Chapter Twelve #3
“I went to your units first, and when you weren’t there, I had the AI do a heat-signature scan.”
Considering what they’d been doing, the booster probably glowed red-hot. “Thank you for your diligence,” he said.
“Just doing my job. I’m glad I’ve got everyone accounted for now. I suggest you go straight to your units.” He made a rueful face. “I’m afraid you’ll need to take the stairs. It’s not safe to take the booster; you could get stuck again.” He pointed them toward the stairwell.
She frowned. “I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll manage.”
“We live on the eighth floor. That’s a lot of steps. Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He pushed into the spiral stairwell and started climbing.
“If you need to take a break—”
“I won’t.” He wouldn’t.
The first two flights were easy, and he applauded his rehab progress.
Two months ago, he couldn’t have managed one set.
The third flight proved a little harder, but still quite doable.
The fourth set reaffirmed his body had not regained its fighting form.
Muscles protested, and his climb slowed.
After the fifth set, only sheer determination kept him trudging upward.
Previously, even loaded with gear, he could have bounded to the roof without slowing or breaking a sweat. It pained him physically and mentally to see how much function he’d lost.
He pushed himself in therapy and in his gym workouts, but those were like the military training exercises—preparation for the real thing. These stairs were the real thing. What good did therapy do if he couldn’t climb a few steps?
The goal was to enable him to reengage in normal-life situations.
Not that he’d choose climbing seven flights of stairs over riding a booster—but he needed to know he could for when a massive solar storm rendered a booster inoperable, and he had to get to his apartment without looking like a weakling or cripple in front of the woman he wished to impress. That kind of normal-life situation.
He peered at Michaela. “Two more to go. Are you doing okay?”
“Y-y-yes,” she huffed.
“Take a break if you need to,” he encouraged. “This isn’t a competition.” He started up the sixth flight. It was a competition, but he wasn’t competing with her, but with himself. He needed to make it to their floor in one go.
“Then you take a break,” she said.
“Don’t need one.” His leg hurt pretty bad, but he’d die before he quit.
“You’re such a man.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
He laughed, amusement dulling the pain ever so slightly. Up, up, up. He reached the landing. “One more.”
One step. Two. Up. Up. This is one way to alleviate a hard-on.
Muscles were screaming when he stepped onto the eighth-floor landing and pushed into the corridor. She was still climbing. He leaned against the wall, massaging his thigh, and waited for her. A moment later, she pushed through the door.
“Oh…my…god,” she gasped. Hands on her knees, she bent over. “I had no idea I’d gotten so out of shape. I swear your stairwells have more steps per flight than on Earth.”
“Twenty steps per flight.” He’d counted every one.
He let her rest, knowing she’d attempt whatever he did.
Proving his mettle would only tax her. Though formidable in numerous ways, she lacked the advantage of his musculature.
Humans and Luturnans shared a biological, genetic fact—in both species, the male had greater muscle mass.
Even injured, he was physically stronger than her.
“Ready?” he asked when her gasps quieted.
“You aren’t breathing heavy hardly at all.”
“Luturnans have greater lung capacity than humans,” he said.
“Huh.”
They strode down the corridor to their apartments. He walked her to her door. “You’re coming in, aren’t you?” she said.
He bracketed his arms on either side of her body and brushed his lips against her mouth ruefully.
“I want you. So much.” His cock started to harden again.
“But I think it would be best for both of us to step back and think about whether we want to move forward—and if we do, perhaps the trip to Elyxis 4 would be the time and place to do that. I would like our first time together to be intentional.”
His feelings wouldn’t change. But hers might, and it would kill him if she regretted their sexual encounter.
He could envision the post-coital awkwardness—stilted conversations, avoidance of eye contact, avoidance period.
She might even decide to leave. He would rather creep forward than take a leap and lose her altogether.
She gripped his shirt and tilted her head. “What if you change your mind?”
“I won’t.”
She smiled. “That’s the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten.”
“It’s not a rejection. It’s a promise.” He kissed her. “Go inside before my noble intentions lose the battle to my baser instincts.”
“Fine. I’ll see you in the morning—but I want a proper good-night kiss.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed him with slow, teasing deliberation, showing him what he was giving up. “Good night, Ruyn.” She let herself into her apartment.
Hard and aching, he limped to his unit alone.