Chapter 92: Perfectly Well
- RAYA -
There is nothing better than being in Dex’s embrace. We fall asleep together, tangled arms and legs and hearts. When I wake in the morning, it is with such a profound sense of completion, like something in my chest has been made whole that was achingly absent before. And Dex kisses my cheek, wrapping his arm more tightly around me and pulling me back against his chest.
"Good morning," I whisper, facing away from him and at the sun filtering in through the window, promising a beautiful day.
"Good morning," he rumbles next to my ear. "How did you sleep?"
"Mmmm so good," I say, wiggling against him and hearing his soft laughter that follows. "And you?"
"Never better," he sighs contentedly. "What would you like to do today?"
"Maybe just stay like this. This is nice."
Dex responds by kissing my shoulder and rolling me onto my back so that he’s gazing down at me. He smoothes the hair away from my face and traces my jaw line, and I notice the bruise on his chest.
"Oh no," I gasp, lifting myself onto my elbows and wincing with the soreness that I forgot was there in my stomach. "I really hurt you. I’m sorry."
He glances down at his chest and then back at me, amusement dancing in the honey brown of his eyes that appear more honey than brown in the morning light.
"Is it weird that I love it?"
"Yes. It looks painful," I groan and delicately touch the skin.
"And you wanted me to do this to you," he reminds me.
"Hmmm. Yeah, I guess I would kind of love it, too," I giggle. "But I’m still sorry."
"How are you feeling?" His amusement shifts to a familiar concern that takes over, feathering his brow, igniting worry.
There are little floating seed pods of remorse waiting to descend and take root if there should be something wrong with me—I can sense them hovering in the air. Dex is wondering if he has hurt me in some way—if this wasn’t too soon to do this with the fact that I’m still recovering from the accident.
"I’m fine," I assure him, reaching up to feel the bristly texture of his face and run my fingers gently over the slope of his lips. "Don’t worry." When he doesn’t look immediately convinced, I sigh.
"You’re sore," he says, eyebrows angling, gaze dropping to my lips and then back up to my eyes, searching me for the truth that he somehow already knows.
How can he look at me that way? It is such a gift to be adored by someone’s gaze alone, and I can’t fathom how this came to be, but I am so grateful.
"Yes of course, but that’s not a big deal. I was sore already."
He groans and drops his head into his hand, ruffling his own hair and inwardly cursing himself, I can tell. Somehow I can tell.
"Dex, it’s not because of you," I chuckle, pulling his hand away from his head so he’ll look at me again.
"We should have waited," he sighs, pulling the sheet down over my breasts until he can see the area on my abdomen that is still healing.
"Please don’t regret this," I say, wetting my lips nervously. "It was so perfect. I don’t want you thinking it shouldn’t have happened."
His chest rises and falls with an inward sigh that he doesn’t allow me to hear. Then he pulls the sheet up and kisses me, his lips lingering on mine long enough that all those physical reactions start spiraling up, aroused to meet him again.
"I don’t regret it," he whispers against me. "But it’s not happening again until you’re well."
"What?" I groan, and he pushes himself out of bed. "I’m perfectly well."
When I lift myself up to follow him, I have to bite back another groan—this one from that stubborn ache that has now bloomed throughout my whole abdomen—but I’m definitely not going to let him hear that. There is nothing wrong with me. I would know if there was, but I don’t want him to doubt it more than he already is.
"Shit," he mutters, turning from the dresser where he was pulling on shorts and helping me up. "You are lying to me, Raya."
"No I’m not," I frown.
"I can tell how uncomfortable you are."
He takes a shirt from his drawer and gently pulls it down over my head, helping me to put my arms in, and despite the fact that he is so unhappy with me at the moment, I can’t help but grin. He is dressing me like a toddler.
"I told you I’m fine," I assure him, looking down at the shirt he has chosen for me that goes almost all the way to my knees. "Why don’t you trust me?"
He glances at me with that exasperated, adorable, sweet face of his, and I want to squeeze him and kiss him and shake him all at the same time.
"I’m supposed to protect you. Not endanger you," he mutters, apparently searching now for pants for me to wear, and I grab my own from the floor.
Maybe it has something to do with being dressed like a child, but I blow dismissive air through my lips and cross my arms stubbornly. "Pffft. What’s with this protecting me stuff? I’m capable of protecting myself."
But then I remember the way I made him whimper last night and that instinctual surge of protection that felt like it roared to life in my chest as well. If he were hurt, I can already tell how that would make me to react. God, I would love to nurse him back to health though.
Dex kisses my forehead and then walks to the bathroom with a shirt in his hands, and I watch him go—enjoying the view of his back muscles that roll and taper down to his shorts. Even his bare feet against the floor are sexy. Damn, if there is anyone who feels the instinctual urge to protect me, I am so glad it’s him. Maybe I should stop objecting.
When he comes back out, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, petting Moira Rose who is rubbing against my hand and purring loudly.
"God, I love seeing you in my shirts," he groans and leans against the door frame, staring at me with a crooked smile. "Feel free to wear them anytime."
"They’re a little big," I giggle and pull the shirt away from my chest.
"Even better. I know what’s under there, but no one else needs to," he grins and then scrubs a hand over his beard. "I don’t think I can be around you today."
"What? Why?" I frown and then immediately regret how disappointed it sounds. "I mean, that’s totally fine. I have things to do, too."
"You do?"
"Sure," I shrug. "Lots of things. I should get started on Verdure. And there are loads of personal messages I haven’t read or replied to. Text messages. Emails. I’m very popular, you know. Lots of friends. Lots of plans I need to get back to. So many things waiting for me."
Dex chuckles and shakes his head, pushing off of the door and coming to sit next to me. He grabs my hand and places it in his, staring at the two of them together.
"I’m so glad you’re here," he says. "Please don’t go anywhere. You need to rest today. No demanding security deposits from landlords or picking fights to prove how strong you are. I know how strong you are."
"But I have been resting..."
"And I’m going to be here to make sure you listen," he interrupts with a soft laugh. "You are stubborn."
"You said you couldn’t be around me today."
"Yeah, because I’m going to be tempted to gobble you up every time I look at you, especially in that shirt." There’s a soft rumble in his chest when he leans over to kiss my neck, and I shiver, tucking my lips in to keep a whimper from breaking.
"That’s okay," I tell him.
"No, it’s not okay," he groans and chuckles and then leans to gently bite my neck this time, and this time the whimper can’t be tamed. "God Raya, don’t make that sound," he whispers against my skin and then turns my face toward him, kissing me and stealing my breath in the process.
"I can’t help it," I whisper desperately, pulling him deeper into the blooming desire that burns between our lips until he breaks free and rests his forehead against mine, his hand weaving through my hair and chest rising with exaggerated breaths.
"Where is your medication, my dear?" He asks. "You need it, right?"
Dex is playing with my hair as he waits for an answer, but I’m lost in that hazy place that exists between kissing and breathing much like the place between dreaming and waking. The place where he calls me ’my dear.’ The place where he plays with my hair and his breath is feathering warm and sweet against my face.
"I’m going to take care of you today, Raya," he says softly. "But no more whimpering, because I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to behave myself."
