“Yep,” she says, unloading food onto our desks. “That okay? I’m starving.”
Brody’s right. Skye has been abducted by aliens. I haven’t seen her eat fried chicken since college, and even then, she took the skin off.
“So what was so funny?” she asks again, licking her fingers.
“More Rhett and Ainsley drama,” Brody says, flipping me the bird.
“Oh, the kiss,” Skye says.
What the fuck? Girls don’t follow the “don’t kiss and tell” policy, I guess. Obviously, Skye knows the whole mess. Well, Ainsley’s side of the mess. Which, let’s be honest, is probably the more truthful side.
Brody’s eyes dart to mine, and I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
Skye points her chicken leg at me. “You know, one of these days, Ainsley’s going to stop giving you chances.”
“Babe,” Brody says. “Maybe it’s best to not . . .”
“What if Ainsley got paralyzed?” Skye asks me.
“Okay,” Brody says, getting to his feet. “I don’t want to hear about my sister being hurt, fictional or not. I’m going to go check in with Brenda.” He walks out, making a crazy sign by his head.
“So?” Skye prompts. “What if Ainsley was in a wheelchair?”
“So now she and I are both paralyzed?” I ask.
“Yep,” she says, grabbing another piece of chicken.
Not wanting to have this conversation with her, I joke, “I guess I’d do a lot of motorboating.”
“There you go,” she says, taking me totally seriously. “Ainsley feels the same way.”
Sometimes female logic isn’t so easy to follow. Why is that? It’s like they go from point A to point Z in one step. Perhaps that means they are the smarter sex, after all. “I’m missing the point of this whole thing.”
Skye puts down her chicken and looks up at me. “The point is, you’d still want her. You know everything that comes with being in that chair. And even knowing all that, you’d still want her. You wouldn’t care about any of it. You wouldn’t stop wanting her because she needed a catheter or couldn’t walk down the aisle to you. You’d still want her because you love her that much.”
“I would.”
“Then you need to start believing she loves you that much.”
Skye goes back to her ravenous attack on the poultry population, and I just sit quietly, thinking about what she said.
Love is a belief, a faith. I’ve never thought about love as faith before, but that’s exactly what it is. To have faith is to trust someone else totally. That’s what love is at its core.
They say you can’t have love if you don’t have trust. That’s what love is.
Love is faith.
It’s long past time for me to become a believer.
CHAPTER FORTY
AINSLEY
Pick you up at seven.
I’ve been staring at Rhett’s text for a solid five minutes. Brody and Skye’s party is tonight. Rhett and I planned to go together, but we haven’t really talked since our post-kiss argument the other night. I just assumed our date was off, although I never officially told him so. It’s a good six hours until we need to be there. I could let him sweat it out, but instead I type.
No, I’ll see you there.
His response is immediate.
Then I need to see you before. You don’t have to talk to me. I’ll do all the talking, but there’s some things I need to say to you. Just one more chance.
There’s that charming little just word he loves to throw around. I don’t respond to his message, but I can’t ignore him. My heart won’t let me, no matter how much my brain says that’s the best course of action. I don’t know how long this little saga of ours can go on, but I know it’s not over. Not yet.
Slipping on a pair of sandals, I head one floor up to his place. I don’t know what he’s about to say. All I know is that Sadie won’t be barking at my arrival. That’s a first. And it makes me sad. Taking a deep breath, I knock. After a quick moment, he answers. I can tell he’s surprised to find me at his door, probably thinking I was ignoring him, since I hadn’t answered his last text.
There’s a look in his pale blue eyes I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It’s intense, almost an urgency, but at the same time a hesitation. I can’t put my finger on the emotion. The feeling as I walk inside his place is: this is it.
This is the moment where we either let go of each other or grab on and never let go again.
“I don’t want anything between us,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Not this chair. Nothing,” he says, and I nod. “I want to show you some things.”
He moves toward his spare bedroom, and I say, “Rhett, I’ve been in your place. I’ve seen your workout . . .”
“Please, Ainsley,” he says.
Exhaling, I nod then follow him into the room now set up as his personal gym. He tells me how the equipment works, what it’s designed to do, his workout regimen. He even shows me a couple of the moves. It’s interesting, but I’m not sure what it has to do with anything. The same holds true for the tour he gives me of his kitchen, showing me how everything is stored in the lower cabinets now, explaining how he does the laundry, the dishes.
Does he want a gold star chart? I never doubted his ability to live on his own, be independent. Whatever this is, I’m missing the point.
Next, he takes me into his bathroom. I haven’t seen this room since he’s been back. It’s the one room that looks the most different—newly installed grab bars and shower chair. He reaches for a bag that’s always attached to his chair, pulling out a small tube in some wrapping.
His chest inflates as he takes a huge breath. “You were in the hospital with me in the beginning, but there’s some stuff you missed. I’m not sure how much you know about what my daily life looks like now.”
I see a tiny shake in his hand as he holds the package, and the emotion I couldn’t place before becomes glaringly obvious.
Fear.
Rhett is scared. My Rhett. The bravest, strongest, toughest man I know is scared.
I take what he’s holding, realizing it’s a catheter. Quietly, he starts to tell me about his daily routine. I knew all this, but honestly, I haven’t given it much thought, and I’m not quite sure why he’s going through it all with me now.
He rolls out of the bathroom, going over to his bed, and pulling back all the bedding, even the fitted sheet. “If I’m not really careful, sometimes at night . . .” his voice cracks.
I see the pad on the bed. I know what it’s for.
“If we ever were to share a bed again . . .” He stops, looking up at me, and my heart breaks.
He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life, and he’s sitting here telling me he could possibly have an accident in bed with me.
Does he think any of this changes things for me? Does he think I care? These are the reasons he pushed me away before, and now he’s laying it all out for me to see. Does he think this might make me love him less? It really makes me love him more.
I want to tell him I don’t care, but he keeps talking, and I feel like if I interrupt him, he may never get everything out he needs to say. Using his arms, he scoots forward slightly in his chair.
“Stand behind me,” he says. I move, then he lifts his shirt up, the long, jagged scar from his spinal surgery coming into view.
I’ve seen it, but not in a long time. My reaction when I saw it in the hospital was gratitude that he was alive. Now looking at it, a lighter pink color, no longer fresh from surgery, I’m filled with the same emotion.
Gently, I reach out, running my fingers down it, feeling the small, jagged ripples. Rhett looks back at me over his shoulder, our eyes meeting, and I know more is coming. Slowly, I move away, allowing him to sit back comfortably in his chair.
“Why are you showing me all this?” I ask, sitting down on his bed, facing him. “None of it changes anything for me.”
“I’m showing
you because I love you,” he says. “And I need to make sure you know all of it. I’m showing you because I don’t want to put the chair between us anymore. I’m showing you and asking you to love me anyway.”
My hand flies over my mouth, tears rushing down my face. Finally! This is what I waited for all those nights on his parents’ porch. It’s long overdue.
“I’m so sorry, Ainsley. You have no idea how sorry I am. I won’t ever hurt you again,” he says, wiping my face with his hands. “I want your love back.”
“You never lost it,” I whisper, leaning my forehead on his. His fingers glide through my hair, both of us whispering I love you to each other.
There were times I never thought I’d hear him say those three words to me again, and there were times when I was sure I’d never believe them from him again, either. I thought I’d given up on Rhett’s love, but now I know he never really gave up on me. He just needed to learn how to love me from a new perspective.
I lean in to kiss him, but he pulls back, saying, “One more thing.”
I know what it is. The biggest hang-up for him. “Sex,” I say.
Nodding, he says, “It’s not going to be the same.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “But why do you assume it’s going to be worse?”
He shakes his head at me, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “I have no idea how it will be,” he says, looking away from me.
“But you’ve . . .” I take a deep breath. The only way we can work through this stuff is to be honest and open. “Pleasured yourself, right?”
Not making eye contact with me, he shakes his head. In all the years I’ve known Rhett, I’ve never seen him like this. So unsure, so vulnerable.
“Where’s the cocky guy I fell in love with?” I ask playfully.
He turns my way, a mischievous grin sneaking out. That guy is still very much alive.
Taking his hand, I say, “We’ll figure it out together.”
His eyes drift to my belly. “Having a family isn’t impossible, but it’s not a guarantee, either.”
“It’s not a guarantee for any couple,” I say quickly.
“But the odds of me being able to get you pregnant naturally are really low.”
“So we get some help, then.” Holding his eyes, I take both his hands in mine. “Rhett, I know it will be different now.”
His eyes close tightly. “The patio, our first time . . .”
He brought the same thing up in the hospital all those months ago. It was great sex, but I’m not sure why he obsesses over that one time. I move to his lap, running my fingers through his hair. “So we can’t have sex standing up anymore. There are plenty of other positions.”
Interrupting, he whispers, “That was the only time we ever had sex without a condom. The only time I ever really felt you.” His eyes close. “I’ll never . . .”
He’ll never feel me again.
We both knew that, but in this moment, the reality of it hits him hard. Both our hearts break at the same time. I lower my forehead to his, and for the first time since tragedy struck, we cry together.
Tears stream down both our faces until I’m not sure which are his and which are mine. His arms coil around me tightly, and I cling to his shirt. We cry for everything we lost. For all the things we’ll never have again. We cry for all the harsh words that passed between us, and all the love we didn’t share. We cry for what should have been, and what will never be.
And when the tears slow, he wipes my cheeks, and I wipe his—both of us realizing this is what we needed, and realizing we still have each other.
Our tears are soon replaced by smiles. Smiles for everything we still have, for all the things yet to come. We smile at all the memories of friendship and love between us, for all we shared. We smile for all that will be, and for what’s to come.
Sliding off his lap, I stand in front of him, this man that I love more than anything in the world. This man who I just had the most intimate moment of my life with, and it had nothing to do with sex. This man who I want to share everything with.
Staring into his blue eyes, I lift my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor, revealing my white cotton bra. If I’d known today was the day for this, I would’ve thrown on a little lacy number, but basic white cotton is what we’ve got. Slipping out of my pants, I’m grateful at least my panties match. His eyes slide over me, and I know he doesn’t care one bit.
“Get over here,” he says, grinning at me.
Biting my bottom lip, I do a quick study of his wheelchair, determining the best way to straddle him. He helps guide me, his hands sliding up my back and unhooking my bra. Before I have time to breathe, he pulls my breast into his mouth, sucking down on me, the pleasure shooting right between my legs.
Pulling away sharply, I look down at him and see concern in his eyes, but he gently strokes my back with his fingers.
“Rhett,” I say. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I really need you to make me come.”
The biggest grin comes over his face, and he pulls me to his lips, his tongue invading my mouth. One hand at the back of my neck, he kisses me hard. His other hand slides down the back of my panties, gripping my ass. The muscles between my legs clench. His mouth moves to my neck. I can’t remember us ever having sex in a chair before, and right now, I’m wondering why the hell not. His fingers slips between my legs, and I cry out at the contact.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.”
Letting my hand slide down, I feel him, wanting to make sure he’s ready. I know there will be times his body doesn’t respond, but Rhett has manual and oral skills that will work just fine in those situations. Right now, though, his dick is responding perfectly.
Slowing down for a second, I slip off my panties then reach for the waistband of his pants. Our eyes meet, and for the first time, I feel like we’re nervous, clumsy virgins. I guess in some ways we are. He uses his arms to lift himself up for a second, while I slide his pants off. I reach for his shirt, but he grabs my hand.
“Leave it,” he says, pulling me by my waist back into my straddle position.
I feel him hard between my legs. Except for our first time, we’ve always used condoms. The odds of him getting me pregnant aren’t very high, and if he did, both of us would consider it a blessing. But that’s not the only reason I don’t want to ask him to wear one. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize his experience, and I’m not sure whether a condom would. It’s not worth the risk to me.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, sensing I’m overthinking. “We have to talk for this to work.”
“No condom, okay?” I ask softly.
“Okay,” he says, taking hold of himself. His eyes on mine, he glides inside me. My toes curl, my muscles tighten, everything about my body remembering him.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he groans, his hands slipping to my ass, encouraging me.
I know it’s not going to take me long to finish. It’s been over a year since I’ve had an orgasm, but I want to make sure this is good for him, too, although I’m not sure how I’m going to know that. If he can’t finish, how can I tell? The orgasm is usually the finish line, the goal. What’s the goal now?
He pulls me to his lips, kissing me. “Does it feel okay?”
I thrust my hips slowly. “Perfect.”
“I love watching you,” he moans, glancing between our bodies, watching his dick slide in and out.
My body starts to tremble, building up. “How do I know when to stop?”
He grins up at me, giving me a hard smack on my ass. “We stop when you can’t come anymore.”
I giggle, and he places his hands on my hips, using the strength of his upper body to help slide me up and down, hitting just the right spot.
“Ride my dick, baby,” he groans.
If he keeps doing that, this is going to be over really quick, and I’m not ready for it to end. Before, I didn’t give much thought to Rhett finishing. He’s a young, strong, healthy man. I
took his ability to orgasm for granted. I know he might not be able to now, but I have to give it my best shot.
Slowing down, I lean into him, letting my breasts rub against his chest, lowering my mouth to his neck. Teasing him, I lightly kiss his neck, the lobes of his ears, feeling his muscles tighten. I’ve kissed his neck a thousand times. I know it turns him on, but am not sure it will be enough. The last thing I want is to work him into a frenzy without a release.
His hands wind in my hair, pulling me back to his lips. “Come for me, Ainsley.”
His voice sounds like he’s begging. He needs to know he can still make me orgasm. He might need to know that more than he needs to know whether he can. But this can’t just be about me. I know my satisfaction means more to him than his own, but this is about us.
His hand slides to my face, making me look at him. His pale blue eyes are alive with happiness. His finger grazes my lips. My mouth opens, slipping his finger inside, and I suck down. His whole upper body goes rigid.
“Fuck,” he groans, biting down on his bottom lip.
Running my tongue around his finger, I suck again. That earns me a “holy fuck.”
His eyes are on fire. I know that look. I’ve seen it many times, usually when I was on my knees. I haven’t given a blow job in a very long time, and never to a finger, but how different can it really be? I remember reading something in those early weeks after he was hurt about exploring new erogenous zones. We often get stuck thinking about dicks, vaginas, and forget that our bodies are full of uncharted territory. Perhaps I just discovered the new sexual holy land for Rhett.
He watches his dick slipping in and out of me, all the while I’m sucking, nibbling, and slowly running my tongue around his finger.
“Ainsley,” he cries out.
His head tosses back, his hand grips my hip, and his groan is so loud, I wonder if the neighbors can hear us.
Did that just happen? I’ve never been so happy to give a man an orgasm in my whole life!
Eyes wide, he looks at me. I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised. “What the hell?” he pants. “I’m not supposed to finish first!”
Just Love Page 23