Page 47 of Hearts & Embers

When her hand found the zipper of my jeans, she met my eyes again—a silent question. I gave a slight nod, my throat too tight for words. The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet room. She hesitated, her palm a warm, steady pressure over the fabric of my boxers before she carefully slipped her hand inside.

Her touch was tentative at first, a soft, curious stroke that made me suck in a sharp breath. She adjusted her angle, mindful of both our injuries, and her touch became more confident.

It was an act of focused tenderness, her thumb smoothing over the head of my cock, her fingers curling around the shaft with a rhythm that was achingly slow. Her forehead came to rest against my temple, her breath warm on my cheek. Every sensation was amplified by the forced stillness, by the knowledge that this was all we could allow ourselves. For now.

"Your turn," I murmured against her hair, my voice rough.

She shook her head slightly, her eyes closed. "Just…this. Let me."

But I couldn't. My good hand tugged at the hem of her soft sweater. I pushed it up slowly, exposing the flat plane of her stomach. She didn't stop me. When my fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her leggings, she let out a soft sigh, her own rhythm on my cock faltering for a second.

I found her warm and already wet. She gasped, her head falling back against the couch cushion. My touch was a little clumsy, hindered by the restriction of movement and awkward angle, but I persevered, tracing the folds of her with a reverence the situation demanded. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk, and she bit her lip.

We moved together in a strained, syncopated rhythm. Her hand on me, my hand on her. Both of us breathing in shallow, ragged pants, both of us careful not to jostle a wounded limb or twist a sore muscle. It was intimacy in fragments, pleasure parsed through a filter of pain.

Her climax came quietly, a series of tremors that rolled through her, her hand stilling on me as she cried out softly into the crook of my neck. The feel of her pulsing around my fingers pushed me over the edge moments later. My release was a sharp, shuddering relief, a warmth that spread through the tension and the ache.

For a long while, we stayed like that, entangled but careful, her head on my shoulder, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The room was quiet save for the hum of the refrigerator.

She was the first to speak, her voice a drowsy murmur. "We're really bad at taking it easy, aren't we?"

A low chuckle vibrated in my chest. "Terrible."

But as I pressed a kiss to her hair, smelling the scent of her skin, I knew I wouldn't have had it any other way. In the broken spaces, we had found a way to be whole.

By the following Monday, my follow-up appointment finally arrived. I spent most of the morning attempting not to think about the possible outcomes. The effort failed.

By the time I arrived at the clinic, anticipation had become impossible to ignore. The stitches had irritated me for days, and the prospect of hearing positive news felt long overdue.

Fortunately, the appointment delivered exactly that.

The doctor examined my shoulder carefully before removing the remaining stitches. The process proved considerably less dramatic than expected and far less painful than the original injury. Once everything had been checked a final time, he reviewed the latest scans and nodded with obvious satisfaction.

"You're healing well."

Relief immediately settled through me.

He returned several documents to the folder.

"You still need to be sensible."

The doctor pointed toward my shoulder.

"Maintain use of the sling to rest the shoulder when you feel it’s needed. No heavy lifting. No heroics. Continue physical therapy. Light gym sessions only and I mean…light."

"I can do that."

"You're cleared for light duties and driving but if you ignore my instructions, I’ll pull your ass until your shoulder is one hundred percent."

“I’ll follow them to the letter,” I agreed.

For the first time since the accident, returning to work no longer felt like a distant goal. It was finally within reach.

The walk home felt considerably shorter than usual and before I reached my apartment, I called Aurora.

She answered almost immediately.

"Everything okay?"