Page 61 of ILY
He turns me around and pulls me against him, kissing me softly. Reverently. “Thank you,” he says.
I swoon. This hot man just fucked the life out of me, and he’s thankingme? Good fuck, what did I do to deserve this?
He twists me slightly so the warm water hits my back, and he helps me wash the mess he made. He does this for long, indulgent moments before he turns the shower off, then grabs a towel and begins to dry me wordlessly, top to tail.
These are things I’ve never had before. My own firsts. Being cared for with tender touches and quiet kisses as we both pull on boxers. The moment between us stretches on. It feels like infinity. Then, as we make our way toward the bathroom door, reality starts to set in. It’s heavy, but not entirely unwelcome.
“You hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence as he puts his hearing aids in.
I nod. Now that I’m not being railed into oblivion, I realize I’m slightly light-headed. Probably from the steam and the lack of food. “I should probably get something in me. I’ve been neglecting regular meals.”
He sighs, but not like he’s angry, and he kisses my temple. “Go lay down. I’ll get something for us to eat.”
I don’t want to be separated from him, but I do as he says. I’m afraid he’ll go downstairs and panic when he realizes how head over heels I am. But he doesn’t. He’s quick with his work, and within minutes, he’s back upstairs with a plate of crackers, cheese, fruit on a platter, and a pitcher of water cold enough that the glass is fogged.
“My hero,” I say as he sets it beside me and sets himself on the edge of the mattress. I stare at him, not liking how far apart we are. I need to touch him. I need him to ground me.
I scoot forward and point to the spot behind me. “Here,” I say, and he grins, scooting his mostly naked body behind mine.
I lean against him, my eyelids closing as he patiently feeds me bit by bit, forcing me to drink water to hydrate.
“How was your first time with a man, Mr. FBI man?” I finally ask, my stomach and heart both full.
“Like I knew it would be,” he says, his hand drifting across my abdomen to my thumping heart.
“And what would that be?”
“Didn’t you hear me say it? It was perfect, Leaf. Just like you.”
I guess it’s pretty foolish to think that suddenly everything is roses. Or peaches and cream. Or…whatever fluffy metaphor is used to describe sex solving problems.
Michael is still an issue, and Thorne is still an FBI agent—though I guess I’m not his case anymore—and I’m still sleep-deprived and half out of my mind from the torment of my current situation.
It’s mostly Michael and a little bit this farm I’m completely allergic to. To add on to it, the weight of being jobless with only a tiny nest egg to live on but no idea what I want to do next is making my hair turn grey.
Well, mostly.
I’m too young to retire, but I also feel too old to pursue something new with my life. I did not expect to burn out this fast, but here I am.
Turning over on my side, I see Thorne on his back, sideways on the bed with his feet on the floor, an ice pack against his neck and a cool cloth over his eyes.
He’s in the middle of a vertigo cluster spell. It comes and goes, and his stomach is in knots. He’s been sick twice now, and I can’t help but think this is mostly my fault.
The sex was very vigorous and, coupled with the shitty sleep he had on the porch and me finding out who he was, has put him through the wringer. Though that one is kind of on him for being a lying liar who lies. But I want to take care of him, and I’m doing my best to learn how.
“Is there anything else I can do?” I murmur as close to his ear as I can without yelling in it. His hearing aids are off because they make the vertigo worse.
“Just leave me to die.”
I slip my hand under his and wait for his fingers to curl around me before I sign, ‘No.’ I hope he gets it.
He laughs, so he must.
“I just got you. If you could, you know, not do that for at least five more decades, that would be great.”
His free hand lifts to pull the corner of the cloth up so he can see. His eyes are still a little shaky, but not as bad as when the vertigo first hit. “You don’t need to sit here and try to will me better. These days happen. I know you have shit to do.”
The shit I have to do is figure out how to get rid of Michael, but for the first time in months, I’m not in the mood to think about him. But I can tell from Thorne’s tone that he kind of wants to be alone. I get it. I think I would want to be as well.
