EPILOGUE
7 MONTHS LATER
BEA
“Shit,Bea, you feel so damn good.”
Indy lifts me higher and turns me so my back is to the shower wall. Then he leans me against the water-slicked marble and tilts my hips so he can sink even deeper.
My inner walls shudder at the delicious sensation of being filled so completely.
Heat builds at my core, spiraling out to my belly.
Squeezing my legs around Indy’s waist, I hitch myself up even further, so he hitsthatspot?—
My thighs shake. Ecstasy builds; a lit fuse moments from igniting.
Indy pulls out slightly, then plunges deep inside me again.
My head falls back at the surge of pleasure.
My eyes slam shut.
A moment later, I force them open again.
With my eyes closed, I can’t read Indy’s lips. I can’t see him calling me beautiful or saying how much he loves this. And I want to see everything.
It’s the one bad thing about sex in the shower, that I can’t wear my implants. But it’s the only one. And the positives far outweigh the negatives.
In the shower, I can watch the water sluice down Indy’s body, his skin all slick and glistening, with water droplets clinging to the brush of dark hair that covers his chest and tapers down past his stomach.
Shower sex is hot and steamy—literally—and when the cool marble hits my back, it’s the most perfect contradiction.
In the bright light of the bathroom, I can see every line and flat plane of Indy’s muscles, from his ten-pack abs to his flexing biceps.
When we have sex in the shower, I get to fully appreciate how strong Indy is. Holding me up easily, maneuvering my body to hit the very best angles, but always, always making me feel safe.
He wouldn’t drop me. Ever.
“You weigh less than I lift one-handed,” Indy assured me the first time we tried it. “I promise, you’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t worried. My husband hasn’t broken a promise yet.
Something else I love about shower sex? It’s a time for both of us to be vulnerable—me without my implants and Indy without his prosthetic.
But isn’t that what marriage is? Allowing yourself to be vulnerable with the other person? Knowing that they love you despite your flaws, or all the more because of them?
Except I don’t think Indy’s arm is a flaw. It’s just who he is. Strong, brave, incredible Indy who gave a part of himself to protect our country. And having to wear implants to hear isn’t a flaw, either. Like Indy says, it’s made me stronger. My patients know I understand their struggles because I’ve been through them myself.
Indy’s gaze burns into mine, the blue nearly swallowed by black. He waits until he’s certain I’m looking at him before he says, “I love you, Bea. So much.”
Though I can’t hear myself saying it, I reply, “I love you, too.”
Then he raises me up again.
And pulls me down.
He thrusts his hips, plunging deep.
