.
I went to him and let him feed me until the pie was gone.
His dark blond hair was mussed, and he wore a pair of green boxer briefs. I couldn’t help but admire the expanse of skin and ink.
“Did you sleep?”
“Nope,” he said. He grabbed the half-drunk glass of milk in one hand, took mine with the other, and led me into the living room.
I sat at the far end of the couch, my back pressed up against an arm. Boxer took the seat on the opposite side and then set down his glass of milk. He switched on the lamp and then dragged the blanket from the top of the couch to cover me. He then wormed his hands underneath the blanket.
“You’re cold.” He rubbed the top of my foot and then clamped it between his palms.
I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling while his hands warmed my skin.
“What was wrong with him?” Boxer asked.
“What was wrong with who?”
“The guy you were dating. You lived with him?” he didn’t sound jealous, merely curious.
“For a bit.”
“Why’d it end?” he asked.
I paused and really took a moment to think about the answer. “There were a lot of factors. I guess the biggest and most important one was that I didn’t love him.” I shrugged. “We thought we were supposed to be together. On paper, we were a perfect match. In real life though, something was missing. Does that make sense?”
“No.”
I snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, it didn’t make much sense to me either. I worked all the time. He didn’t like that, but it wasn’t as if I was going to change it. This is my career, and I love it.”
Boxer was quiet for a moment, and his hands moved to my other foot. “Did you tell him about what happened? Losing your patient?”
“No. I didn’t tell him.”
