“Ahh!” It always stings a little at first. He holds still, letting me adjust... then pushes in until he’s buried to the knuckle.
“Fuck,” I grunt. His finger’s wide.
I can feel him sagging over me. “So tight... oh God, I’m gonna come in you... I wanna fill you up...” I clench around his dick and push against him one more time, until his cock has split me open and his finger is deep in my ass. It feels so good. I quiver and keep thrusting my hips. His cock swells and hardens and I feel his finger curl.
“Fuck... fuck. Oh Cleo.” He spasms, and then I’m filled with pulsing warmth.
“Ohhhh, yes.” I sag. He holds me to him. “Ahhh.” He draws gently out of me and leans against the wall. I rest my cheek against his heaving chest.
His hand trails over my hips, between my leg. He cups me. “I can feel it dripping out of you...” He parts me with his fingertip and eases just a little of it inside, where—he’s right—I’m full and dripping.
“Mmm.” Inside I’m full... it’s warm... his fingertip feels good... the way they stretch me...”Kellan...” I giggle, pushing at, then pulling on his hand.
His mouth brushes my ear. He drags his finger up and down my slit. “What do you think? You want me to stop now?”
“No...”
His free hand cups my breast. His finger eases in... and then another one. I grunt. “You sure?”
I grip his forearm. “I want...” His fingers writhe. I clamp around him.
“Mmm... I could do this all day—and all night.”
“Forever,” I moan.
He kisses my neck... and fingers me until I scream. And helps me up, and wraps me in a towel. Then his robe.
We’re back in bed in time to play some Call of Duty before Areteha starts the next round of IVs.
I lie on my side with Kellan’s big, warm body tucked around mine. We both fall asleep... and when we wake up at half past nine, there’s chicken pizza on the table.
Kellan yawns and shrugs. “I got a craving.”
I drip ranch under the collar of his shirt and pull it up so I can lick it off his pec. We go to sleep like that, except I don’t need as much sleep as he does, so I’m up at three a.m.—just me and the hospital room. I slip out of the bed and walk over to the windows. Look down at the busy streets.
I wonder what it’s like, a night in New York? It’s so weird that I’ve been here for almost a month and haven’t even had a hot dog from a street cart.
I look over at the bed, where Kellan’s sleeping on his side. The tiny, plastic IV tube stretches over the mattress, delivering... hmm? Steroids? Or that drug for GVHD, a post-transplant complication that’s making his blood counts a little weird.
I walk slowly over to the bed and look
down at him... really look at him. Now that he’s getting fewer fevers, and we’ve got our pretzel sleeping position established, he never wears the beanie when he sleeps.
I let my eyes trace the curve of his head. Perfect. The other day, Lora asked me how I handle being here. All the unpleasantness... the hard days and the pain and sweat and blood and sometimes tears. I couldn’t tell her. If you’ve never been here like I have, you wouldn’t understand.
How every drop of sweat is precious. The overpowering evergreen mouthwash... the scentless lotion I would rub on him a few weeks back when his skin got ultra dry and kind of chapped (the GVHD again). I’ve held him while he cried dozens of times. I know that when he’s done, he always hugs my neck and nuzzles up under my chin and strokes my cheek and often says, “sorry.” And I never care, because every tear is precious too. If I could bottle them, I would. Wear them around my neck forever, like my origami sparrow.
I walk back across the room, to the little desk where I keep my portfolio. I sit down in the rolling chair and pull the yellow legal pads out of my folder. With my cell phone, I check each pad for dates.
I find the first one, then get up again to get my stuffed sloth from the foot of the bed. I curl my legs up in the chair and hug sloth while I read.
I read all night—and I realize, these aren’t letters. This is Kellan’s diary; it’s just addressed to me. To Sloth.
I smile and laugh and cry onto the pages. It’s not easy, reading all his pain. I can’t go back in time. I can’t even travel forward. I’m stuck here in this day. But in this day, I can do something. So I slip back into bed.
FIRST THE DUMBBELLS. Then the stationary bike. I watch him work out while I cross-stitch in the recliner. And when he’s done, we get a shower.
We dry each other, slip into our robes—he bought me one—and Kellan heads back for the bed, and Game of Thrones.