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“The welcome nearness—the sight of the perfect body; the face—the limbs—the index from head to foot, and what it arouses… The mystic deliria—the madness amorous—the utter abandonment.”
“Is that from the poem you were quoting earlier?” she mumbled, listening in wonder.
“Yes. Walt Whitman. ‘Press Close, Bare Bosom’d Night.’”
She blinked at him. “My mother loves Whitman. I thought his stuff was all about nature and flowers.”
“It is nature. Some about flowers. Some about other parts of nature.”
“I like how big you are.” She looked at his hand upon her, thinking how his body had covered her. How his cock filled her. "Makes me feel safe, I guess. Sounds silly."
"No. It doesn’t. Makes me feel good to hear it." He found her hand, meeting her palm to palm, letting her see that difference in size. When she curled her fingers around two of his, he smiled.
“So what went wrong with you and Bart?” he asked. “I know he was a dick about wanting to get married before you two finished school.”
The breakup had centered around that, yes. It wasn’t until months of reflection had passed she’d realized his insistence on it, how angry he’d become about her refusal, had given her the final straw she needed, plus a long-overdue clarity over how different the two of them were.
“He grew up in a small town, like I did, but he never wanted to do that again. He wanted to live in a big university town, do research, or join an engineering company doing big, important things. Nothing wrong with that, but it wasn’t a path we could share. I tried, he tried, but when your heart's not in it…”
She looked down at their clasped hands. “Afterward, for a long time, I felt like I'd failed him. For that first, really intense love, especially if it’s also your first sex, you convince yourself that’s your forever, no matter how foolish it seems to people who are way past that. I translated my heartache from how he couldn’t change, into my inability to love him for who he is.”
“Do you still feel like you failed?” His voice was neutral, letting her admit the truth, no judgment.
“Not anymore. Neither of us failed. Even if I could have loved him as he is, and him for who I am, it would be in spite of those things we wouldn’t or couldn’t change, not in support of them.”
“I’m glad you reached that conclusion. But I know it hurt when it happened. I’m sorry." He threaded his fingers through her hair, deep, easy strokes.
“Beulah’s mom told her there’s no magic other than time that fixes a broken heart. The pain you feel and cope with helps you grow.”
“What did Beulah say to that?” His amused expression said he’d had enough exposure to her roommate to anticipate her answer.
“‘Momma ain’t wrong, but a girl needs some fucking timeouts from the agony.’” Les smiled. “For her, that was going out for drinks and dancing. I preferred the 24/7 work and study schedule until I could draw a deep breath again, though Beulah occasionally talked me into her strategy. Both helped.”
“Giving yourself breathing room to deal with bad shit is important.”
It pointed things right back to the main reason she was here, but Brick didn’t let her go down that dark tunnel. Instead, he squeezed her hip. “As much as I’d like to keep you here naked, we have stuff to do. I better get that shower so we can get going.”
“Were you going to lock the door to keep me out?”
A wolfish smile crossed his rugged features. “I’m pretty good at coming up with ways to keep my sub from misbehaving.”
Her sex still throbbed from one of them, so she couldn’t disagree. Brick, who’d gotten in his share of trouble with her brother and their friends, was now a stickler for the rules. Go figure. He was also strict in their application.
She guessed it all depended on what purpose—and pleasure—those rules served.
Chapter Ten
After he disappeared up the stairs, she decided to take Beulah’s box to the guestroom and unpack the contents. She paused, listening to the rush of the shower water. He’d left the master bedroom open, and from the light, she could tell the bathroom door was open, too. He had a clear shower door. If she crept in and checked the bathroom mirror at just the right angle, maybe she could see…
She rolled her eyes at herself. He brought out the sexually intrigued woman and mischievous child in her. Though it took effort, she made the adult decision to stay in the guestroom.
When she opened the box and read the note on top, gratitude came with a sting of tears. You’re not alone, Les. Every licensed doctor has lost patients. Every doctor wonders if they could have done more. I love you, serious geek-girl. You’ve always been there for me; I’m here for you, however you need me.
She set the note aside. Beulah had included a cosmetic bag full of Les’s toiletry items and makeup. She’d also packed several changes of clothing, though what she’d chosen had Les’s eyebrows raising.
Instead of the day-to-day jeans and shirts she might wear to the hospital before changing into scrubs, Beulah had excavated things from Les’s wardrobe more appropriate for the company of an interested male.
Which included the two pairs of jeans Les had that were snugger and more stylish, riding lower on her hips. The shirts were feminine, V-neck baby doll tees that contoured her small breasts. The hem would ride up to show her navel and hip bones if she reached for anything above her. Like Brick’s shoulders.
