Page 80 of Cain

And that was it.

I was falling, crashing, shattering apart on impact.

Cain kept working me through it, but moved away after, his lips kissing across my thigh, his hand moving away.

I sucked in a deep breath and looked down as he lifted away.

Then, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes so hot they were molten, he slid his fingers in his mouth, that rumble moving through him again. Almost like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of me.

The thought alone had desire reigniting even if all my limbs remained stubbornly boneless.

His knees pressed into the edge of the bed, his hands moving out to stroke up and down my thighs as I slowly came back into myself.

“Think we should do that for pain relief, since you can’t take the good stuff with a concussion.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, face going hot.

“And if I want to?” he asked.

I felt like my face was on fire, but I forced the words out anyway. “Well, if you want to, I’m not objecting.”

That got a little chuckle out of him as he moved away, not even asking—let alone demanding—I finish him off.

And as I pulled myself up, all I could wonder was: was this how it was supposed to be? Was it not always sacrifice and endurance on my part and expectation and satisfaction on his?

Objectively, I think a part of me did know that. But after years of experiencing the opposite, it was proving harder than I realized to shake off that old, wrong kind of thinking.

But I knew that if there was a man in the world who could show me the way things were supposed to be between a man and a woman, it was Cain.

“I got you your usual latte,” he told me as he toed off his shoes and moved to sit on the bed.

I scooted up, right up to his side, accepting the coffee, then melting inside as his arm went around me. Without having to ask. Without seeming like it was something he was doing for me. Like he wanted it too.

I leaned my head into him and watched the TV as I sipped my perfect latte—that he remembered exactly how I liked—and tried not to cry.

Not, for once, in loneliness and fear and misery.

But in happiness.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cain

Georgie was an awful patient.

Not because she was demanding or whined a lot.

It was the exact opposite.

Georgie was a bad patient because she was constantly trying to do things for herself that I would be happy to do. Clearly, that ex of hers had trained her not to ask him for anything.

So what she ended up doing was pushing herself too hard and falling over because she was still dizzy, or making her neck hurt so bad that she ended up in the bed holding it and crying.

It wasn’t until the third day that she stopped trying to come out to the kitchen to get her own coffee and breakfast, and just sat and waited in bed. She let me put on her socks and pull up her hair. She let me do the straightening of the room and stripping and making the bed.

Which was what I’d just finished doing.

So I made my way back out to the common room where I’d dropped her pretty ass on the couch, ready to bring her back.