She blew out a breath, more shaky than he was comfortable with, so he asked her, “Do you want to manage the valve? Or do you want me to do it with your instructions?”
“I can, but thanks for offering.”
He handed her the small clamp that controlled the flow. “I’m guessing you’ve used these before?”
“Yeah, had a particularly masochistic submissive once who hated enemas, so they became his punishment.”
She released the clamp a tiny bit, then a little more, and Zander watched her face. Her breathing stayed slow, deep, and steady for the first thirty seconds, then her brow furrowed, and she gasped before clamping the valve shut.
Zander placed his palm on her lower abdomen and rubbed in slow, gentle circles. “Breathe through it. It’ll subside.”
Emmy nodded, eyes squeezed shut, and gradually the tension in her face eased. “Okay. Better.”
She released the valve again, and Zander kept his hand on her belly, monitoring the way her abdomen distended as the fluid entered. When her face tightened again, he increased the pressure of his circular massage.
“How much so far?”
“Just under a quart.”
“I can do more.”
Of course she could. Stubborn, brilliant, brave little dragon.
He’d always been fond of her, but as Spence said, he could see the woman she’d become now, and not merely the brilliant, articulate, adorable child she’d once been.
And he respected her all the more, watching her fight through this with such determined practicality.
They continued the process — flow, cramp, massage, breathe, flow again. Zander kept up the gentle abdominal massage, feeling the way her muscles spasmed and released under his palm, and Emmy controlled the valve with shaking determination.
“Quart and a half,” Zander reported when she stopped the flow for a particularly violent cramp. “That’s probably enough for now, if you just want to focus on holding what you’ve put in for a bit.”
Emmy’s breathing had gone shallow. “I … maybe a little more. Not the full two quarts. This is … a lot.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” Her jaw set with that familiar Drake stubbornness. “But the more volume I can get in, the more absorption once I stop and hold it. Thanks for rubbing. It seriously helps.”
Zander slightlyincreased the pressure of his massage, his other hand coming to rest on her hip, steadying her. “You’re incredibly brave. You know that?”
A weak huff that might have been a laugh. “I’m incredibly desperate. There’s a difference.”
“No. There isn’t.” He kept his voice low. “You’re fighting with every tool you have — your intelligence, your stubbornness, your strength. Even when you can barely stand. That’s courage.”
Emmy’s eyes opened, finding his, and for a moment something passed between them, but then another cramp seized her and she gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, and clamped the valve shut.
Zander’s hand moved in firm, soothing circles. “That’s enough. You’ve taken nearly a quart and three-quarters. Much more than I expected. Well done.”
“Need to … hold it. As long as I can.” Her voice came out strained.
“It’s taken nearly five minutes to get it in, so another five minutes, and every minute past that will be a bonus.”
“Ten more minimum,” she argued, and he let it go, stroking her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead with his free hand.
She was magnificent like this — stripped of all pretense, all armor, just raw determination and practical problem-solving even when she was so sick. This was who she’d always been, he realized. The four-year-old who’d climbed into his lap hadn’t been some separate person from the woman in his bed. The fierce intelligence, the stubbornness, the refusal to give up — it had always been there.
“I don’t think I can hold it much longer.” Emmy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He checked his watch. “Twelve minutes, little dragon. Excellent. Can you remove the nozzle yourself, or do you need help?”
