Healing You

by Katana Collins

  Steve nodded. “Hopefully the chicken and sweet potatoes will spur his appetite. Otherwise, frozen fish are good. They taste okay to dogs but are still mild if their stomachs are upset. They sort of gnaw on them frozen like a bone.”

  Yvonne kicked a large bag of dog food sitting in the kitchen. “Damn food costs a fortune. He better like it.”

  “It’ll be worth it. The more greens and proteins you give him, the better chance we have at starving the cancer cells.” He walked over, kneeling beside Gatsby and put a hand to his belly. The soft rise and fall of his breath was reassuring, but it was never easy to watch an animal suffer. “The medicine we gave him today is a tough drug for a lot of animals. We’ll scale back the dosage for next time and I think you’ll see a huge improvement.”

  “So, it won’t be like this every time?”

  “Nah, it will probably get easier.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a bottle of pills and a gooey treat, wrapping it around one pill. “In the meantime, this should help the nausea.” Gatsby sniffed the pill and reluctantly took it, almost sensing—trusting—the fact that Steve knew what could help him feel better. Steve set a bowl of the chicken beside him, waiting for the medication to kick in and stir his appetite.

  When he stood back up, Yvonne’s hazel gaze, the color of seaweed beneath a gray-blue lake, collided with his. “Steve—” Her voice was willowy and soft and as she sat on her couch, her elbows resting on her knees, the shirt she wore billowed out revealing a flash of something black and lacy. Christ. “You were already on your way over before I called… but what made you come?”

  She stood, moving with a calculated grace as she stepped closer to him. Their bodies were lined up, hers just in front of his, her full breasts curved beneath the shirt, straining the soft cotton. He’d come because he was an idiot who apparently read far more into the time they’d been spending together than she did. He’d never considered himself a jealous person. Not until Yvonne. But seeing her with Jonah… that man’s hands on her, his touch against her hip. It sent pain tearing through Steve’s chest. Pain that far outweighed anything he experienced in a physical sense, though it was as real to him as the scar on his face. “I was worried,” he answered with a glance back at Gatsby. The dog sighed and he dipped his nose into the food.

  “Look!” Yvonne whispered. “He’s eating!”

  Relief swept through Steve. Those first few bouts of nausea were always the hardest, and Gatsby seemed to be bouncing back quickly. “I know this round of chemo can be tough the first time, and I thought Gatsby might need me.”

  “You thought Gatsby might need you?” Her hands landed on the base of his rib cage and he tried to pull away, but somewhere along the way, he got mixed up and instead he swayed closer, his pecs brushing against her chest.

  “I also thought you may need… a friend.”

  “Mmm, I already have a lot of friends,” she said, leaning in. Looking down at her misty eyes, she was nearly a different person than she’d been the last few weeks, staring up at him like that. What he needed was to step away. To leave here, go for a run, and afterwards maybe enjoy a stiff drink. Unfortunately, the only stiff thing about him had nothing to do with alcohol.

  Putting his hands gently to her shoulders, he took a step back, moving himself to arm’s length distance. “But when I got here, I saw that you already had a ‘friend’ to help you through this time. And I thought maybe my showing up was a little inappropriate.” He stared at her pointedly, waiting for her explanation. Not that she owed him one, but if she was back with Jonah, he had a right to know. Especially with how her hands kept sliding up his body like that. With how she wet her lips and looked up at him with a slick pout, and glossy eyes.

  “Jonah’s not a friend,” she said and Steve felt his muscles seize beneath her touch. Could feel his soul turning to concrete.

  “If he’s not a friend, then that means he’s your—”

  “My nothing,” she said. “He’s now an acquaintance. One who happened to be in the neighborhood when I was trying to walk Gatsby. When Gatsby decided he couldn’t go another step, Jonah helped me carry him home. That was all.”

  “He’s your nothing,” Steve repeated.

  “My nothing. An ex… that’s all.”

  Steve inhaled a sharp breath at that, closing his eyes. “Is that all I am, too?” The question slipped out. If he’d been looking her in the eyes, he may have had the sense to stop it.

  “No. Not anymore.”

  He opened his eyes, meeting hers. “And yet, you said yourself that you have enough friends.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  He made a noise that resembled a growl and bit down on his top lip to keep himself from crashing them down on hers. “Where the hell does that leave us then, Eve?”

  She swallowed and he watched the delicate line of her throat as it went down. She was nervous, it seemed. But hell, so was he. “I’d say,” she whispered, “that it leaves us right about here.” Pushing even closer into his body, she tilted her head up until her nose was nearly level with his.

  She brushed her nose against his cheek as she tilted her head, looking up at him with an expression that could only be described as sultry. “You should really consider stepping back. Unless…”

  But instead of stepping back, she dragged her hand up his neck, cupping his jaw. Her thumb stroked his bottom lip as her mouth grazed his ear, her warm breath sending a shiver down his body. “Unless?”

  He bit the tip of her thumb and she gave a little whimper as his teeth hit her skin. Before she could draw it back, he ran his tongue along the side to her knuckle before she slowly withdrew it from his lips.

  Her hair fell in pieces around her face and Steve pinched a section, running his fingers through the silky strands. “You make the decision,” he said. She stared at his mouth, her tongue darting across her lips in a nervous lick, and his hands itched to skim across her hotter than hell curves. She didn’t say a word, but her lips lifted into a seductive smile. “You didn’t want to be pushed into anything,” he reminded her, “and I want to make sure that what I think you want right now is really what you’re—”

  Before he could finish what he was saying, she had pushed onto her toes, pressing her mouth against his. He gripped her waist, pulling her tighter against his body, and his groan escaped from between their lips as her tongue pierced into his mouth.

  Yvonne gave a pleasure-filled gasp as she scraped her fingers behind his neck, holding him against her mouth. As if he were going to fucking pull away. As if she needed to hold him there.

  Even in the haze of her lips on his, her body pressed against his—he knew. He wanted to stay. For as long as she’d have him.

  ‡

  Chapter Eighteen

  Yvonne would swear in a confession booth that she had no idea how she ended up with her lips on Steve’s. But God, did it feel right. Good and right. Her hands slid around his shoulders, clutching his tensed biceps. So much had changed since they were teenagers—but that kiss? It was as good as she’d remembered it to be, with a bit more of a refined approach these days.

  He lifted her effortlessly in his arms, her body soft and pliable against his chest. With tensed muscles, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the nearest tabletop a few feet away.

  He went still and Yvonne whimpered as he pulled his lips from hers, dropping his forehead to the crook of her neck. “What’s wrong?” she asked, the words coming out as a breathless pant.

  “I need to know that you forgive me, Eve. I-I don’t think I can do this if you haven’t…” He lifted his head, capturing her gaze like she was a prisoner, unable to break free.

  Her kitchen was suddenly far too hot. The open window with its slight breeze did nothing to cool her flushed skin. She had promised herself long ago to never make herself vulnerable to this man again. Never show the wounds because all he would do was pour salt on them. And yet—even though salt was painful as hell, it was also he
aling. Pain was healing. His eyes glittered with unshed tears and he didn’t move. They were each barely breathing. If the last three weeks were any indication, he had changed. He’d proven that as best he could to her—he was caring, kind, thoughtful, responsible…

  But there, itching at the base of her stomach was the doubt. And guilt. Always present. Yeah, Steve had walked away from her and she deserved an apology for that. But her part in the accident still gnawed at her. That guilt and doubt she would always feel with Steve bubbled up, ready to explode out of her at any moment. Could they ever both get past that?

  Steve sighed, his eyes fluttering closed, and he pulled back from her. A cracking ache split in her chest and before he could move too far away, she stopped him, cupping his face with her palms and pulling him into her.

  His bright blue gaze jerked back to hers, hopeful. “I forgive you,” she whispered. “But I can’t promise that I entirely trust you yet. But I should apologize to you, too—”

  He shook his head. “We’ve been over this, already. We don’t have to discuss the lett—”

  “The hell we don’t. We both know why you walked away from me.” She tried to swallow, but her throat felt swollen as his gaze softened. He blamed her for the accident. Deep down, he must. It was the only explanation that made sense why both he and his sister had done their best to avoid her since the accident.

  “I have to admit, it’s a relief to hear you bring it up. It seemed for so long like you had no idea or you had forgotten why I had walked away.”

  “How could I have no idea? It was written all over your face. And I’m sorry. Please tell me you can forgive me. I’ve felt so awful for my part in that for so many years—”

  Steve pushed his fingers gently against her lips to quiet her. “I forgive you.”

  Her hands still curled around his face, her thumbs resting on either side of his mouth, she pulled him into her. But instead of kissing his mouth, she tilted his jaw down, pressing her lips beside his temple at the apex of his scar. He sucked in a sharp breath and she could feel his body harden against her. Squeezing her legs together, she constricted his hips even tighter against her body as she trailed her lips down the length of it, leaving little kisses until her mouth ended at the corner of his.

  “Yvonne,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  He curled his arms tight around her waist. “I need your lips,” he answered. Her breasts pushed against his body, causing a glorious pressure, but it wasn’t enough.

  She fought a smile, but it won out over her. “I knew what you wanted. Just wanted to hear you say it.”

  If she didn’t know Steve better, she would have sworn that the next sound out of his mouth was a growl, but before she could define it, she took his lips, spearing into his mouth with her tongue. Tasting, licking, sucking, and feeling him with the most desperate kiss she’d ever experienced. His hands clawed up her back, grasping her hair, twisting around in his fists. As she gasped, he seized the opportunity to suck on her bottom lip.

  Yvonne pushed her fingers up his shirt, tearing it off over his head, and he did the same with hers. Her sports bra pushed her breasts together, barely managing to contain them as they rose and fell with each quickened breath.

  She pulled back, taking him in. Every bit of sculpted muscle. His tanned skin pebbled with goose bumps, taut nipples, and a six-pack that she could play like a freaking harp if she wanted to.

  His eyes seemed to be as entranced with her as she was with him, and he traced a line along the edging of her sports bra before peeling it away from her body as well. Dropping his head, he trailed his lips across the fullest curve of her breast.

  “Please, Steve.” She gripped his shoulders. She needed more. More than gentle caresses. More than tender kisses. As his thumb skimmed across one nipple, she had to steady her quaking body. She nipped at his shoulder.

  “Hmm?” he said, the question buzzing his lips, still barely teasing her nipple.

  “Harder.”

  He flashed her a grin. “I knew what you wanted. Just wanted to hear you say it.”

  Son of a bitch. But before she could allow herself to feel indignant, his teeth came down harder against her nipple, his hand kneading her heavy breast. She glided her fingers into his hair, fisting it, moaning his name over and over as his hands dipped into her waistband, tugging her pants down. His kisses were so similar. His touch, the same, yet more skilled with years more experience behind every move. He had been confident in high school, but this was something beyond teenage confidence. This was security. Stability. Like he was meant to be touching her. His hands were meant to be on her body.

  He scooped her into his arms. The bare skin along the side of her body pressed flush against his hard, carved muscles. He moved effortlessly with her in his arms toward the bedroom. “Wait. I haven’t showered since my run earlier.”

  He eyed the two doors between her bedroom and the bathroom and his brows lifted. “You smell incredible. Like the Eve I’ve missed for thirteen years.”

  “That’s very sweet. But if I don’t shower, you’ll find that I smell like an Eve who hasn’t bathed in thirteen years.”

  Another smile curved his mouth, and as he pressed it against hers, she could still feel the grin through the kiss as he moved them into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down over his slim hips. He had on no underwear. No underwear. Holy shit, if she thought he was glorious shirtless, then he was downright Adonis-like nude.

  His thick, veined cock stood erect, and Yvonne couldn’t stop herself from reaching out, taking hold of him. He was already wet at the tip, wet for her. She pumped him in her fist, bringing her teeth down hard on her bottom lip as her body clenched—needy, ready. So ready for him.

  He knelt down in front of her, his nose lined up to her sex, and curving his fingers into her panties, he dragged them down—tortuously slow over her thighs. His knuckles brushed soft skin around her thighs, knees, calves… until the panties fell by her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them to the side. Before she could stop him, Steve planted a kiss on her clit, drawing her gently into his mouth and circling his tongue over her nub. She gasped, tugging him into her, and he looked up with a wink. “You’re wrong. You smell amazing.”

  You smell amazing. He had said that exact same thing to her before their very first kiss. She had just finished cleaning up the play pen area of the animal shelter when Steve came in with a can of soda for her. She tried to run away from him. Tried to scurry off to the bathroom to clean herself up, but he had stepped in front of her. Refusing to let her run and hide. Cracking open a can of soda, he took a sip and handed it to her. Waiting for to drink, he leaned in, and just before he pressed his mouth against hers, she jerked away. I smell like dog poop, she said. And he shook his head and whispered, You smell amazing.

  Did he even remember that? Steam billowed around them and Yvonne stepped back from his hold, entering the hot shower. “Don’t tell me you’ve acquired some sort of stinky post-run fetish?”

  He stood as well, bending and retrieving a small, square foil wrapper from his wallet, placing it on the shower ledge before following her into the hot, streaming water. She backed against the wall to give him space to enter. The tile felt cool against her body as he moved closer. She had nowhere left to go as a hand lifted to her face, tilting her head back until her hair was beneath the stream of water. Gently, he stroked his fingers through the strands before reaching for the soap. “No. I have a Yvonne fetish. Any way I can have you, I’ll take.”

  Bubbles formed on his palms and between his fingers as he lathered up. He ran the slick bar over her body, his hands kneading into her skin. With a tilt of his fingers and a gleam in his eyes, he gestured for her to turn around. Her face pressed into the shower wall, nipples grazing the chilly surface as he ran those glorious hands down her back. The whole soapy massage was erotic and sexy as hell, leaving her aching for those hands to massage between
her legs.

  Looking over her shoulder, she could see that he had dropped to his knees, soaping up her thighs and down her calves. “Spread wider,” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  She did as told, feeling how swollen and needy she was down there. His hand slid between her legs, just the smallest amount of soap, mixing with her own slickness. He gently rinsed the soap away before moving down the other leg to her ankle.

  As she thought he must be finished, she started to move, but his hands tightened on her hips. “Stay,” he said, sliding his hands down over her ass and squeezing. The shower head was positioned so that it was hitting his curved, muscular back, and though he was still on his knees behind her, she could just barely make out his expression if she looked over her shoulder at him. Adoration.

  He planted little kisses over the backs of her thigh, trailing a path up, and he gave a little nip to her ass before gliding those kisses back down the other thigh. Her body ached as though she was on fire. She needed him inside of her—his finger, his tongue… anything would do at this point. “Steve,” she pleaded.

  Placing both hands on either side of her ass, he licked the length of her sex once before driving his tongue deep inside of her. Her hand that had been flat against the bathroom tile, curved into a fist and with a grunt, she pounded it against the wall. His tongue continued like that, in delectable little flicks against her engorged, slick opening until the tightness became too much. It was all too much. She felt like she was going to explode, and if her quivering knees were any indication, she may not be able to stand for much longer.

  Steve’s hand slid to her shaking knees, as though sensing how close she was, and he stood. Keeping his hand on her clit, he guided her with his other hand to turn and face him. Yvonne’s wet hair curled around her face, falling and dripping down her cheeks and into her mouth. “You’re close,” he whispered, and it wasn’t a question. As she spun, she heard the tearing of the condom wrapper.