Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)

She put her hand over his. “I’m scared.” He opened his mouth to reassure her, but she shushed him. “I haven’t done this in a long time. I haven’t wanted to. I don’t want you to expect too much.” She cut herself off, a hand over her mouth.

Oh shit. Hamish was in hospital when they married and then a wheelchair till he relearned to walk. Damon’s brain scrambled. Could Hamish get an erection? What kind of sex did they have? Was there no one else, before, during, after? Was she trying to tell him she was a virgin still? That wasn’t possible, was it?

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

He rolled his head on her crispy cotton bedspread. He couldn’t easily put a voice to his thoughts.

“We had normal sex once Hamish got over the worst of the injury. But we didn’t…”

“Okay.” That came out like he’d agreed to a second cup of coffee. Pedestrian, everyday. She was telling him the intricacies of her sex life and he was responding like it was an optional entertainment. “You don’t have to tell me. We don’t have to do anything.”

“It wasn’t the same as before and after a while we just stopped trying. We were more like flatmates.”

He turned his palm so he could clasp her hand. Her voice had the same matter-of-fact quality to it as when she’d told him about the attack; as if she’d said it so many times she’d managed to distance herself from it, but her grip was an iron glove.

“So it’s been a while for me.”

He brought her hand to his lips. Just held it there, breathing against her knuckles.

She inhaled and it juddered in her throat. “I don’t know how to do this with you. With anyone else. I don’t know what you want from me, how I should move or…”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Don’t worry about what I want, Princess. I’m here to do your bidding.”

A noisy exhale. She slipped her hand out of his. He’d gotten it wrong again. Making it easier for her wasn’t the same thing as making light of her experience. Calling her Princess—Jesus, where was his head? For this he really needed a well workshopped script.

“Do you mean that?”

“I didn’t mean to make fun.” He had about three seconds to recover this. “I’ve got an idea.”

“If it’s that you want to go home I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Put your Hello Kitty’s on.”

She moved, the bed dipped, her breath on his face. “I don’t really own Hello Kitty pjs.”

He smiled at her. “You a win at phone sex. I was thinking we could go old school.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t know what that is.”

“Put the sleep back in sleeping together.”

A hesitant laugh. “Are you serious?”

He closed his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

“You’re saying that after the make-out sessions and the dress and the limo and the red carpet and the Dulcets and being just so, oh, amazing, you want to take me to bed and sleep?”

“It should stay in this room.”

Her fingers in his hair. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That you make a mean scrambled eggs.”

“You’re going to make me cry.”

“Then this is the wrong plan.” He frowned and sat up, hauled her up beside him. “I want to make you comfortable.”

“Sex has never been comfortable before.”