He leaned down until his mouth was near my ear. “Told you.”
“You didn’t tell me anything.”
“I told you that was my woman.”
“No, how I heard about it, you told Monica that and then I’ve been your girl since you claimed me on that hospital bed.”
“And she went and told everybody else.”
I pulled back far enough to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Look at your hand.”
I lifted it between us. It was a bad ass ring. “Still ridiculous,” I said, although I couldn’t stop smiling.
He kissed me before I could say anything else. His hand came around the back of my neck, holding me gently as the people around us cheered louder. The kiss didn’t feel like a performance for them. It felt like a promise made in front of witnesses.
By the time we left, it was after midnight. My body ached from standing longer than I was used to, and the skin near the top of the socket had begun to feel tender. Lev noticed before I mentioned it. When we reached the house, he came around to my side of the car and lifted me into his arms. He carried me through the front door and up the stairs, though the house had an elevator installed because he had refused to let me move in without one. Inside the bedroom, he placed me gently on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of me.
My hand rested against his shoulder while he unfastened the heel from my prosthetic foot. He set the shoe aside, then carefully released the suspension system. By then, he knew every step of removing the leg, but he still looked at me before touching the socket.
“You ready?”
I nodded. He eased it away slowly, giving the skin time to adjust. Once it was removed, he checked the residual limb forredness the way the prosthetist had taught him. His fingers moved with care, not because he was afraid of me, but because he understood what hurt.
“There’s a little irritation near the side,” he said. “We’ll call them in the morning.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’ll be finer after they fix it.”
I looked down at the ring on my finger and Lev followed my gaze. “You like it?”
“Yes. I love it.”
He stood and removed his jacket before reaching for the zipper at the side of my dress. His eyes met mine in the mirror. “You tired?”
“A little.”
“We can go to sleep.”
I knew he meant it. That was the thing about intimacy after the accident. Sometimes I wanted him and became afraid the second the clothes came off. Other times, phantom pain made it impossible to relax but he never pushed or made me feel like my body owed him anything because he stayed.
Tonight, I didn’t want to sleep. “Come here,” I said. He stepped closer and I turned toward him and reached for the buttons of his shirt. My fingers worked slowly.
Lev watched my face instead of my body. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He cupped my cheek and kissed me gently, giving me enough time to change my mind. When I didn’t, the kiss got freakier. He helped me out of the dress without rushing, easing the silk over my body before laying it across the chair instead of allowing it to fall. I sat at the edge of the bed in front of him, suddenly aware of every scar and every uneven place I usually hid beneath clothes.
My instinct was to pull the sheet over myself. Lev caught my hand. I looked away. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Then stop making me repeat myself.”
His hand settled against my left thigh, just above where my leg ended. He touched the scar without hesitation, then leaned down and pressed his mouth gently against it. My breath caught. There was no pity in the way he touched me. No careful avoidance. He kissed the part of my body I hated most as if it belonged beneath his mouth the same as every other piece of me. When he looked up, his eyes were steady.
“You still don’t understand,” he said.
