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She huffs and holds out her hands. “Literally everyinch of you is covered in muscles. The way you moved through the water was like watching machinery. Is there any part of you that isn’t perfect?”
I’m surprised at her outburst and all I can do is laugh and feel my face heat. “Uh… thanks, I guess?”
“No, thank you for the demonstration.” She makes a “carry on” gesture that makes me laugh harder.
Taking my place in the current, she takes a moment to get used to the pressure of the moving water. It’s definitely more difficult than anything we’ve done so far. She has a little trouble getting started, but once she does, she’s cutting through the water like a pro.
Impressed, I show her three more swimming strokes, each more difficult than the last. For each stroke, she takes a minute to figure it out, but then masters it like an expert.
“You must have been on a swim team or something.”
After about an hour of swimming and floating around, we decide to get dried off and head upstairs. Out of the pool, I toss her a huge fluffy bath blanket and pick up the pile of our clothes.
Despite being obviously tired, she is determined to try and make it up the steps herself. I’m no longer trying to baby her, but I also don’t want her to push herself too much, so I offer a piggyback ride up the stairs.
“I feel like a child when you have to carry me everywhere,” she insists.
“Noted. But just so you know, it doesn’t make you seem childish to us. In fact, I like feeling like cavemen once in a while.” I wink and she laughs.
Despite the long workout and the steepness of the stairs, she makes it all the way up with no difficulties other than some heavy breathing. Any range of motion or balance issues she would be expected to have after brain surgery are clearly not an issue. And I’m happy about it, but I’m also surprised and maybe a little concerned at this rate of healing. I definitely don’t think it’s normal, but I guess I should focus on the positive.
When we make it to the landing outside her room, she is obviously highly pleased with herself. She smiles wide and lifts her fists in the air in triumph like she’s finished a marathon. I’d never ruin such a good mood with my concerns, offering her a high five and a slap on the ass instead.
I’m about to follow Six into her room to help her get dressed, but I stop, reminding myself that she probably doesn’t need help anymore. That, and I’m worried about keeping my composure while we’re still mostly undressed.
“I’ll leave my door open in case you need anything. Be careful when bending your head down or standing up too fast. Call out if you get dizzy.”
She smiles, and I give myself a mental high five for maintaining healthy boundaries like a boss.
A few minutes later I am pulling a dry shirt over my head and waiting outside her door so we can walk down together.
“You can come in, not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before,” she calls from the room, the door slightly ajar.
She has changed into dark green leggings and a loose white sleeveless shirt. She is slipping her feet into a pair of low-cut lace-less sneakers while she combs out her wet hair.
Even watching her doing something as ordinary as putting on shoes, I am marveled by her. Most of her bruises are fading, the cuts are almost healed, and the gnarly gash on her head is looking less angry by the hour.
I walk closer to check on it again. “I think these stitches should dissolve soon, you’re healing incredibly fast.”
“Really? Good. I wish my hair would grow as fast.” Her eyes are downcast. Remembering the way she acted after seeing her reflection yesterday, it’s obvious she’s still feeling self-conscious about the way she looks. As if reminded, her eyes roam the room, searching for something. “Where did Luis’ hat go?”
“The beanie? I might have thrown it in the laundry hamper, I’m sorry.” She looks pretty crestfallen, so I hold up a finger and jog back to my room.
I come back with a faded grey baseball cap with the blue Cambridge College logo and pull it over her head.
“There. I still say you don’t need it, but it looks good on you.” I like seeing her in my clothes, even if it’s just a hat.
When she looks up at me and smiles, I find myself staring at her mouth. She has a wide smile that shows off barely-there dimples and straight white teeth. Her lips are full and pink. I stare, and then without thinking about it, I find myself pressing my lips to hers.
If she’s shocked at all, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she responds to my kiss immediately, melting into my arms and pressing harder into the kiss. My tongue runs along the seam of her mouth, and she opens wider, receiving my tongue and caressing it with her own.
As she presses her body into mine, I deepen the kiss and pull her against me. Her body molds into mine, her arms around my neck. She moans softly. Bending down, I wrap my hands around her thighs and lift. Her legs wrap around my waist and her hands travel down my neck. She explores my back, her hands exploring every ridge of my shoulder blades and biceps. My hands knead her thighs and butt, pressing her into my growing hardness.
Holding her against me, I walk until her back is pressed against a wall. Using my hips to hold her up, my hand wanders over her body, lifting her t-shirt to grip her waist. Her skin is hot in my hands, the air around us growing thick and heady as I lose myself in the feel of her mouth and body.
Her hands pull my shirt up, our stomachs are touching. The skin-to-skin contact sets me off. Rolling my hips into her, I cup her breast. My thumb caresses her nipple, straining against the fabric of her bra. Her body arches, pushing her breast forward into my hand.
Still holding her against the wall, I pull the cup of her bra under her breast and lift her shirt, lowering my head to flick my tongue over her nipple. She sucks in a breath, her legs tightening around my waist. I switch sides so both of her perfect breasts are trussed up for me, sucking one nipple fully into my mouth. Her body spasms and her hips, spread wide and locked around mine, try to roll against me.
