Page 101 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
Self-preservation finally kicks in, the dizzying medley of emotions lighting up my stress response, and I pick flight.
“So.”I force out a little laugh that teeters precariously close to hysterical. “That’s what I needed to put out there. An apology, anun-apology, some soul-baring, and a declaration of my love. For you.” I hold up a finger for each item, like I’d been tallying them. “I’ll go?” I point toward the door. “I’ll take the stairs this time, if that’s cool.”
Ian nods. The movement of his head is the only motion, otherwise the man appears to have turned to stone.
“Great!” I chirp. My chest aches in time with my heartbeat. “Good talk.”
I slink toward the door, blinking back tears. I don’t know what I thought all that would amount to. I know what I’dhopedfor, but since when was hope something I could cling to?
The blood whooshes in my skull so loudly that it’s by the shuddering floorboards alone that I register Ian’s heavy, hurried footsteps toward me. I turn, and the movement propels me into his chest.
“Hayes.” His voice is so quiet. “I’m still hurt,” he says, and I nod, my eyes averted from his. He holds high on my left bicep and brushes his thumb over the path where the muscle of my shoulder carves into my upper arm. “And I don’t know how long it will take to get over that.” His hand slides to my shoulder, the backs of his fingers stroking the side of my neck, then lighting under my chin. He gives the gentlest nudge, tipping my chin upward, and I finally meet his eyes.
He runs his thumb across my lower lip. “But I love you, too.”
“Oh!” I don’t know what I was going to say, and it doesn’t matter anyway because his lips are against mine.
I roll over and raise the corner of the frame from where we placed it face-down on the nightstand. Four sun-pink faces smile back at me before I lay it down again. As touched as I’d been that Ian had held on to my gift in spite of my abhorrent behavior, having his family watch me make it up to him was a bridge too far.
Over in the kitchenette, the lid of the trash can snaps shut, and Ian strolls back to the bed, still naked and sweaty and glorious. I lift the throw I’d snuggled under for him to slide in beside me, and smile as his brow quirks in appreciation of my own bareness before he joins me. The man was literally inside me not two minutes ago, but he still takes pleasure in a peek.
He props himself up on his elbow, cool fingers tracing below my right eye. “How are you?”
“Are you asking if we fogged me up? Because that’s an affirmative.” I close my left eye, and my vision goes hazy. “Go teamus.”
He laughs, but it fades quickly. “I meant how you’re feeling about the MS possibility. I might have spent the past few days sulking, but it did occur to me that this is probably really fucking scary for you, and that I was being an asshole not acknowledging that.”
I open my good eye. His concern is as naked as we are. “I am scared.WhenI let myself think about it. Mostly, I hate not knowing. And then knowing that even if I get through the next few months, there will still be that slim chance MS may develop looming over me for years. But it’s something I have to live with. Honestly, since moving in with the guys, I’ve gone days at a time without thinking about it.”
“If it happens, it’s going to be hard,” he continues. “I’ve read up since the other night. I didn’t know that there were different kinds. Some folks have flare-ups, where they’re just symptomaticfor a few days or weeks, then totally fine for months. Others are more frequent. Others—” His lips press to a pained line.
“Deteriorate,” I finish for him.
The worried tug pulls at the center of his brows. “I know that it could get bad. But I’m not going anywhere.”
My eyes well. He didn’t need to say it. But I definitely needed to hear it.
He strokes the side of my face. His voice is soft when he says, “I don’t want to see you uncomfortable.”
A peal of panic rings through me, his words too close to echoing Cole’s bullshit: “I don’t think I’m strong enough for this, too.” But this is Ian, not Cole. And if there’s one word to describe Ian, it’sstrong.
I blink back the tears. “For now… just don’t tell me to hold back at the gym.”
“You’re planning to come back to the gym I banished you from when I fired you?” His lips quirk in a half smile.
I plant a kiss where his smile has hooked itself, darting out my tongue to brush the spot. “You can’t fire me; I quit,” I say, echoing my childish retort from the other night.
“Then we appear to be at an impasse.”
I chew on my lower lip in feigned thought, not missing when his eyes track the movement. I nudge his shoulder, and he rolls onto his back. I ease onto his torso, straddling his waist, and edge myself toward his groin. “I have a feeling I’ll be working my way back into your good graces.”
I make contact with the head of his penis, which is unsurprisingly, conveniently, erect. It twitches so violently, it bumps me in the butt. “Is that a yes, or are the two of you going to have to chat about itfirst?” I rock my hips back again, inspiring the same response. This time, I even hear the gentle pat of dick-to-tush, and suppress a giggle.
“Yes, Hayes,” he groans, and I sway my hips side to side. “You can come back.”
“That’s more like it,” I say, and kiss him again. I do us the courtesy of reaching into the nightstand for a fresh condom and make quick work of unwrapping it.
Tossing the foil aside—but tracking where it lands—I pinch the tip, holding it up in offering. “May I?” I ask. In response, he lets out a groan that I find most flattering.
