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“My head is fine,” he calls out.
Thank god. I’m not sure where yoga falls on the spectrum of harmless to deadly. Probably depends on the pose.
“So is my cock,” he adds. I don’t need to turn around to know he has a wolfish look on his face.
In the last week, we’ve had a lot of sex. Too much free time and the newness of an intimate relationship is an intoxicating combination. We’re lucky we make it out of the bedroom some days. I’m not complaining, but…
I hope I can keep up when he’s back to full speed. The irrational fear he’s going to get bored with me and that all this will end creeps in when I think of what our relationship will look like once he’s fully recovered. I trust him, and I trust he knows what he’s getting himself into with me, that five years of friendship means this relationship will last. Doesn’t stop the fear, though.
I grab a coffee and hop onto the counter where I have a better view of Timothy’s lithe body. For a muscular guy, he’s insanely flexible. I could watch him all day. Hell, I have.
“We should talk about what we’re going to do with all the surfboards and wingsuits and parachutes,” I say. His mom emailed me this morning, asking me to broach the subject with him. But even if she hadn’t, it’s been on my mind. He can’t use them, it might be best to remove temptation.
“Too soon,” Timothy grumbles, just loud enough for me to hear, and I decide to let it go today.
It’s been a good week. Timothy’s gone out a couple of times with Jax and Danny. We’ve gone to his gym to work out together, though he’s still limited in what he’s allowed to do. Nothing high intensity. Nothing that would require him to strain. He wiggled his eyebrows at me as he did arm curls with two-pound weights.
His recovery—beyond the physical healing—is finally moving forward. I don’t want to push him backward by arguing over gear gathering dust on closet shelves.
I’m proud of him for finding the strength to make the best of his shitty situation. For finding happiness where not all that long ago, he struggled. My heart is as full of him as my head, and watching him from my perch on the counter makes me ridiculously happy.
He comes out of some pose I can’t name and walks up to me, pushing my legs apart to stand between my knees.
“Did I tell you good morning yet?” he asks, skimming light kisses along my jaw.
“You did. Did you forget?” I hate that I can’t tell if he’s flirting or bleeding out in his damn brain thanks to Downward Dog and gravity.
“Of course, I didn’t forget.” He points to a couple of pink lines streaking his chest. “You gave me these.” He taps the hickey he left on my neck. “I gave you that. Then I gave you my dick until you screamed my name—”
“I didn’t scream.”
Timothy’s hands slip around my waist and he nuzzles against my neck. “You screamed. Want me to call Nic? Bet he heard. Or maybe I’ll just”—he jerks me to the edge of the counter, dropping down until his breath coasts along my inner thigh—“push these little shorts aside and”—he licks my over-sensitized center and I nearly fall off the counter—“make you do it again.”
“Timothy!”
He pops back to his feet at the tone in my voice, concern in his golden eyes. “What?”
“We had sex an hour ago.”
He grins. “I’m the fucking energizer bunny. Of fucking. One of the perks of dating me.” There’s a wobble in his grin and an uncharacteristic flash of insecurity in his eyes. Every alarm in my head goes off.
“Perks?” I raise an eyebrow because what is this nonsense?
His grin falters. “Yeah.”
“What do you mean,perks?”
He’s caught, and he knows it. The panicked look in his eyes shifts to resignation and he sighs. “I have orgasms on tap for you, any time you want one. Anything you want, outside of those too. Just let me know.”
“Are you trying to keep me in a dick coma so I don’t see some supposed failing?”
He doesn’t say anything, but it’s in the shift of his expression. He is.
“Timothy.” My heart breaks a little. I brush my fingers over his cheeks, pulling him close for a kiss. “Being with you isn’t some hardship.”
He’s silent for a moment, studying my eyes. “I can be a lot sometimes. Even if I’m not as much as I used to be.”
My mouth goes dry. Haven’t I been worried about the same thing? That I won’t be able to handle him when he’s fully recovered? Is it possible he’s noticed my worries, and he’s trying to make up for them? I hope not. I’m going to do better locking out those little voices from now on.
