29. Morgan
TWENTY-NINE
Morgan
Cole put on a brave face on deck. He hid his pain behind the same impervious mask he always has, the one only I can see through, but as soon as the door to the captain’s quarters closes, his facade crumbles.
Before we worked things out, he didn’t want me to see how much he needed me to give him relief.
My sweet husband finally feels safe enough to show me.
With an anguished frown, he hobbles to the bed. The two rows of drawers under the captain’s bed elevate the mattress higher than ours on land, and probably make it more painful to climb into.
“Let me help you.” I rush forward, and stabilize his hips as he scoots back and perches himself on the edge of the mattress. “Sorry.”
I brace for Cole’s irritation. He used to hate when I jumped in to help before he asked.
But he’s not irritated; he shakes his head slowly. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Has he gotten better at accepting help, or is he too weakened by pain to complain?
His knuckles blanch as he clenches the edge of the mattress. “Can you help me lie down?”
“Of course.” I cup his cheek and kiss his forehead, then carefully slide my arm under his knees and scoop him up.
It’s a routine we’re both familiar with. A broken pelvis will teach you how many muscles are connected to even the most automatic of movements. On Cole’s worst days, breathing hurt, and rolling over in bed was excruciating.
“Wow, you’re a lot heavier than I remember,” I joke.
He smiles wanly. “I may or may not have spent the last month trying to bulk up so you’d find me irresistible.”
“You’re always irresistible.” I lower him onto the bed. “That’s why it was so hard to stay away.”
Cole grimaces and pants through the pain.
I click my tongue.
“If you’re going to tell me I told you so and ban me from the deck, don’t, okay?” Cole covers his face.
“I’m not.” I tug Cole’s hands down and kiss his forehead. “Did you pack any of your stronger pain meds?”
He already took ibuprofen and Tylenol with the cheesesteaks Wes made, but clearly it’s doing nothing for him.
“I’m fine,” Cole says. “Maybe you can just give me a massage? That always helps.”
“I’m not laying a hand on you without pain meds on board.”
This is more than the run-of-the-mill pain we’ve battled. Massaging his knots when he’s already so tense will torture him.
I open the first drawer under the mattress, the most likely location if Cole kept his lube there, but only find boxer briefs and over-the-counter meds. “Where?”
“The inside pocket of my backpack.”
“Thank you.” I take the backpack off the hook on the wall.
“I only brought them because I’m scared to go through pain like that again while we’re so far away from help.”
“I don’t blame you.”
I never felt more powerless than watching him suffer with no way to help him. I dig around inside the bag until I find the bottle of oxycodone. The tamper-resistant tape is still in place, and breaks when I twist the cap off.
“Here.” I tap one pill into my palm and swipe his non-tip tumbler from the shelf beside the bed.
His lips press into a line. “I don’t need it.”
“Cole, it’s been less than a year since the accident, and you worked your ass off today.
Most people would have left the deck and taken something an hour in, but you’re too damn stubborn.
” I shake his water bottle tumbler menacingly.
“So come on. I’ll pry your sexy lips apart if I have to, Sunshine. ”
“What if something happens to the Briar?”
I kneel beside the bed and meet his gaze. Even with bags under his bloodshot eyes, his ocean irises give me butterflies.
“I’m here. Javi is here. Wes is here.” I lift a finger for each qualified skipper. “If anything goes awry, we’ve got plenty of people, and if the ship goes down, god forbid, we’ll all be wishing we had taken an oxy too.”
His nose twitches. “Don’t joke about ships sinking.”
“I wasn’t joking. If I have to be stuck on a life raft with Lawrence for twelve hours, I want to be high as hell.” But I knock on the wooden bed frame just in case.
He looks down at the pill, warring with himself.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maybe pain is my punishment.”
“Sweetheart.” My heart aches. I wish I could erase all of his pain. “You spent the last year punishing yourself. You have to stop. You have to forgive yourself.”
“What if I can’t?” he asks in a hoarse rush.
“Then I’ll help you. Grief counselors are pretty good at it too.” I wink. “Come on. Finn wouldn’t want you to be in pain.”
“Wow, you’re going to use the kid to guilt-trip me.”
I shrug. “He’s my secret weapon. Now open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys, and I place the pill on his tongue, then steer the straw toward his mouth. “I’ll start once that kicks in.”
“Okay.” He sips from the straw, and swallows.
“Good boy.”
“Oh?” A sexy smirk stretches across his lips. “You never tell me that anymore.”
“Yeah, because you never behave yourself, which is exactly what I love about you.”
His cheeks flush, and I’m happy to see the color there. Just a few minutes ago, he was pale and clammy. Now that he’s squared away, I pull my shirt over my head.
“Are you okay if I take a quick shower?”
“Yeah, but make it fast,” Cole says.
“Roger that.”
“I thought you hated nautical humor,” Cole murmurs.
“I do. That came out accidentally.”
“Right.” A smile teases the corner of his lips, but the tension around his eyes betrays his pain.
I hop into the shower before the water heats completely, and scrub the hours of sweat and saltwater away, then shampoo and condition my hair because Cole loves the bay rum scent.
“Mm. You smell delicious,” Cole murmurs when I return. “But you took too long.”
“Psh.” I dry my hair with a towel. “You’re just impatient.”
He turns his head to the side and rakes appreciative eyes over me. My cock fills under his appraisal, his desire an alluring elixir.
“Like what you see, Sunshine?”
He licks his bottom lip. “More than like.”
“Are you starting to feel the oxy?”
He swallows. “Maybe a little. Can you take off my pants for me?”
“You got it.” I dip my fingers inside his elastic waistband and gently slide his joggers down his hips, and under his ass, then all the way off. “Do you want me to take off your shirt too?”
“Yeah, thanks.” He curls his upper back up enough for me to pull it over his head.
I ease him down slowly.
“Okay, the oxycodone is definitely starting to work because that didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”
“Good.”
I set an alarm on my phone to go off in thirty minutes because I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep while I wait for the meds to kick in.
Gradually his body relaxes. Shallow, hurried breaths deepen and slow back to his baseline.
I kiss his temple. “Can I get started now?”
“Mmhm.”
“Tell me if it hurts too much, and I’ll stop.”
I massage my way down his lower back to his tailbone, and over his hips.
Each time he tenses beneath my touch, I remind him to take a deep breath, and massage him through it.
When it gets to be too much, I reload with more lotion and work on his calves, taking a more erotic turn as I rove up the center of his thighs.
He lifts his hips, just a tiny little twitch, a subtle request for me to fuck him.
I’m not going to do that, but I’ll do what I can. I massage teasing circles around his rim, and reach beneath him to pull his cock back between his legs.
“You’re so sexy,” I murmur.
“Mm,” he hums, giving another irresistible lift of his hips.
At first I rub his cock, just the side facing up, teasing him until just before I frustrate him, then I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke him, all while my other hand works to release the tension in his glutes and tailbone. I listen to his body, and his erection doesn’t flag.
“Do you want me to release some of the tension inside?”
“Mmhm,” he mumbles.
When I talk about releasing tension, I’m not alluding to an orgasm. His pelvic therapy sometimes included internal work to systematically release stubborn knots. Cole says it’s extremely painful when you hit the right spot, but it goes a long way to relieve his pain.
I apply lube around his hole, and lube my finger even more before gently pushing inside. He gasps and tenses around my finger, but I stroke his cock to cut his pain with pleasure.
Adding more and more lube, I search methodically in a clockwise circle, and press against each tight spot I find until the muscle submits.
This part is the most painful, and I hate hurting him, especially when he cries out or tells me it hurts, because it reminds me of the pain he was in before he nearly died.
Finally, I release the last knot, and Cole melts into the mattress, muscles limp and pliant.
“Sweetheart, do you want to come?”
“Mmhm,” he hums.
I edged my sweet husband for so long that he comes hands-free against the sheets a few minutes later, completely wrung out and relaxed. I follow not long after, stroking myself as I lick the cum from between his legs.
Cole falls in and out of sleep as I clean us up. Sending him off to sleep sated and pain-free heals something in me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to take care of him so fully, and grant him peace.
He’ll probably still be sore tomorrow, but he’ll wake up without all those knots. Hopefully this flare-up will be short-lived, and if not, the hot tub I ordered for his Christmas present will be installed before we get home.
“I’m sorry I put us into boxes,” he murmurs when I climb into bed. “I didn’t want to be your burden, and I couldn’t look at everything that reminded me of you.”
“You have never been a burden, Cole.” I pull him into the little spoon and kiss behind his ear. “And packing up all those boxes means we’ll have less to pack when we get home.”
He laughs softly, eyes still closed. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Sunshine.”