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Chapter Two
I woke the next morning aware of three things. First, I was not alone in the bed. Second, I hurt about as badly as I had ever hurt in my life. Third, if I didn’t get to the bathroom RIGHT NOW there was going to be a mess in the bed.
I rolled out of bed, unable to stop the groan as I did, The splint on my thumb was awkward. The pain at the top of my leg was exquisite. I headed into the bathroom taking small shuffling steps, aware of how much I must look like an 80-year-old woman tottering around.
I sat, bringing another groan. I peed with my head hanging, a combination of hungover and my body’s reaction to taking a beating. Done, I sat and breathed in long slow breaths, gathering my energy to stand.
Finally, I stood, a little gasp as my leg took the weight. I looked back and saw some pink but, I thought, less than last night. I washed my hands, rummaged through the vanity and found some Listerine, rinsed my mouth, and started on the long, dangerous journey back to bed.
Wes was awake when I got to the bedroom a couple of hours later, well, maybe a minute later, and he smiled and said, “mornin’, beautiful.”
I giggled and groaned as I turned and sort of fell into the bed.
“Just let me lay here and heal like an old dog,” I said, “for a few minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.”
He chuckled, a pleasant sound deep in his throat that I would come to love, and said, “you are welcome here, sweet Susan, as long as you want to stay.”
Before I could say anything he rolled out of bed, oddly graceful for a big guy, and disappeared into the other room. I laid there, trying to relax, readying myself to go back to my motel room. He was back in a minute with a glass of water.
“Sit,” he said, offering a hand and helping me to sit up.
He held out his hand and there was a white pill in it.
“Take this,” he said, “and then get some more sleep. We’ll talk about your housing arrangements later.”
So I took the pill, washed it down, said, “thank you, Wes,” and laid back on the pillow.
I didn’t hear him leave the room.
I woke later and, again, made my way to the bathroom. I was pleased to see no pink when I looked back. Another quick rinse with Listerine, finally getting the taste mostly out of my mouth.
I bonus veren siteler went back into the bedroom and looked through the closet, looking for something to put on. I pulled out a flannel shirt and put it on. It hung low enough to offer some modesty which made me giggle a little since modesty was hardly my forte. I took a deep breath and went in search of my host.
He met me at the door to the bedroom with a big glass of orange juice in his hand.
And he was stark naked.
He chuckled as I suppose I look a little startled. “Clothes are pretty optional around here, Susan,” he said. And then added, “do you need another pill?”
I thought a moment and said, “no, I’m good.”
“Hungry?” he asked.
I thought a moment again and realized I was famished. “Starved,” I said.
He grinned, a good grin, and offered his hand. “Step into my kitchen,” he said.
He led me into the kitchen and seated me like a gentleman at the kitchen table with its two chairs.
“I don’t claim to be a cook,” he said, “but I like to think I do breakfast well.”
It was fun, watching him, as I sipped at my orange juice. He was comfortable in the kitchen. He got a big cast-iron frying pan out and then a dozen eggs. As I watched he broke the eggs into a Fiestaware soup bowl, poured in a splash of milk, and began beating the eggs with a fork.
“Buttercup yellow, just like gramma taught me,” he said, conversationally.
He got out bacon and started it frying, but not until he had draped an old-fashioned apron over his neck and carefully tied it behind. “Bacon pops,” he observed.
In the end, he served me bacon, a passable Denver omelet, toast, and refilled my orange juice.
I ate like I hadn’t eaten for days. Well, when I stopped to think about it, I really hadn’t eaten much in the past week or so.
I looked up and caught him watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m just trying to figure out how you can keep so damn skinny eating like that,” he said, making me laugh, spraying well-chewed egg onto his face and chest.
“So,” he said, delicately dabbing at the egg on his face, “she’s a bit of a slob too.”
By then I had myself under control and was waving my hand weakly, saying, “God, I’m sorry.”
He went back to bedava bahis eating and successfully waited me out.
“This is the biggest meal I’ve had in months,” I said, “and a vodka diet will take the weight off in a hurry.”
“Well,” he said, “you ARE too damn skinny so I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”
“Wes,” I said, turning serious, “you’ve done more already than I have any right to ask.”
He held up his hand.
“Susan,” he said and I won’t deny I liked the way he used my full name, “you are the most interesting person I’ve met in years. And when you’re not all wrapped up in your ‘I’m a worthless barfly’ act, you’re actually a lot of fun. So here’s the deal. If you want to go back to what you’ve been doing, say the word. I’ll take you back over to that motel and we’ll be done.”
He paused, took a bit of egg, and watched my face.
This time I waited him out.
“But,” he said after a pause, “you are welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
I nodded and said, “thank you.”
“But,” he said, holding up a finger, “before you get back into my bed we’re going to wash your stinky ass.”
I giggled and said, “fair enough.”
We finished breakfast in companionable silence. When we were done he went into the bathroom and I heard him running a bath. He came back, rummaged around in a drawer, and came to me with a plastic bag that had once contained a loaf of bread. He got the big thumb splint off of me and then secured the bag over my right hand with a big rubber band. He walked me into the bathroom, worked the shirt off of me, and helped me into the tub.
For the first time in three years, I felt a little embarrassed at having a man see me naked.
I settled into the tub and he went back into the kitchen. I heard the sounds of dishes being done and put away. The hot water was relaxing me.
He was back in the bathroom in a few minutes. He folded a big bath towel into a pad and got to his knees. Then he wet a washcloth, soaped it, and began washing my face, very carefully. He very gently washed, being careful where my lip was still swollen.
I giggled when he dipped a big plastic glass into the water and poured it over my head. He started shampooing me then, and I liked it. I closed my eyes and just deneme bonus relaxed, accepting the attention.
He was gentle where I was bruised, and made me giggle where I wasn’t. He did my back, carefully avoiding bruises, and then had me lean back to do my front.
“It doesn’t matter what you do sweety,” I said as he was busy on my unbruised breast, “there ain’t no milk.”
“Fun to try,” he said, and then moved to the other one, the one with the bruise, and was so gentle I only winced once.
I got the giggles when he had me roll up onto all fours so he could do my ass and pussy properly and squealed when his finger probed my anus gently while he was cleaning back there.
When he was satisfied I was clean enough he pulled the drain plug, started the water running again, adjusted it to very hot, and had me stand under the shower and rinse and just relax. By the time he reached in, turned off the water, and held my hand for support as I stepped out of the tub my muscles were so relaxed it felt like my bones had turned to rubber.
Drying me turned into an exercise that was the most sensual thing that had ever happened to me that wasn’t sexual as well. He toweled my hair and then carefully patted my face dry. He dried my entire body that way, with gentle pats and very light rubs. I giggled again when he did my boobs thoroughly, my pussy VERY thoroughly, and damn near fell and hurt myself again while he was doing my feet.
Squeaky clean and dry, I held his hand when he led me back to the bedroom.
“Wes, I,” I started, turning to face him but he stopped me with a fingertip to my lips.
“Susan,” he said and I did like the way he used my full name, “someday, maybe, when you’re healed and we BOTH feel like it, we’ll make love and it will be that, making love. Hell, someday we may just feel like fucking again. But honey,” and he surprised me by leaning forward slowly and kissing me, very tenderly on the side of my mouth not swollen, “that’s somewhere in the future. For now, you take your pill and I’ll get to work. There’s plenty of food in the fridge if you wake up, I’ll be home for lunch, and later we can talk or I’ll just kick your ass at ‘Call of Duty’.”
He pulled back the spread and top sheet and I could see that he had changed the sheets while I was in the bath. He held my hand as I got into the bed, took the pill from him, washed it down with a glass of water, said a soft, “thank you,” and laid my head back on the pillow.
The pill did its work. I’m not sure I heard the door close when he left.
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