Page 126 of Finding Our Reality

She lifts an eyebrow, not amused.

She bends her head and investigates my shoulder. Unable to help myself, my free arm snakes around her waist and my hand travels to her ass, cupping it. All I feel is T-shirt. I don’t think she’s wearing any panties.

“Ry,” she warns.

“Sorry. I’ll stop.”

She bites her lip. “Okay. Here goes.” The second the forceps pierce inside my arm, she asks if I’m okay. She’s so nervous she actually yells the question, nearly bursting my eardrum.

“I’m fine. That’s what the lidocaine was for.”

Nodding, I watch as she grabs the very edge of the object and tries to pull it out.

Well, that’s never gonna work.

Sure enough, my blood makes it too slippery, and the shrapnel slips from the forceps and dives back into my skin, making her gasp in horror.

“It’s okay. Try again. You have to dig deeper.”

For a split second she looks upset, but because she’s My Lulu, that doesn’t last long. Stiffening her spine, she squares her shoulders and narrows her eyes into small little beads. She’s gripping the forceps so tightly her knuckles are turning white. She finds the edge of the debris and slides farther down into my body. My flesh makes a sickening squishy sound, like someone’s kneading ground beef through their fingers. She goes a little deeper than the lidocaine went, and I clench my teeth, fighting through the pain, trying not to move. She yanks the remnant from my body, and the wound actually makes a large poppingsound, celebrating the expulsion of the foreign object. A large dollop of blood pours from the cut and rolls down my arm, pooling in the crevice of my elbow.

Her mouth falls open as we stare it.

Green glass. Like an old-fashioned soda bottle. About three quarters the size of my thumbnail.

“Glass,” she whispers. “You have glass inside of your body.” Her lip quivers. “Someone tried to kill you.”

Grabbing the forceps from her, I toss them down on the counter. Drops of my blood mar the surface. Wrapping my good hand around her neck, I graze her puffy little scar with my thumb. “Hey. Look at me. I’m fine. Completely fine. We’ll clean me up and throw that shrapnel right in the trash, right where it belongs. It’s not coming between you and me. Nothing is.”

Taking a deep breath, she nods, forcing her emotions in check. “Now what?”

I show her how to flush the wound, pack it with some antibiotic ointment, and close it with the suture alternative. Finally, we cover it with some fresh gauze and a large waterproof bandage. The lidocaine is starting to wear off, so I pop an over-the-counter pain reliver and watch as she cleans up the mess. When everything is tidy, she comes back over to check on her handiwork.

I tug her back between my legs. “How’s it look?”

She nods. “Good.”

“Good?” I snort. “Most of the time, I don’t even think about it. But every once in a while, I’ll pass by a mirror and it catches my attention. It looks like my shoulder went through a meat grinder.”

Cocking her head, she watches me with those mesmerizing eyes. Honey and caramel and maple syrup all swirled into one. Lifting my right hand, she moves my fingertips across the fresh scar on her forearm from her fall at the gas station on our wayback from Atlanta. She then moves my hand to her left thigh and forces me to trace the entire length of her hip surgery scar.

She’s definitely not wearing any panties.

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she yanks it over head and tosses it across the kitchen counter. Her large tits swing in front of my face, causing my mouth to go dry and my dick to go hard. Her nipples immediately peak and the milky skin of her breasts breaks out in chill bumps. My eyes travel down the firm lines and soft curves of her body. Her shaved little pussy is like a magnet. I can’t stay away from it. I couldn’t then, and I sure as hell can’t stay away from it now.

She reaches back out, grabbing my hand again, and places it on her pelvis, right across the soft skin above her pubic bone. Together, we trace the thin white line. It’s barely visible, but I know it’s there. In our time together, I’ve mapped every inch of her perfect body.

“My C-section scar.” Twisting to the left, she moves her head to the side so the glow from the kitchen light illuminates the shadows of her stomach. She points to the small pink lines on either side of her hip bones. “Stretch marks.” She looks up at me. “Sometimes, I see all these things and I think I’m not beautiful.”

Kill. Me. Now.

This woman is mine. She’s all mine. She’s my everything. She’s the epitome of beauty.

And it’s my job to make her feel beautiful every single second of every single day.For the rest of our lives.

“Those scars are proof of your battles, Lulu. You’ve fought war after war, and you’re still standing.” I touch her forearm. “Some mother tucked her little boy into bed tonight because of you.” I caress the vertical lines of her stretch marks. “Our daughter lived inside of this body.” I shake my head in awe. “You grew a human being inside of you. Words can’t describe how amazing that is.” My fingers move over to her C-sectionscar. “We didn’t get the time with Reality that we wanted, but it doesn’t make it any less real. It doesn’t makeherany less real. These scars gave me a child, and they make your body even more remarkable than it was twelve years ago. That seventeen-year-old I met was gorgeous, but this thirty-year-old? She’s absolutely breathtaking.”

Lulu smiles softly. Her hands wrap around my thighs.

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