Taking the Leap (River Rain 3)

She nodded.

He bent and kissed her, then he rolled off her.

She rolled with him and over him, and didn’t mess around finding his tee and yanking it over her head as she walked to the bathroom.

They were day five with together. Entering day three with fucking. Her place that first night, and then for various reasons, his place the next.

She had sweet curves, he did what he could to show he appreciated them, but she wasn’t there in comfort level yet.

So she hid them away.

They’d get there.

Just like they shot as fast as Alexandra could manage it to no condoms when, on Wednesday morning, about an hour and a half after they showed at work, she had walked into his office, right to his desk, where she leaned a hip against the side of it.

His mind was on possibly working late someday, and fucking her on it.

Her mind maybe wasn’t on the exact same thing, but it wasn’t far.

“We’re having lunch together today, a late one, fast food, because we have an appointment at two at the clinic,” she’d announced.

His brows went up in surprise.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t smile.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“Gotcha,” she replied, gave him a wistful look he felt in his groin, mostly because it reminded him of the look she had on her face when he’d dragged her mouth off his cock the night before, and she walked out.

Nope.

The woman hadn’t even let a day slip by before they were giving up samples and paying for rushed results.

All that, all good, and since she was on the pill, it was all good.

Now it was Thursday. They had drinks with her friends that night on the schedule, staying at her place. Friday she was packing heavy and coming down to his because they were leaving early to get up to Flagstaff.

And they already had a drill.

This drill played out as she walked out of the bathroom, hair a mess on top of her head because it apparently wasn’t hair-washing day, body wrapped in a towel she had clutched at her chest in one hand. She shot him a small smile, minimal dimple, pawed through her bag with her free hand to grab what she needed and disappeared back in the bathroom.

Rix lazed in bed, her taste still on his tongue, so he was all good, until she was out, ready to face the day, and after a quick stop to give him a peck on the lips, she headed to the kitchen.

He went to the bathroom in his chair, swung himself onto the bench in the shower, did his thing, and met her dressed and ready on his feet when the coffee was made, and that day, he saw it was avocado toast for breakfast.

He liked her in his kitchen.

And that was not about coffee and avocado toast.

Through all this, Rix was one hundred present with Alex.

He did not allow himself to go there.

He did not allow himself to remember the look on Peri’s face the first time she saw his truncated, bandaged legs.

He did not allow himself to remember the way she’d turned away in bed the first time he’d pulled himself into his chair to wheel himself into the shower in order to use it sitting down.

Rix did not think about the fact that he’d fucked Peri in the shower more than once, standing on his own two feet.

But he did think that he’d fuck Alex in the shower, his ass to the bench with her bouncing on his dick.

Alex was completely unfazed.

The first time he showed her his prosthetics, she’d barely looked, and not because she was avoiding them, because she was thirsty for his chest.

But when she did see all of him, with some of him being metal and hydraulics, she’d asked about her fan.

The second time, when he’d been naked, she’d licked her lips.

It wasn’t about a fetish (it had seriously sucked, but he’d run into one of those).

It was because that was just who he was to her.

That was all she knew.

But even so, rewind a year and a half and it was Alex in his bed, and he didn’t come home whole, he knew it would be the same.

To Alexandra, he was just who he was.

She was more worried her fan would bother him than she was seeing him legless.

“Can I ask you something?” she queried as he poured coffee, her question taking him out of his head.

“Shoot,” he offered.

“Was the phoenix before or after?”

She had the creamer out so he nabbed it and dropped some in, asking, “Sorry?’

“On your back. Before or after.”

He put the creamer down and looked at her.

“After.”

Her head barely moved with her nod because she’d already figured that out, she was just confirming.

He grabbed his mug, leaned hips to the counter and took a sip as she slid the toast she’d made him his way (he saw she’d sprinkled everything bagel seasoning on it, which probably made something pretty fucking good even better).