“I want to touch you,” he said.
She seemed to wilt at the words, her breaths increasing. Her gaze lowered a little to the right then roamed back to him as she removed her robe off her shoulders. “Where?” she whispered, letting it fall to the bed.
“I can’t…decide.” But his eyes were locked on her nipples. “You decide.”
She suddenly moved so that she straddled his lap. “I don’t want to cause you pain,” she whispered, bringing her breast exactly before his face. “Please, I beg you. Stop if you start hurting.”
He reached up and traced the shape of her, gliding his fingers over the soft swell of her mounds, his eyes locked on his plump target. What was it about that part of her? It was as though his brain was racing to catch up over the years of not doing what it new it wanted but never got. Without thought, his hand closed around the mound, squeezing. The gasp she gave controlled him. He opened and grabbed more, squeezing. Her nipple pushed toward him, called him. He raised his other hand and rubbed the thick nub. Cheryl gave a half cry and moan, dropping her head back and holding on to his wrist with both hands.
“Ben,” she barely said, bringing her head down with another gasp as he measured the thickness between his fingers. “Do you want to kiss it?” she offered, sounding worried.
Something inside broke in Ben or fixed. He squeezed harder, tugging her nipple to his mouth, kissing along the full, hard flesh. He moved his lips back and forth against it, his grunts thick and strange in his ears.
“Oh Ben,” she gasped. “Please.”
She pushed it into his mouth and Ben opened wide for it. Sucking it with such a hunger, he gave groans of astonishment while she held his head and scraped his scalp with her nails. Then he smelled her. He pushed her back a little, looking down to see her fingers between her legs.
“Cheryl.” Her name blasted from his winded lungs and he pushed her, so she sat on his lap, her knees open. He could see everything. Where he fingers were, how they moved.
“Touch me,” she begged with a tiny moan, undulating her hips. “Finger me.”
Finger her. His brain knew instinctively what that meant. More buried information. He reached between her legs and stroked his fingers along her open folds.
“Oh Ben, yes. Do it.”
“Cheryl,” he shuddered, sliding his finger along her open silk. “You were always wet and hot.” He slowly worked his middle finger inside her, raising his gaze to her face. She watched him with pinched brows, her mouth a perfect oval of ecstasy.
“Oh…” she gasped, flicking her lips faster, reaching behind her and grabbing hold of his shin. The position stretched her upper body taut and gave him a better angle. “Please,” she shot out, her hips meeting the deep drive of his finger. “Ben, don’t stop.”
Ben growled with her desperate hunger, shoving harder, faster. The wet sounds were driving him crazy.
“Oh Ben, yes! Yes!” Her cries were sharper, on the edge, nothing like he’d ever heard her make before. “Make me come, make me come!”
Ben reached up and grazed the top of her nipple and she sucked in a sharp breath and held it, right as the hot silk walls around his finger began to convulse. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, watching in rapt wonder as she came apart. Her whole body was gripped in that full body tremor like before and Ben pinched her nipple, discovering more, marveling at the sharp cry she gave and added shudders that followed. God, he wanted to kiss her while she did that. That’s what she’d said she wanted. For him to kiss her while she did that.
The warning in Ben’s body had grown. Quit now or regret it.
He pulled his finger from her, fighting to breathe. Damn, you, Gorham bastard.
“Are you okay?” she asked, winded.
He wished he could see how she looked while sounding like that, but the pain had reached a jagged screaming in his skull.
“Oh no. No, no,” she whispered, hurrying off him.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t comfort her. He had to just survive it.
“I’m so sorry.”
Stop. Stop being sorry. Stop being fucking sorry. Leave. Just leave.
“Tell me what to do. Ben, I’m scared, what do I do? You’re shaking.”
There was nothing to do and he couldn’t tell her.
“Is it going to pass?” she asked, sounding terrified. “I’m not ready for this, I have no idea what to do for you, I need to know what to do.”
Stop talking. Stop. Stop. Stop. Breathe, breathe through it.
Ben unlocked his muscles from the jaws of pain, knowing it was required for the pain to leave. It was like submitting to death, every part of him fought it.
He lost track of time up until the first wave. Waves of pain was an indication it was going to subside. God. God this hurt. Please help me. Please. Help my wife. The second wallop hit ten seconds later, and Ben’s breaths shuddered out loud and labored as he forced himself to continue relaxing more. The faster he did it the quicker it stopped. Quicker meaning not lasting forever.
“It’s going away,” he barely heard her say. He wanted to nod but he dared not move. The brief absence of pain between waves allowed him to relax a little more. “Thank God, thank God,” she whispered.
Knowing she prayed helped him let go of his muscles more. God suffered for me. I can do this. I can suffer for Him. I can make it. His breaths slowed even more.
“No more sex stuff,” she wept, making his heart lurch and need to comfort her.
He was finally able to move and held his right arm toward her. She hurried onto his lap, and he petted her head and stroked her wet face.
“I’d rather live without sex forever than see you hurt. I hate this Ben. I’m ready to leave tonight to get this transplant done than see you hurt another day.”
His eyes gradually opened, his breathing near normal. “I would if I could.”
She suddenly sat up and looked him in the eyes. “We can ask if we can…cut out some of the pre-operation stuff. We don’t need ten days of therapy, that’s silly.”
“I have no idea.” He eyed her perfect mouth and realized she’d put her robe back on. “I think I’m ready to look.”
She turned on the bed and got the laptop, placing the laptop on his lap. “Do you want anything first?”
“A drink would be nice.”
“I’ll get your water,” she said, scrambling off the bed and heading to the door. “I’ll check on Charlie too while I’m at it,” she whispered.
“Kiss him for me,” Ben said.
She paused at the door. “You’re waiting for me? You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “If you want to look first, I get it. I do. And I’m okay with that.”
He carefully turned his head to look at her. He realized or remembered then. She’d always been intuitive to the things going on in his head. “Thank you.”
She gave him a small smile, mostly love, with a hint of seductive promise.
The second she walked out, he opened the laptop and hurried to the email. He needed this operation to work. He needed to not die. And he needed to spend the rest of his life loving his beautiful wife.
Ben found the email immediately and hesitated before clicking it before he chickened out. His breath froze at seeing the thumbnail of the man’s face at the bottom of the screen. He listened for Cheryl then clicked it.