Page 84 of Quiet Chaos

His open mouth kisses languidly drift lower, sucking my nipple, and rolling the other between his thumb and index finger. I squirm underneath. A haste to have him all over me, buried inside, as my body seizes his. Fingers dance along my skin, swirling around, and then dip between my thighs. My back arches, pressing my nipple further into his mouth. I let out a moan. Those cracked lake ice eyes drink me in, pulling me down into their depths. He collects my wetness, up and down, in and out, and my legs widen as a sign for more. Cade watches me come undone. The allure of his gaze triggers a flame, running from my toes upwards, nerves buzzing until I release all over his hand.

Cade positions himself between my legs. His erection presses against my opening, and time sticks while we gaze into each other’s eyes. I wrap my legs around him. Our mouths and hips encourage the rest of our bodies to explore. Juices increase, allowing for his considerable girth to slide in ease. We both let out a moan. His hips move in a circular motion, pressing against my tender nub. Ragged breathing rises. He pulls out to the tip, advancing back in until his balls are against my butt cheeks. This slow motion continues while he plants open mouth kisses along my face, neck, and collarbone. Cade’s endearing whispers inflame my desire.

The painfully slow movements have me begging for more, but he refuses. For the first time, I explore something new. My hand drifts between us, coating a finger, and run it along the length of his butt cheeks a few times before I wiggle my finger between them, pressing into his backend.

Cade stops his hips and sucks in a breathy curse word, head hanging against my neck. He moves, which forces my finger to do the same. He’s panting, enjoying it, and I dip my finger in to the first knuckle, twisting it a bit.

“Fuck!”

His eyes squeeze shut, so I whisper in his ear, “You like this?” All he can do is nod and a shutter runs down his spine.

Cade snaps his hips forward, faster, while my finger explores his backside. He curses and moans, the amatory sounds fueling my passion. The sloshing of our bodily fluids fills the air, digit pumping into Cade, while he pounds into me with an urgency. Groans, ragged breathing caress my ears, and then I climb to my release. My hips meet Cade’s rhythm. I cry out, body taut, except for my finger twirling inside him. A couple of thrusts later, Cade hits his peak and falls to the side. We lay on our backs to level out our breathing. Sweat glistens our skin.

He turns his head toward me. “Princess, you do that again and you’ll be barefoot and pregnant for the rest of your life.”

I giggle, rolling into his side, placing a hand and leg over him. My mind is still reeling from sex and what I did to him. Being able to have power over Cade, watching him crumble from my touch, is exhilarating. At this moment, cancer isn’t a word, a problem, or an issue. It’s Cade and I twisted and glued to each other.

36

“I wish to live to 150 years old, but the day I die, I wish it to be with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.” Ava Gardner

Cade - September 2020

Sky and I are in the doctor’s waiting room for what seems like hours. She takes a magazine from the table, dated months ago, and flips through the pages without giving them a once-over. I haven’t seen her cry once since receiving the news. Sky wears a constant brave face even though she’s staring down the barrel of a gun. I’m the one who hasn’t taken it well. This paranoia of loss has me grappling for her touch, to have her close, spending a lot of time in bed. It’s where I am the closest to her. Holding her. Being inside her. It numbs the situation. The feeling is mutual because some days and evenings, she clings to me, her breath catching as if a sense a dread washes over her.

I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. I’m rewarded with her beautiful smile. It’s cut short by the sound of her name. We both rise and follow the nurse into an office where she tells us the doctor will be in soon.

Sure enough, he walks in, and I stand to shake his hand. He steps back, taken off-guard by my size. He’s a short, wiry guy. I’m sure the difference in our height and build makes him cautious, but he takes my hand before sitting behind the desk.

He says hello to Sky and opens her folder. “Sky, I was hoping to receive better results, one where you wouldn’t need anything drastic. You’re at Stage IB for cervical cancer, which means your cancer is around two centimeters big.”

I take over the conversation and ask, “What are her options?”

“We caught it early. That’s a good thing. For this stage, I’d suggest a radical trachelectomy. We’d remove the cervix, nearby tissue and lymph nodes, and the upper part of the vagina.” Sky shakes her head.

“Would a hysterectomy lower her chances of any recurring cancer?” She gasps at my question.

“It depends on partial or total. If she has a total hysterectomy, which removes the cervix and uterus as well as both ovaries and fallopian tubes, it greatly reduces the chance. But it doesn’t remove all risk.”

I rub her leg and say, “Then a total hysterectomy is what we’ll do.”

She brushes my hand away. “No. No. I want children. I don’t want a hysterectomy or that radical thing you stated.”

Again, my hand finds her thigh. “Sky, I don’t care about children. A total hysterectomy—”

I’ve never heard her raise her voice until now. “It’s my body, Cade, and I’m not doing it!” She lowers her voice and continues, “I will not remove my body parts.”

She’s right, it is her body. Even though I’m speaking out of fear, it still doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything for her to survive, and that includes making the decision.

“I don’t care if it’s your body. I’m not losing you! You’re going to do a total hysterectomy.”

“No, Cade! If you can’t support my decision, then leave. I won’t have you dictating what should be done to my body.

The doctor interrupts. “We can try chemotherapy and radiation at the same time, referred to as concurrentchemoradiation. Radiation works better with chemo. You’ll receive radiation five days a week for five weeks and the chemotherapy will be administered at certain scheduled times during the five weeks, depending on the drug used.”

“I’ll do chemoradiation.”

Anger boils inside. I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you sure? This is an opportunity to beat it and prevent it from coming back. We can always adopt.”

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