Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It worked,” Dr. Kurur said. “All traces of the nanocyte are gone.”
Gravity seemed to vanish, and Ruyn felt as if he could float out of his chair.
He let out a whoop, as Michaela burst into tears.
They hugged each other hard. She lifted her face, and right in front of the doctor, they kissed their first real kiss since the diagnosis.
It was the best kiss of his entire life.
Dr. Kurur cleared his throat, but when they broke away, the doctor was smiling. “Congratulations. You’re a very lucky man.”
“I’m totally cured, right?” Trust, but verify. “All traces are gone forever?”
“Forever—unless you get reexposed, but now we have a treatment. But I wouldn’t recommend reexposure.”
“From this point forward, I’m not eating at any cafés run by Prellim Cartel members.” He could joke about it now.
“Thank you, Doctor!” Michaela wiped her eyes.
“Yes, thank you,” he seconded. “And please extend our gratitude to Dr. Stratos.”
“I will. As I said, he’s brilliant. If anyone can figure things out, he can.”
Ruyn couldn’t stop grinning as they left his office. In the hall, they clung to each other in a tight, full-body hug. “It’s over,” she said. “It’s really over.”
He’d come close to losing hope many times, but she had remained strong and prevented him from doing something stupid he would have regretted for the rest of his life. “Thank you for not giving up on me, for not letting me give up.”
“Never. We’re a team.”
“I love you so much.” His heart swelled with emotion.
“I love you.”
“Let’s go home,” he said.
* * * *
The hovercab let them off outside their apartment building. They hadn’t wanted to stop for dinner—they could order delivery. Crossing the lobby, he noted how much brighter and lighter everything appeared. He smiled at residents as they passed.
Alone in the booster, she regarded him with a seductive, suggestive smile.
“I hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” he said.
Desire had begun to hum as soon as they’d headed for home.
He needed her, craved a physical connection in a way he never had before.
Physical release was the least of it. His feelings could not be expressed with mere words, and he needed reassurance that he was, in fact, cured.
He believed the doctor, but until they had sex and she was perfectly fine, there would be residual worry.
“Oh, I think we’re on the same track.” She slipped her arm under his and hugged him. Her breast pressed against his biceps.
He palmed into the apartment, and clothing melted away as they kissed their way to the bedroom. The bed sprawled invitingly, but the doctor’s former dire predictions peeked out from the shadows of his mind, causing him to freeze for an instant.
“It’s over. All in the past. Don’t think about it.” She kissed him, swaying against him and rubbing her breasts on his chest. When she grasped his cock, he caught his breath. Heat coiled in his belly.
They sank onto the bed and found their familiar groove. It was as it had always been, only sweeter, his awareness heightened, his appreciation greater. He doubted he would ever take her or sex for granted again. He kissed her intimately, deeply, wetly because he could.
He cupped her breasts, pinching the beaded tips with his fingers, before dipping his head and sucking on them.
He kissed every part of her, reacquainting himself with familiar textures and tastes, her moans music to his ears.
She would always be his home, his center, his reason to exist. Michaela gave as good as she got, eliciting heartfelt groans and growls from him, her avid, skilled hands and mouth driving him ever closer to rapture.
They alternated giving and receiving until desire intensified to a fever-pitch, and they could wait no longer.
His body shuddered with the need to bring the act to completion, but with greatest care, he eased into her wet, tight heat and thrust slowly and carefully.
He shook with exquisite pleasure as her muscles squeezed his cock.
He felt a huff of air against his throat as she laughed. “I’m not going to break.”
“Good to know,” he said. Of course, she was right.
The mechanics of intercourse had never been a factor in the allergic reaction, but he couldn’t help himself.
But when desire curled around him, and tension and heat increased, desire overrode control, and his thrusts became natural, automatic, urgent.
She came with a cry, biting into his shoulder, the sting of pain triggering an orgasm so intense, he was temporarily blinded by shattering light. He did lose all control then, his body thrusting hard and fast.
With a groan, he collapsed on top of her, drained, unable to move. When he caught his breath, he lifted his head. “Are you okay?”
“Wonderful.” She hugged his neck.
So far. Any reaction would be delayed. It’s all right. I’m cured. He reassured himself, rolling over and tucking her against his side.
“I needed that,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“But do you believe it?”
“I will. Eventually—after we’ve tested and retested.” He grinned to show he wasn’t truly worried. Not much, anyway.
“I’m all for testing,” she said. “And for dinner.”
“I’ll order delivery.”
“I won’t say no.”
“Anything in particular you want?”
“You pick.”
As long as it’s not from Mama Murta’s. Was she thinking the same as he?
A moot point. Murta had been arrested, her restaurant shut down by authorities.
He’d seen it all locked up from the hovercab.
It still astounded him Murta had escaped detection for so long.
How many military secrets had been shared with the cartel?
Probably all of them. And if she hadn’t targeted him and Michaela to force Korsan’s compliance, who knew how long she could have operated before she’d been captured.
Galpol had suspected who she was but hadn’t done anything.
Don’t think about that. It’s over.
He got out of bed to retrieve his tech tab from the pocket of his pants still on the sitting room floor. He called in an order and then pulled on the pants. Back in the bedroom, he discovered she had gotten up and was in the shower.
He checked the time and shucked his pants.
“I was hoping you’d join me,” she said as he stepped into the cubicle.
He kissed her long and slow, desire stirring anew. She smiled against his mouth. “How much time do we have?”
“Enough,” he replied.
They made love again. The bad memories lurked, but he shoved them away. When they finally dried off, the buzzer was ringing. “That must be the food.”
Holding a towel around his waist, he went to get the door. The camera showed a delivery bot. He took the food, accidentally dropping his towel and flashing the bot. The bot showed no reaction, just spun around and rolled toward the booster.
He shut the door. “You want to eat at the table or in bed?” he yelled.
“Bed!”
He grabbed a bottle of liquor, a couple of glasses, and, balancing it all, returned to her.
“You think of everything. I was wishing for a drink,” she said.
“For you, anything.”
They toasted their future and good health, and, after eating, made love again. Afterward, replete and relaxed, they curled up in each other’s arms. Within minutes, her eyelids began to droop, and she stifled a yawn.
“Go to sleep,” he said. “You don’t need to fight it on my account.”
She closed her eyes. He kept his open, awash in gratitude but watchful. Thus far, her skin remained smooth and clear, her breathing slow and steady. But previously, the allergic reaction had developed hours later, in the middle of the night.
He thought she’d fallen asleep when she opened one eye. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” He did. Mostly. Trust but verify.
“Then close your eyes.”
“I will.”
“Do it. Trust me.”
He closed his eyes because she insisted.
He didn’t expect to fall asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes, gentle, bright morning light filtered through the window slats, and Michaela was propped on an elbow watching him, her face smooth and clear, her breathing normal.
He broke into a relieved, believing smile.
We made it. She made it. It is really over. “You’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” she said.
He cupped her smooth cheek and kissed her. “We are.”