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I’ve already packed all my stuff from the studio apartment I’ve been renting. Once John’s fallen asleep, I’ll be out of here. Glancing at John, I moan inwardly when my heart squeezes. But I can’t stay.
It was thoughtless of me to stay to begin with, but it was a different story when he was in a coma. Now that he’s awake...now that his memory may return anytime it’s a whole other thing. Holding down a sigh, I park the wheelchair by the pond and sit on a bench. The ducks in the pond swim around while quack quacking and it’s a pretty, soothing scene.
This should be relaxing but John’s not getting the memo. He’s tight as a fist. Trying to get him to ease, I rummage around in a paper bag I brought with. “Here,” I murmur, handing him a piece of bread. “You can feed them if you want.”
Shrugging, he throws the bread like it’s a dart into the pond and hits a duck in the head. It quacks in outrage, flapping its wings and I exhale patiently. John really needs to get control of those reflexes.
“Maybe we should save if for some other time,” I mutter, putting the paper bag away and turn my attention to John again. Crossing my legs, I say, “John when you were in your coma did you...you know, hear me?”
“All the time,” he rasps, “you spoke to me all the time.” His shoulders shudder but he brushes my hands off when I try covering him with the blanket. Guess, he wasn’t cold then. I raise my brows when he reaches for my hand and moves me to standing.
“What are you doing?” I ask and he pulls me to his chest, causing me to fall over his lap.
“Cuddling you,” he groans, before a grin crosses his face and it’s divine. I love his smile. “If you’ll let me?”
Breathlessly, I nod and all of the sudden I don’t want to be anywhere else. How can I breathe without this man? Whimpering, I slide my hands over his shoulders and his eyes roll back in his head. He’s peaceful, finally.
He cups my neck. “Your voice when I was in the coma was what kept me going. I kept hearing it, reaching for it, never thinking I’d leave the dark. But then you whispered that you needed your husband to wake up. And I did.” His eyes soften. “For you.”
Gulping, I wonder whether I should tell him I never said that. He must’ve imagined it. I spoke to him that’s true, sang to him sometimes but I never called him husband.
Wow, the subconscious truly is something else. Strong enough to warp memories and create something entirely new.
“I want you to join me this afternoon,” he rasps and I frown. His hand slides along the side of my throat and he adds, “I’m seeing the shrink. He’s going to help me recover my memories.”
Tensing, I stare at him.
“Oh...that’s g...great...”
John nods. “I want you in that room when I remember you fully. I want your face to be what I see when it all comes back to me.” He holds me closer. “I’m going to need you, Autumn...” he rubs his lips along my cheek, “bad.”
“Yes, John...,” I whisper while my heart pounds in my chest. “I’ll be there.”
I’m just praying he won’t remember.
5.
John
Stroking a hand down Autumn’s hair, I deeply look into her eyes until she squirms and lowers her gaze.
“What’s that look?” she whispers and I put my hand under her dress until I can feel her soft thigh. “What does it mean?”
“You know what it means,” I groan and she starts protesting. “Nobody will notice. We’ll be careful.”
“They can tell I’m sitting in your lap,” she breathes, “and we can’t do it in a wheelchair.”
Fuck yeah, we can. And we’re doing it.
I’m going to coax her into it if I have to and I give her a soft kiss to make her relax. I wait for that low moan and for her limbs to wrap around me and I make sure that any part of her that might be showing is covered by the blanket and then I go at it. The kiss turns deeper and deeper until Autumn gasps from the sudden violence and her eyes flare.
Ignoring her, I twirl my fingers around her tresses and kiss her cheeks, her throat until I find my way to her cleavage and her skin’s running hot. She’s like a fucking little hot water bottle. Can barely feel the breeze in the wind and I need that bouncy body of hers so damn much.
At least she’s not innocent. At least I won’t have to be careful and take my time and she gasps when I pull up my clothes and she stares at my jutting shaft. You’d think she’d never seen it before because she clasps a hand over her mouth and gawks.
“Oh John...,” she pants, “I’m so sorry...”
Brows curving, I grunt. “For what?”
