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I accepted his kiss, but it didn’t calm my skipping heart.
“Come on.” He took my hand. “Let’s get clean, then we can sleep.” Unlocking my door and leading me down the corridor, he glanced at me for confirmation. “Which door was it again?”
“This one.” Padding quietly down the carpeted hallway, I opened the family bathroom and waited until Aslan was inside before turning on the light and locking it.
He stood in the largish space, turning on the spot as he took in the huge slab of wood with two glass bowls and black taps that acted as our vanity, the mirror in the shape of three rolling waves, the bathtub where Ayla splashed and giggled every night, and the double-man shower that Teddy had been adamant he wanted because why shower alone when you could shower together?
I’d been secretly jealous of him and Eddie’s long steamy interludes in here while I played outside with Ayla, but now...I got to enjoy the huge rain head with my lover and marvel at the glittery mosaic tiles as he slipped into me from behind.
My hands shook a little as I slipped out of my robe, gathered a fresh towel for Aslan from the rolled-up stack in the rattan shelving by the door, and placed it on the rail beside mine.
His eyes never left my naked skin. The way he studied me made my nipples pebble and all those butterflies from my youth flutter and fly, proving that I must’ve swallowed an entire galaxy of them because they’d never died.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured as his right hand went to his cock and stroked the hard outline in his trousers. “Five years without you, and now I can’t get enough.”
I stepped toward him.
I curled my hand around his on his erection. “Get naked then, so you can have me again.”
He swallowed loudly. “Only you, Neri. Only you have this power over me. And I’m so fucking grateful.”
I went to drop to my knees and pull his pants off, but he stopped me with a quick catch of my chin. “Wait.” Shaking his head slightly, he sighed and stepped away. “There’s something I need to show you first.”
Holding my stare, he hooked his thumbs into his boxers and trousers, then pushed them down with a sharp inhale.
They tumbled to his feet.
For a moment, I thought he wore a knee brace. Something runners wore to protect their joints.
But then I saw metal where flesh ought to be.
I went rigid.
I didn’t move as he held onto the towel rail and kicked away his trousers. Balancing on his right leg, he unthreaded the laces of his dress shoe then kicked it off.
The foot that appeared gleamed a silver-black, with an ankle complete with a mechanism that moved like a real joint. Holding his breath, he slowly shifted his weight onto the prosthetic and tore off his shoe and sock on his right.
His bare toes curled into the bathmat, so at odds to the metal ones next to them.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Off him. Off what he’d had to endure.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t fall.
I merely tripped deeper into love with him.
Endless love, unconditional, unequivocal, unlimited love.
He thought I wouldn’t find him attractive? That I would feel him lacking? That I would judge him for this? Ask him to apologise for this?
God.
I shook my head, struggling to catch my breath.
