Page 99 of Beyond the Stroke

His hands remain on my wrists for a minute, then he drops them to the couch on either side of my hips.

I’m like a child being given a paint set for the first time. I want to explore and discover all the possibilities.

I push through the strands, lifting them upward until Rory looks like he’s been shocked by electricity. Then, I smooth it out again before teasing the center up into a mohawk. Before long, my exploration has his hair a mess, sticking out every which way.

As my fingers comb through his hair, I find myself relaxing. I start to play with different pressures. Applying more weight to the pads of my fingers near the sides and crown of his head, before easing off and using my fingernails lightly against the back of his head.

Pretty soon I’m lost in the feeling of freedom and my curiosity takes over.

My hand slides to the back of his head, loving the feeling of his hair running between each finger before I scissor them together and give a light tug.

A muffled whimper slips past Rory’s lips. It’s raw and unguarded, the same way I’d felt a moment ago when I’d pulled his hair. At the sound of him, my nipples harden and slickness gathers between my thighs.

Rory’s low whimper settles between us and my eyes go wide with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry.”

My fingers release his hair, my hand immediately withdrawing, but Rory catches my wrist.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. I liked it.” His voice is still trembling with the weight of pleasure.

He’s telling me it’s okay. He liked it, but I’ve never heard a man make that sound before. And I’ve never been this turned on before, either.

“Okay.” I nod, pulling away to busy myself with folding up the blanket, before standing to return the unread book to the shelf. “Thanks for that. It was nice.” My words come out in a rush before I quickly retreat down the hallway.

When I get back to the bedroom, I jump into bed and pull up the covers. Shoving my hands under my cool pillow, I take a shallow breath.

Oh my god. What was that?

It was supposed to be amusing. Me messing up Rory’s hair as consolation for my ex’s inability to ever let me touch his. But the way my body responded. The sound Rory made when I tugged his hair. It all felt like more than that. It was electric and terrifying and I want to do it again.

A moment later, I hear Rory enter the room. On the other side of the pillow wall, the bed dips with his body weight and I hear the rustle of the sheets as he pulls them up.

He sighs. “You know, Wildflower, I think you just ruined me.”

“What?” The single word is muffled into my pillow.

“The feel of your hands in my hair. Nothing has ever felt that good.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” The darkness covers up my cringe. What am I saying? “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Summer.”

twenty-five

. . .

RORY

After three hours of dryland training and swim practice, followed by a high-protein meal and ice bath, I spend an hour with Coach reviewing this week’s training goals and the upcoming meets. Then, video analysis of my recent breaststroke form to evaluate how my rehabbed knee is performing, and a check-in with the team’s dietician.

Now, after a strength training session in the weight room, I’m toweling off from my shower.

It’s my usual Friday routine. Same grind. Same goals. Same sore body.

But ever since Summer and I got married, nothing feels the same.

I’m here doing the work, pushing my body through every set and rep, but my mind keeps drifting back to her.

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