WICKED PARADISE | JENLISA

FORTY

JENNIE
***

A MONTH SINCE MY world changed all over again.

Thirty days where each morning Lisa opened her eyes, grew stronger, and wrapped me in her arms at night.

It both flew by and crawled by.

Flew because Lisa used every waking hour to regain her strength and mobility and crawled because every touch between us was a live wire set at a voltage determined to annihilate us.

Sleeping beside her.

Touching her.

Kissing her.

All incredible and needed after almost losing her, but I couldn’t deny that refusing sex was the hardest thing in the world.

Watching her dry off after a shower.

Seeing her grow hard just watching me.

Both of us flinching when we touched because our connection caused physical pain.

My body ached for her.

Her temper spoke of her need for me.

Our self-controls were fraying.

I wanted her.

So damn much.

But I’d meant what I said a few weeks ago. I loved her too much to lose her, and I was petrified of sleeping with her because last time…

That won’t happen again.

I nodded, following my logic that the likelihood of Lisa having another cardiac arrest after an orgasm were slim. Previously, she’d pushed her body to the brink and injected her veins full of poison. She’d detoxed and healed since then, yet…every time I inched toward her or buckled beneath the urge to open my legs and beg, a small panicked voice would shout in my ear.

What if?

What if she needed more time to be strong?

What if I was pushing her too much?

She already pushed for more than Louise liked. Her physiotherapy usually ended with them yelling at each other.

The first day she’d stood without support, she refused to sit back down again until her legs buckled from the strain.

The first afternoon she took a step—assisted by Joe and Campbell—she refused to stop until she tripped and fell to her knees, possibly setting back her healing bones by weeks.

In the end, Louise gave up on controlling the timeline and permitted Lisa to train herself. To use the weights for her arms, and the Pilate bands for her abs and quads at her discretion.

Each day, Lisa broke barriers and rebuilt the muscle she’d lost.

She was so full of life now.

She smiled more than I’d ever seen.

She laughed at my stupid jokes.

Her eyes glowed with less torment.

Her age now had been erased and she’d transformed into a much younger, less brooding woman. They did say that life was put on hold while a patient lay in a coma. That no aging process occurred.

Well, Lisa’s six-week sleep seemed to have stopped all clocks and reversed the strain of her prior years. I’d like to take some credit for that—for teasing her heart open to trust and filling it with affection. For showing her she didn’t need to hate herself or her kind. That it was okay to be happy when so many other creatures were not.