Chapter 44
Elowen
I pick the lace, wine-colored lingerie and slowly make my way to the bathroom, using the wall for support.
Bruno and Rosie walk beside me. Even though I’m much steadier now and the chances of me falling are slim, my babies won’t take that risk.
I tried walking on my own two weeks ago and ended up falling.
They saw it happen, and since then, they haven’t left me alone for even a moment.
Salvario is no different. He watches over me just as closely.
Right now he’s busy seeing off Logan, I mean Ilyas, who was here the whole day and is just now leaving after dinner.
It’ll take some time for me to start calling him by his real name.
Even though he’s allowed me to keep calling him Logan, I want to get used to calling him Ilyas, because that’s who he is.
Not Logan Blackwood. Just like Hunter was never Hunter and was always Salvario.
Whenever I recall that, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Two months of mental torture, all for nothing.
I sigh, telling myself to forget the bad things, and close the bathroom door with my trembling hand. I carefully place my lingerie on the cloth stand and then start my battle with my clothes.
Actions like pushing are easy for me, since my arms help my hands with force, so it’s easy to remove my shorts and panties compared to the almost impossible task of removing my T-shirt and bra.
I can’t manage force in pulling something or working with grip.
I can hold things, but the shaky grip makes it useless for anything after.
I try to pull my T-shirt up. I manage a little before it drops again, but I don’t stop. My physiotherapist said I will never lose until I stop. I know she doesn’t mean I have to keep pushing myself beyond my limits all at once, but I want to put her motivational words to use now.
I’ve decided to bathe and get ready for bed on my own. I won’t take Salvario’s help today. I actually have something else in mind, hence the outfit for tonight is the hot-as-hell lingerie.
I pull my T-shirt up again and again until, in about ten minutes, I manage to take it off completely. My hands are shaking so hard I’m frustrated and flushed. I clench my weak fists, but it doesn’t reduce the shaking one bit.
It’s okay, Wen. You removed the T-shirt. That’s an achievement. I swallow the rising lump in my throat. It might be an achievement, but not even close to what I want to achieve.
I start to pull my bra up, but I can’t even manage to move my fingers under the elastic by lifting it just enough to slip them under. I keep trying. My nails scratch over my skin, but the force is so little it doesn’t even manage to redden it. Frustrated tears prick my eyes.
The door behind me gets knocked before it opens, and Salvario enters. His brows pinch together as soon as he looks at my face.
He closes the door and immediately comes to me, cupping my face in his hands and wiping away the moisture beneath my eyes with his thumbs. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I grumble. My voice has become recognizable, but not close to my original one.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.” He tries to coax me, wiping new tears before they can fall.
“I just wanted to bathe on m-my own,” I mutter, my chin and lower lip trembling. I bite my lip. “I guess that was too m-much to wish for.”
I know I’m being unreasonable. I don’t live in a magical world where I’ll get whatever I wish for, and this one was an impractical wish.
He kisses my forehead. “You’ll be able to bathe on your own in three months.”
I chuckle through tears. Salvario has the oddest way of making me feel good.
Unlike other members of my family and my therapists, he doesn’t say motivational things to me, he just states facts.
The other day, when I was crying that I can’t play piano anymore, he said I’ll be able to play again in six months, and until then we can listen to my old records.
His way works very effectively. His facts pull my focus to only one thing: my condition isn’t permanent, and it’s not the worst thing in the world.
“S-so will you not have s-sex with m-me for three m-months?”
He raises his brows. “How are they both even related?”
“You’ve become m-my nurse. You touch m-me all the time like it’s a chore.” I pout. “I think you don’t find m-me attractive anymore.”
He laughs. “You have no idea how utterly wrong you are.” He takes my hand and presses it to his pants.
I feel the hardness of his bulge under my palm.
“I got hard the moment I entered and saw you naked.” He looks down at me.
“I’ve been stopping myself from fucking you because I don’t want to come across as a creep who wants to fuck his patient wife. ”
He isn’t my husband anymore, but that can’t stop him from calling me his wife.
“I won’t think of you as a creep,” I murmur, sliding my hand up and down his bulge. “Will you think of m-me as a creep for wanting to have s-sex while I’m s-s-sick?”
“You and ‘creep’ can’t exist in the same sentence. Even if you wanted me to fuck you over someone’s dead body, I’d just call it sweet.” His voice has turned hoarse.
I chuckle. “But I’d call you a creep if you wanted the s-same.”
He lifts me up and carries me to the bathtub. “That’ll just make me fuck you harder.”
I can already feel myself getting wet. Just the change in the notes of his voice is enough to work its magic.
He places me inside the tub, takes off my bra, and gives a brief squeeze to my breasts that makes me clench my thighs together.
He turns on the water and then gets up to undress.
I watch him take off each garment one by one without any hurry.
Is he putting on a show to turn me on? Because it’s working.
I’ve started to ache, and my pussy is swelling.
It’s been such a long time since I last saw him naked. I gulp, taking him in all at once—his rippling chest, the tight defined muscles of his abs, the hot V-line trailing down, his long thick dick, and those muscular thighs. My man is hot.
“Have your fill, baby, but make it quick. Ever since you said you want me to fuck you, I’ve been a little impatient to fill you.”
I bite the inside of my lower lip, holding back a grin. My face heats up. I move forward in the tub, making space for him to sit behind me.
He takes the invitation and comes inside, splashing water as his huge, bulky body settles behind me.
He pulls me close to him, making my ass roll over his thickness and releasing a groan in return.
He lifts my ass up and slowly enters me. I release a shaky moan as his thickness fills me, it’s a little painful, but so good.
“Finally,” he moans.
I let my head fall back on his shoulder when his hands reach my breasts. He pinches my nipples, groaning when I respond by clenching around him.
He doesn’t move inside me, just keeps me sitting on him.
“Why aren’t you m-moving?” I breathe.
“I have my nurse duties to fulfill right now,” he murmurs, kissing along my neck and kneading my breasts.
I’m already losing my mind with all the nipple stimulation.
He then leaves my breasts and takes the shower head, bringing it to me.
He turns it on and runs water over my face and head.
I close my eyes as warm water cascades over me.
He washes my hair from the front, and when I move forward to give him access to the back of my head, we both moan together.
I roll my ass a few more times, relishing the little friction, until he pulls me back and presses me against his chest.
“Don’t,” he groans. “Be a good girl and let me wash your hair.”
I nod, and the next second, I do what he asked me not to. I move again.
He throws the shower head aside and pushes me up. I groan in complaint. He then gets up, carry me out of the water, and with water dripping from both of us, he leaves the bathroom and heads to the bedroom.
He places me gently on the bed.
“You don’t have to treat m-me like I’m too fragile,” I murmur.
“I wasn’t planning to.” He presses a soft kiss on my lips, then flips me over, grabs both of my wrists, and holds them behind my back, pushing my knees up and positioning himself behind me.With a strong tug at my wrists, he pushes himself inside me all at once. I cry out, as the fullness return.
My legs shake, unable to bear even an ounce of his weight, but I don’t need to worry, because he notices and grabs my waist, leaving my wrists to keep me up, and then starts pounding inside me with maddening speed and thrusts.
I press my cheek into the mattress. My neck strains under the weight of my upper body, but I don’t ask him to slow down or change position. I need to feel this, to show myself I can still get pleasure the way I want.
He snakes his arm around my waist and bends over me, pressing his other arm under my shoulders and pulling me up. He holds me there while keeping his thrusting strong and steady.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek against mine. The hot huskiness in his voice makes me clench around him, and the friction gets stronger, making me moan as my release builds.
“Fuck, baby. Squeeze me tighter,” he groans.
I do as he says, without even trying.
“Yes, that’s my good girl.” And I cum, crying out, “Don’t cum inside,” shaking in his arms.
He keeps hitting me through my release, making it more intense and blinding.
I keep shaking even after he pulls out of me.
Once I calm down a bit, I realize I’m clenching his arm around my waist with the tightest grip I’ve mustered in weeks.
I release his arm. My hands don’t shake the way they would have if I’d applied this much force in any other situation.
He kisses me all over my neck, sitting back down on the mattress and keeping his hold over my waist and shoulders. “Looks like fucking is good for you.”
I chuckle. “I think s-so. M-must have s-something to do with an active parasympathetic nervous s-sy-system.”
I point to the headboard and pillows. “You m-made too m-mu-much of a m-mess.”
He tilts my face and kisses along my jaw. “Your fault, baby.”
I grin. “You s-should s-start buying condoms.”
He meets my eyes. “Why can’t I cum inside you?”
My smile drops. “I don’t want to get pregnant before the drug is completely out of m-my s-system. I don’t want our child to be affected by it.”
He kisses my lips. “It’s alright, you don’t have to feel sad about it.”
I turn in his arms and sit on his thighs. “You wanted to have kids so badly. I feel bad for not being able to fulfill your dream.”
“I wanted to have kids so that you’d have a big reason to stay with me.”
My mouth parts in shock. “Here I was thinking you’d gotten old enough to feel the need to pass on your genes, and that’s why you wanted kids so badly.”
“I’m not that old.”
“You are,” I tease. “I think I s-should s-start calling you ‘Daddy’ s-so you realize it better.”
He pinches my chin, tilting it up further. “You know what it does to me when you call me old, or anything similar.”
I grin. “Do you know the r-r-reason behind it?”
He frowns. He’s never thought there could be a reason behind it. There is. Well, I can’t prove it or anything, but based on what little knowledge I have of psychology, there is a reason.
“I used to call you old, and then you used to punish m-me for it. That always led to us ending up doing good s-stuff. Now you don’t have the m-memory, but the instinct is s-still there.
It’s classic conditioning, your brain learned to associate the word ‘old’ with the pleasure that followed, s-so even without the m-memory, the association triggers arousal.
Your body r-remembers what your mind forgot. ”
“My wife is quite brilliant,” he says with a proud smile.
“I’m not your wife,” I chuckle.
His smile disappears. “Thanks for reminding me. We’re getting married next week.”
I look at him in shock. “You can’t m-ma-marry m-me when I’m like this.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t even walk without s-support.”
“Your father will bring you down the aisle, and I’ll hold you from there.”
“What about the r-ring? It’ll take m-me forever to place it on your finger.”
“I’ll keep my hand extended for you for as long as you need. Even if it takes forever.”
I chuckle. “What will you do about our dance? I always wanted to dance for hours at m-my wedding.”
“I’ll lift you in my arms, and we’ll dance for hours.”
I laugh. “You don’t even know how to dance.”
“I’ll learn. One week is enough for me. Any other problems?”
I chew on the corner of my lip and shake my head.
“Then it’s final. We’re getting married next week.”
He seals his words with a very delicious, sweet, and sizzling kiss.