“Sit back down,” I order, not moving until she lowers herself back down to the edge of the bed.
Bounding down the stairs, I grab two bottles of juice, then race back to the bedroom, scowling when I find her standing, her arms behind her, unfastening her bra.
“What are you doing?” I demand angrily, scooping her off her feet and carrying her into the bathroom, placing her down on the counter.
“Oh my god, I was just taking my bra and socks off. I look ridiculous.”
“You should have waited until I could help.”
“I’m not an invalid,” she sighs.
“Itake care of you,” I remind her.
“You take care of me so well,” she says sweetly.
My heart races as I unfasten her bra, then slip it down her arms and off her fingers. Sliding first one, then the other sock over her calves and off her feet, I drop them all into the laundry hamper, then return to her, worried all over again when her face scrunches into a wince as she wiggles on the counter.
“Let me look,” I demand, feeling the stirrings of the type of anger I’d never experienced a week ago, but now feel so often it’s become a familiar sensation.
“Let you look at what?” she questions.
“Your cunt.”
“Why? I’m not hurt, but I am too sore for any more sex today.”
“I want to see for myself,” I insist.
“See what?” she questions, crossing her legs at the ankles as I close the short distance between us and place my hands on her thighs.
“I need to check I didn’t hurt you,” I admit.
“You didn’t.”
“Then let me see.”
Sighing loudly, she braces her hands on either side of her on the counter, then slowly uncrosses her ankles and inches her legs apart.
Crouching down, I place my fingertips on the insides of her thighs. “Wider.”
“Knight.”
“Wider,” I say again in a firmer tone, applying a small amount of pressure to her legs in encouragement.
She inches a little wider, and I keep the pressure on her thighs until her legs are splayed apart, and I have the perfect view of her cunt.
“Knight,” she says, her tone tense.
“You’re not bleeding?” I question.
“No,” she quickly assures me. “Just tender and sore.”
Moving my hand from her thigh, I carefully run my fingertip through her pink, swollen folds, carefully parting her pussy so I can look at her entrance. “A bath will make you feel better?” I ask.
“It’d be better if we had some Epson salts, but yes, it’ll help. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Vaginas were made to stretch, take a hammering, then shrink again,” she says with a laugh, waiting for me to remove my hands before she closes her legs again.
“We can get some the next time we go to the store.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Are you going to get in with me?” she asks, gesturing to the now half-full tub.
