REprisal - Kathy Coopmans Page 0,55
long since I have been inside of my wife. We’re nowhere near being intimate with one another yet, so why in the hell am I standing here with my dick growing hard? Fuck, now she’s bending over, showing me her bare ass as she picks up the bag my mother brought earlier. Jesus Christ! Turner, you fucking asshole. Think about something else.
She’s now directly in front of me.
“Hey. Are you all right?”
“Yup. Just soaking in everything the doc said. You need help with your shower? With keeping that IV out of the water, I mean?” I add, my voice strained.
“I’m good, thanks. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. God, take your shower.”
I push myself off of the wall, adjusting myself in my pants the minute I am away from her. I bend down and pick up the basket of food off of the floor that Krista dropped off earlier.
“Where did that come from? And, oh my God, is that your mom’s chicken?”
Clove perks right up, licking those plump lips. I think I will just leave this basket dangling in front of me while she inspects inside. It seems to be the perfect buffer to hide my aching cock.
Her eyes light up as her hands dig around in the basket, inhaling the aroma of the food coming out of it.
“It is!” she squeals. “Your favorite! Is there somewhere this can be warmed up? She has mashed potatoes and corn in here, too. I am devouring that food when I am done.”
“It’s actually from Krista, not my mother, and I am sure they can heat it up for us. While you’re showering I will get it all taken care of.”
It feels good to talk with her like this, like normal. We have a long way to go, we both know it. It doesn’t matter, though, as I gaze up at the clock on the wall. In four and a half hours, a whole new year for us as husband and wife begins. Last year I mourned her, spending our wedding anniversary in a damn hospital exactly like this one. This time I won’t have to be alone.
As soon as Clove disappears into the bathroom, I set up a small, makeshift dinner table that one of the nurses helped me find, along with a vase of flowers. I sit her anniversary gift on top of her paper plate.
“How romantic,” I laugh to myself.
“Shit!” I hear Clove call out.
The first thing crossing my mind is that she’s somehow fallen or seriously hurt herself. I rap my knuckles urgently on the bathroom door.
“You need any help in there?”
The door opens and steam billows out from the shower, my wife’s wet hair spilling down her shoulders.
“Um. If you don’t mind, I could use some help.”
I release a relieved sigh knowing she’s okay, but fuck me. When she opens the door all the way, she’s standing there with a skimpy white towel wrapped around her, her face freshly cleaned, her big eyes staring up at me. In this instant I realize I am completely and royally fucked, and not in the way I want to be, either.
“This stupid IV is in the way and I need help getting dressed.”
Fucking hell has no fury like my poor dick.
“I can call the nurse if you would rather not,” she says after I am silent for a moment too long. “In fact, that’s a good idea. Let me go call her.”
She tries to get past me but I halt her with a squeeze on her shoulder.
“No, it’s okay. I can help.”
She drops her head toward the floor.
“Are you sure, because…”
“I want to help you.”
I reach for her panties, bend down, and help her step into them. Her legs go on forever and they feel so silky smooth as my fingers run across them. I never once take my eyes off of her panties, even though all I want to do is dip my head forward and run my tongue up the middle of her pussy. She can have all the damn chicken, my dinner is right here.
I can smell her arousal as I pull them the rest of the way up under the towel. She sucks in her breath as I reach around and pull them over her ass. A lump stays lodged in my throat, and I feel fucking dizzy as a son of a bitch, but I bite my tongue. If I could tuck my dick between my legs, I would, but that shit ain’t happening, either.
Clove