‘How about this, then?’ He nods down at his right leg.
I follow the direction of his gaze. Focussed on the lower part of the leg, but travelling up a little past the knee, the scars are vicious this time.
‘It’s a mess.’
I hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. I’m not the only one who’s been dealing with anger and frustration. For the time being, lust has flown straight out of the window. All I want to do is throw my arms around him, give him the reassurance he needs, but as soon as I begin to move, he raises a hand to stop me. No sympathy. All he wants is acceptance.
‘Damaged goods.’
‘You’re not damaged. You’re perfect in every single way.’
‘Far from it.’
‘Perfect for me. I don’t care about the scars. They’re part of you now … and I love you, everything about you, every last imperfection.’
‘I’ve got a few.’
‘You had a few before the accident. It didn’t stop me then, and it won’t stop me now.’
Because each one of them is a mark of his suffering, proof that regardless of all the slings and arrows thrown his way, he’s always been determined to pull through and make something better of his life. I gaze at him in utter admiration, noting that his breathing’s quickened a little. His lips part, and I wonder if he’s about to say something else, but as soon as it arrives, the moment’s gone. Maybe it’s time to inject a little humour into the situation.
‘I’m willing to bet your cock’s still in full working order.’
‘It certainly is.’ He smiles. ‘A fact I’m about to prove.’
‘Better get your pants off then … seeing as they’re too tight.’
‘Absolutely.’
He takes off his underpants, his cock springing free, erect and ready to go. Straightening up again, he doesn’t move. Instead, he stays exactly where he is, standing at the end of the bed, studying me.
‘Lie back down. Show me your body.’
With my heart rate zooming off the chart, I do as I’m told, raising my arms above my head and wrestling for every single breath as his gaze moves from my face down to my breasts, further down, across my stomach, to the stockings. At last I can’t take it any longer.
‘Just get on with it.’
He bites back a laugh.
‘Do you know what Winnie the Pooh said?’ he asks.
‘Pardon?’
‘Winnie the Pooh?’
‘Fuck Winnie the Pooh.’
‘What an awful thing to say. I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’
I giggle.
‘So, what did Winnie the Pooh say?’
‘Although eating honey is a very good thing to do, there’s a moment, just before you begin to eat it … I think it’s called anticipation.’
‘And I think you’ve anticipated enough.’
‘Fair enough.’
He climbs onto the bed, manoeuvring himself onto his side next to me. Still making no contact, he leaves just enough space between us for me to feel the warmth of his body. Propping his head on his right hand, he rests his left arm along his side.
‘But just a little more. Fucking hell, woman, I’ve missed you. How can that happen? How can you miss someone like they’re a part of your body?’
‘I have no idea. Just touch me. Please.’
He surveys my body again, enjoying the view.
‘Where?’ he asks at last.
‘What?’
‘Where do you want me to touch you?’
Oh God. What to say? My skin’s effervescing.
‘Anywhere. Everywhere.’
‘Not good enough. I need specifics.’
And I need his hands on me now. I opt for an obvious start.
‘Breasts.’
‘Which part of your breasts?’
‘Dan …
‘Specifics,’ he warns me.
‘Nipples.’
He reaches over and takes hold of my right nipple, gently squeezing and tugging, slowly elongating it, causing me to moan. Satisfied with my reaction, he lets go, swirling an index finger around my areola, again and again. I moan some more.
‘Enjoying that?’
‘God, yes.’
‘And now?’
‘The other one,’ I stammer. ‘Do the same.’
‘Magic word?’
‘Now.’
He pulls back, removing all contact, and I squirm in disappointment.
‘Try again.’
‘Please.’
‘That’s more like it.’
He moves to my left nipple, repeating the process, watching my every reaction.
‘Now, where shall I go?’
‘Down,’ I falter. ‘Run your fingertips over my stomach.’
‘Like this?’ he asks, following my instructions. He splays his fingertips and touches them lightly against my skin. Starting just below my breasts and skimming downwards at a snail’s pace, he leaves a trail of superheated flesh in his wake.
‘Exactly like that,’ I gasp.
He traces a path back up my stomach, stopping beneath my breasts, and then down again.
‘And now?’
‘Along my sides, and then inwards … to that place.’
Eyes still firmly locked on mine, he moves his hand to my flank, laying his palm flat against my skin, and cocks his head.
‘Which place?’ he asks, trailing the palm downwards.
‘You know …’
‘I’m afraid I have no idea.’
His eyes glimmer. He’s teasing me.
‘You know.’ My breath jitters as he moves back up, down again. ‘My lady garden.’
The hand’s removed. He takes hold of my chin.
‘I don’t deal in euphemisms, sweet pea. Say the word.’
‘My … you know.’
He laughs.
‘Say it.’
‘Clitoris … ah.’ I squirm and close my eyes. I haven’t got a clue why this makes me feel so embarrassed.
‘Well done.’ Releasing my chin, he brushes his fingers through my pubic hair. His index finger finds my clit and begins to circle, lazily. ‘You know, for a woman who swears like a trooper, you’re remarkably coy about your own body. It’s just
