Chapter 26 #2
“How ’bout we talk changes to our workplace dynamic?” I offer. “Or at least some discussion of discretion? Because I’m pretty sure that the flaunting of a physical relationship in the business place counts as harassment.”
“You plan to flaunt this?” He sounds surprised.
“I’d be happy to, but I’m pretty set on a ‘no grab-ass in the gym’ rule. But there might be some slipups on my part,” I admit, and tighten my hold over his hip.
“I didn’t think you’d dispense with the physical stuff so freely.”
“You—” I smile. “You thought about what I’d be like in this scenario?”
“Here, sure.” His smile is wry. “But never napping.”
“Ah! So you thought I’d dispense with sex freely enough, but not snuggling?”
“I don’t think there’s a safe way for me to answer that question.”
I laugh. “At least there is no power dynamic to worry about. You are technically my boss, but I can’t say that I consider you an authority figure.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re still an authority on many things, which is very sexy,” I assure him. Using the leg I have hooked over his hip, I lever myself onto his waist, nudging him to his back. He grips the backs of my thighs.
He cups my butt. “How does the ‘no grab-ass’ policy apply to surfaces around the facility?”
I open my mouth, a comment about workplace safety and cleanliness standards at the ready, and he silences me with a finger to my parted lips.
“Before you get in some smartass line, it’s not just that. I want—”
I widen my mouth just enough to get hold of the tip of his index finger with my teeth, then close my lips around it.
His eyes are huge as I suck on it, three languid draws, and a solitary press of my teeth before releasing his finger.
It hovers in the space between us, and I press a quick peck to it in fond farewell.
He’s staring at his finger as though he’s never seen it before.
Then he grabs me.
In a flash, I’m on my back, pressed into the mattress, fully caged by his body. The sudden increased vulnerability sends alarm streaking through me, but it’s expended just as quickly. This is Ian, the man who cried at Inside Out.
I grab on to his shoulders, savoring the feel of the sheer bulk of muscle beneath my palms. “Don’t you have to work soon?”
His nod is distant as his heated gaze roams my face. The weight of him feels so good. I am again aware of a very specific warmth pressing against my thigh, and I’m reminded of how quickly the good feeling can turn into pain. My whole body fights a shudder.
“You okay?” he asks.
I grip his shoulders, again, hoping to ground myself. Unfiltered honesty. Or… some degree of honesty. “I should warn you about sex. With me,” I blurt. “It can hurt. Me.”
His brows draw down.
“I have endometriosis. And sex can be painful.” I laugh at the oversimplification. “Existing can be painful.”
“What does that mean?” His voice is heavy with concern, and my anxiety flares; that could be for me or for his own gratification. But he lowers himself to lie beside me again, gently pressing a hand to the side of my face. He brushes his thumb over my cheekbone.
“Do you know what the condition is?”
“Not really.”
“It’s when the tissue that normally lines the uterus develops outside of the uterus. It can be on ovaries, fallopian tubes, intestines…” I grimace. “This isn’t ideal pillow talk.”
Another brush of his thumb. “This is about your body. And I have both professional and unprofessional interest in your body’s well-being,” he says, which is disarmingly flattering.
“Each cycle, the tissue builds up and breaks down like it would if it were in my uterus—”
“Menstruation,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“Yes. But when the extra tissue does it, there’s bleeding inside of my pelvis. And that results in inflammation, swelling, and scarring of the normal tissue.”
The tug of worry between Ian’s eyebrows is as deep as I’ve ever seen it.
“The pain is only ever bad bad around ovulation. Day-to-day, it’s kind of a dull ache? And I’m used to that—
“You’re used to it?” He cringes. “Jesus. Are you in pain all the time?”
I shake my head. “I get a pain-free window of seven to ten days, from when my period stops until I ovulate.” This does nothing to relax his face.
“Other times, it’s an uncomfortable pressure or a twinge of blinding pain.
But when I have sex, depending on where I am in my cycle, or how shitty my body wants to be that day, or—” I sigh.
“The whim of whatever fertility goddess I angered in a past life…”
Ian almost smiles at this, but the worry still mars his forehead.
“It can hurt. A lot.” Unexpected emotion makes the words come out thick.
Ian smooths his hand over my cheek. “I’m sorry. That you experience any of this.” His eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Are you in pain right now? Just, in general? Cycle-wise?”
“It’s a dull ache kind of day. But…” I wince, dreading what I’m going to have admit. “Based on my calendar and some uncomfortable flares, it’s pretty likely I’ll be down for the count soon. I’m sorr—”
“Don’t you finish that,” he warns. “That is not something you apologize for.”
It absolutely is something I apologize for, but I nod.
“I only ask that you not treat me any differently, now that you know. That’s been the pattern of things for me since I started experiencing symptoms,” I say, skirting the rejection that’s also part of that pattern, as well as the crippling panic spiral that can hijack intimate encounters; that’s just a me problem.
“It’s been a nice change, not having people asking after me, wanting me to take it easy—”
“Oh, no. I’m not going to lay off you at all. Your snatches are still terrible.”
I smile. “They are!”
“Okay. So… just tell me how you’re feeling,” he says with finality.
I let out a laugh. What a Dawghouse answer. Like it could ever be that easy. But for the sake of optimism, I nod.
“For now…” His hand trails up my thigh, over my ass to grab my waist, pulling me closer. “We have seven minutes. How would you—”
“I want you to take your shirt off, and then I want to put my hands all over your bare chest. Please. And feel, um—” I gesture toward his sides.
“Whatever the muscles are high on the outsides of your ribs? Please,” I repeat, and silently pray that this burst of unfiltered honesty wasn’t a total mood-killer, because that was belligerent.
He kisses me hard. “Hayes,” he says against my lips, and I wonder if I can change my answer or at least amend it to include more of this, because this is bliss. “It would be my pleasure.”