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When we had apartments, I was usually on a twin. When we were living in the van, traveling, I don’t think you could even call my bed a twin at that time. It was a glorified foldaway cot.
So the bed had been my first big purchase when I’d bought the house. Then I’d slept the first night like a starfish, taking up most of the thing.
I mean, I suffered for it with an aching back and neck, being a natural side sleeper, but it had been nice to have the option.
I was pulling off clothes as I moved in, tossing them in the general direction of the laundry basket as I made my way to the closet.
I was standing there in my panties and shirt, trying to muster the grit to lift my arm from my side, a movement that would make my shoulder twitch and move, creating that lovely tidal wave of pain to move through me.
It hadn’t been so bad when I’d put my clothes on that morning. But that was after a couple days of doing nothing and a long rest. My body had been prepared.
Now, I’d overdone it for hours and hours, and my pain tolerance was feeling at an all-time low.
I tried lifting it, then dropped it with a pathetic little whimper.
“Want some help?” Nino’s voice called, soft, as if not to spook me.
“Yes,” I admitted, turning to face him, my head tipping to the side. “I overdid it,” I admitted.
“Seems like it,” he agreed, eyes as gentle as his voice was as he made his way across the room toward me, helping me remove my good arm, then taking the shirt over my head, then carefully down my other arm.
I didn’t even care that I had no bra on, that I was one tiny pair of panties away from being completely naked in front of him.
I’d been lucky enough to grow up without any shame about my body, without any real insecurities about it.
Nino drew in a deep breath, as if trying to bring some calm to his system, and I felt a small sizzle of desire moving through me again.
Then his hand was lifting, teasing the outer edge of my bandage.
“Want me to check and change these?” he asked.
Admittedly, I’d been a bit of a chicken about that. I could handle small wounds. But my mom had sliced the skin off of the tip of her finger while chopping vegetables once, and I was fighting back nausea as I drove her to the emergency room.
She’d been the one to help me change them that morning.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Come on,” he invited, pressing a hand to my hip and leading me out toward the bathroom. Still mostly naked, I might add.
And as he took the supplies, washed his hands, and started dressing my wounds with a doctor-like detachment, I had to admit that a little bit of disappointment started to work its way through me.
No, it wasn’t exactly an ideal time to have a man lusting after me. But I was practically naked. Right in front of him. And he was having no reaction at all to it.
I was looking down at the top of his head as he pressed the tape around the bandage on my hip, so I had no idea what his face looked like.
Until he tilted his head up to look at me.
And the heat in his gaze made all the air leave my lungs.
“I need to taste you again,” he said, the hunger in his voice mirrored his eyes as his hand slid from the wound to my panties, holding the band like it was killing him that they were in his way, but waiting for my reaction.
I couldn’t seem to form thoughts right then, let alone words, so my hand slid to his cheek, then around to the back of his neck, pulling his head downward toward me.
Then my panties were on the floor.
His hand parted my thighs.
And his tongue was tracing up my cleft before circling my clit.
