The Amendment (The Contract 2)

I stepped back in front of him, drawing my hands across his chest, sliding down, lingering on the tight muscles of his stomach. I bent to the floor, lathering his feet and working my way up his legs. As I reached the top of his thighs, he grabbed my hands, stopping my ministrations. My eyes flew upward to meet his. I was willing and waiting to try anything. Touch. Tease. Stroke. Kiss. Seek a moment of closeness we desperately needed at the moment. Get past the hurt of his words and prove to him nothing had changed between us and we would find our way.

He shook his head, taking the soap from me. His cock softened, curving against his thigh.

“I can’t,” he said.

I stood and rinsed him off, then turned into the spray and grabbed the shampoo, refusing to let him see my hurt.

I knew he was healing, and perhaps it had been too much, but the Richard I loved would have kept me close. Talked to me. Explained the disconnect.

I let the shower wash away the tears that burned as I admitted that, perhaps, this Richard wasn’t the same person at the moment.

Silently, I cried a little harder at the sudden thought that maybe he never would be that person again.“What the hell is that?” Richard hissed as the van parked in our driveway.

“A ramp for you to get into the house,” I explained. “I told you I had made some adjustments.”

He glowered, his hands curving around the handles of the wheelchair.

“Why don’t we announce to the world I’m paralyzed?” he snapped.

“Don’t be absurd. The ramp is temporary. Once you’re walking, it will be removed,” I said wearily. He had been arduous, fighting everything I told him was happening at the house. Finally, I stopped telling him, and Laura oversaw the work, making sure things were on track for us. How she had pulled off having it ready in such a short time frame, I didn’t know, but I would be eternally grateful.

The front door opened as the van came to a halt. Mrs. Thomas appeared, holding Heather. Gracie was beside her, practically vibrating with delight at the fact that Daddy was home. I stepped out of the van and waited as the side door opened and the ramp was lowered. Richard came from the back, his lips twisted in displeasure.

For a brief moment, the frown disappeared, and he smiled at Gracie.

“Hey, baby girl.”

Except she ran full tilt at him, barely stopping before she crawled up into his lap. She squirmed and wiggled, her unbridled joy evident.

Richard stopped smiling. He lifted her from his lap, setting her on her feet in front of him. “I can’t wheel the chair and hold you, Gracie. Don’t get on my lap.”

Her face crumpled and I was quick to lift her into my arms. I shot him a glare, then kissed her cheek.

“Once Daddy is in the house, you can have a cuddle, okay?”

“Otay,” she replied, her voice subdued.

Richard pushed away the hands of the attendant. “I can do it,” he snarled and wheeled up the ramp on his own. I had to admire his upper body strength. Always strong, his muscles rippled as he bent and pushed. I tried not to feel the disappointment that his efforts hadn’t affected his legs yet. It had only been three weeks since he had woken up. He’d had daily therapy and it would continue, but his medical team had agreed he might do better at home. Medically, there was nothing left they could do for him. The effort was now in his own hands, and the house was ready. Mentally, I hoped it was the change he needed—familiar surroundings, his family with him, and reestablishing a routine would help him focus on healing.

I tried to stifle my disappointment at his reaction to the ramp. There was so much to take in, it had no doubt jarred him. He would understand the need for all of the remodeling and adjustments once he had a chance to settle and think things over.

I knew he hated the changes, but they were necessary.

And all temporary, of course.14KatyRichard didn’t appreciate any of the changes. In fact, they either annoyed him, or caused another outburst.

The repositioning of the furniture in the family room to make space for the exercise equipment was met with a glare and a downturn of his mouth.

The lowered cabinet so he could reach the Keurig and make coffee was greeted with silence. The rearrangement of his office and the added height to his desk so he could get his wheelchair tucked under the edge earned mutterings and a glower.

Refusing to let him see my rising frustration, I opened the door to the new elevator with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” he growled.

“Richard!” I gasped, indicating Gracie, who was staring at him with round eyes.