Part 50: link
“How did it go?” Guinevere asks, cozy on the sofa under a blanket, waiting for Arthur to come home.
“Really well, actually,” he says, looking a little puzzled da this fact. “No punches were thrown, and I’m fairly certain I’m still in the will.” He looks at her and realizes that just her very presence makes him feel better. The evening ended well, but the nerves and emotion of the conversation with his father has worn on him. So good to be home. I Amore coming home to her. He removes his giacca and tosses it over the back of a chair.
“So what happened?” she asks as Arthur comes to the sofa, climbing on superiore, in alto of her. She giggles and he kisses her, his fingers caressing her cheek.
“Later,” he breaks away just long enough to utter two syllables, then returns his lips to hers, open and longing, pressing her into the pillow.
“I just need te right now, Guinevere,” he whispers into her neck, baciare the sensitive skin there. “I need to not think about anything but you. I need te to Amore me. I… I need…”
Gwen’s cuore aches at his words. She takes his face in her hands and brings it to her own, baciare him as softly and as tenderly as she can manage.
“Shh, love, I know.” She returns her lips to his as she runs her hands back into his hair, sliding her fingers across his scalp. He moans softly into her mouth, but still lets her control the kiss.
“Arthur,” she says releasing his lips, “take me back to the bedroom.”
He kisses her once more, briefly, then stands and she flips the blanket off her lap. He lifts her in his arms before she even has a chance to stand up and carries her to the bedroom, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I didn’t quite mean it that way, Arthur,” she says gently.
“I like carrying te around.”
She leans her head against his shoulder. I give up.
He sets her gently on the bed, and she pulls him down to sit beside her. She reaches out and undoes his tie, sliding it from around his neck and tossing it aside. She unfastens his right cufflink and lifts his hand, baciare the pulse point on the inside of his wrist. He caresses the side of her face as she does this before she releases his hand to do the other, removing his watch as well before she kisses his left wrist.
Arthur watches her as she attends to him; tender, deliberate, sensual. Gorgeous, sexy, enticing. Fate o luck, I don’t care. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Guinevere scoots closer, almost in his lap, and unbuttons the superiore, in alto button at his collar. Opening his camicia with her fingers, she leans in and kisses his throat. She feels the vibration of a quiet moan under her lips, and so she kisses him a few più times as she unbuttons the successivo button down. His hands slide around her back, holding her to him.
He closes his eyes, relishing the feel of her lips at his neck. Her hands slide down his chest, her fingers closing around the fabric at his sides and she yanks upward, untucking his shirt.
His cintura slides free from its loops successivo before she turns her attention back to his buttons. He pulls her fully into his lap now, and she straddles him as she opens his shirt, baciare her way down as she goes. Arthur’s hands slide down beneath her bottom, holding her, fingers enjoying the feel of the bare skin at her hips.
Gwen opens the last button and places her hands flat on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under her palms. She leans inoltrare, avanti and kisses him again, deeply yet gently, slipping her arms around him beneath the crisp white shirt, pulling herself even closer.
Her lips leave his and she trails kisses along his cheek to nibble his ear a bit, which pulls a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Arthur lets go of her backside just long enough to reach up and pull his camicia from his shoulders, casting it to the floor beside his tie.
Shifting them slightly, Arthur lifts and turns them so he is laying over her, surrounding her with his presence as he kisses her, slowly caressing her tongue with his own, melding and molding into one another with a smoldering passion.
“Guinevere,” he whispers against her lips as her hands sposta to unfasten his trousers. She starts to remove them da plunging her hands into his underwear at his hips and pushing downward, easing them down. He breaks away long enough to kick them the rest of the way off and quickly yank his socks off as well.
Good, Gwen thinks, I hate it when they leave their socks on. She chuckles a little at the random thought, and Arthur looks at her quizzically for a moment when he returns to her.
“I’m glad te took your socks off, that’s all,” she admits, which makes him laugh.
He grabs her and rolls them so she is atop him once again, straddling his stomach. He reaches up and pulls her t-shirt off over her head. She looks down at him and watches him watching her, drinking her in with his eyes. He places his hands on her stomach, warm and soft, and slides them up, over her breasts, his hands feeling their response to his touch beneath his palms.
“I Amore te so much, Arthur,” she says, placing her hands over his, holding them to her briefly before moving both of his hands to rest over her heart.
“For me alone,” he whispers, remembering her words from the last time she placed his hand over her heart. Gwen nods, gazing into his eyes before leaning down to baciare him again. And again. And again, until he is no longer able to think straight.
Her body is pressed against his, tantalizing and tempting, his skin feeling an electric heat at every point where it touches hers. His hands roam across her skin, coming to rest on her hips, where he realizes that she still has her panties on. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and starts sliding them down pushing until he can no longer reach. Gwen pulls away and finishes removing them, kicking them off her foot, not noticing that they’ve landed halfway across the room.
She returns her body to his, her skin aching for contact with his. Arthur makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh as she slides her body along his. He must feel the same way, she thinks as she finds his manhood, caressing it between her thighs, sliding him along herself, bringing pleasure to both of them.
How does she do that?
“Oh, God, Guinevere, I Amore you,” he groans, hands grasping at her hips, her rear, pulling her even closer, impossibly so, wrapping his arms tight around her back, just holding her to him for a few moments, her face in his neck.
He turns his face into the superiore, in alto of her head, breathing her in, feeling the heat between them. Slowly he relaxes his grip on her and allows her to sposta again. She lifts herself up, looks down at him for a secondo o two, kisses the end of his nose with a smile, then claims his lips with her own once again. She presses her breasts into his chest, and he worms his hand down between their bodies so he can touch her. When his fingers find her and begin to move, she whimpers softly into his mouth, urging him on. Arthur finds he can’t do as much as he would like with his hand trapped between them, so he gently raises her body with the other so he can bring his lips to her breast as well as giving him some room to touch her the way he would like.
Gwen responds with a few più soft cries, and she reaches down to grasp him in her hand as well. Her attention is rewarded with a soft bite at her nipple, making her gasp with pleasure. His finger slides into her a few times and he moves to her other breast, baciare his way across. She arches against him, her mind on nothing else but him.
Arthur’s hand leaves her and moves to rest over her hand at his erection, stilling it and gently pulling it away. Gwen smiles just slightly at the message, feeling a little smug that she is exciting him so.
He comes up for air for a secondo and looks up at her. She can see the need, the pleading in his eyes. She repositions herself over him, lowering herself, leaning back, easing him into her as she does so. He presses his head back into the pillows with a soft, low moan.
Gwen’s eyes close for a secondo as she takes him in as deep as he can go and stays still, holding him there. Arthur opens his eyes and he watches her, smiling at the look of bliss on her face.
“Guinevere,” he whispers. She opens her eyes to find him watching her.
“Hi,” she says. Why did I say that?
“Come here,” he coos, and she leans forward, sliding her knees back and twining her legs around his.
She starts to move, slowly at first, baciare him ardently as she does so, prompting him to push into her, increasing the pace and intensity. Arthur’s hands caress her back, feeling her skin beneath his fingers, running them along from her shoulders to her backside and back up before bringing one around to a breast.
“Arthur,” she breathes into his ear as she kisses and licks at it, biting his earlobe, his neck, her fingers grasping at his shoulders, pulling his hair.
He growls quietly, low, in the back of his throat. Suddenly he rolls them over so he is above her again. She keeps her legs around him and he drives into her, mindless with need and desire.
“Oh… Arthur… oh…” she gasps, and those little gasping half-formed words reach Arthur’s ears and he releases into her, growling again, just as her soft gasps turn into passionate cries and she squeezes his hips tight between her thighs, her back arching, her hands grasping his head, pulling him down to her so she can baciare him once more.
He stills over her, easing gently down to rest his head on her shoulder. Gwen hooks her feet together behind him, almost casually, as if she were simply lounging comfortably.
“Mmm,” he hums contentedly into her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair, stroking it gently before dropping her fingers to trace his cheek and jaw, feeling his skin, the slight stubble there, the dampness of his sweat.
“Have I told te how wonderful and amazing te are?” he asks after a time.
Guinevere unhooks her feet and removes her legs from his waist. “Not today,” she smiles.
“Well, then,” Arthur says, rolling off of her, “you are wonderful and amazing and while I totally don’t deserve you, I’m going to make te keep me around anyway.” He pulls her to him as he speaks, cuddling her in his arms. She rests her head on his shoulder.
Gwen laughs, leans over to baciare him, and says, “Thank you. te are pretty wonderful and amazing yourself. And I’d like to see someone try and stop me from keeping te around.”
He sighs, holding her tenderly, brushing her hair back away from her face. “I Amore it when you’re all disheveled like this. Especially when the dishevelment is caused da me.” He grins at her as she sits up and reaches for an elastic hair band from the bedside table, rakes her fingers through her hair a few times to dislodge the tangles, and secures it back into a ponytail.
She rolls her eyes at him before snuggling back down against his shoulder, her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. “So. Tell me about dinner.”
THURSDAY. VERY EARLY.
“Ohhhh…” Arthur vaguely hears a moan, followed da the letto jostling just enough to rouse him slightly from sleep. She must be having another one of those dreams, he thinks with a small smile. He rolls over to draw her to him, and can’t find her. He hears the distant click of the bathroom door, followed da another muffled moan.
Perhaps not, then. He listens, but he can’t quite tell what’s going on. He slides out of letto and pulls on a pair of shorts, glancing at the clock. Three twelve.
“Guinevere?” He knocks quietly on the bathroom door. He hears something splashing, like someone is pouring a large pot of la minestra, zuppa into a basin, accompanied da a small grunt. “Are te all right?’
It is quiet for a moment, then he hears, “Does it bloody well sound like I’m all right?”
“Are te ill?”
“No, I’m having a party.”
Wow, she gets sarcastic when she’s not feeling well. He tries the doorknob, and it turns.
“I don’t think te want to come in right now,” she says weakly.
“I’m not going to talk to te through a bathroom door again,” he says as he enters. He sees her sitting on the floor, kneeling in front of the toilet. She’s put on the dressing toga, abito she keeps hanging in the bathroom, and her skin has a grayish tinge to it. She is sweaty and trembling slightly.
“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” he says sympathetically, crouching beside her and rubbing her back with his palm.
She hunches down, moaning again, and he brushes her hair back from her face where it has come out of her ponytail. “It hurts. Why does it hurt?” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. A few tears slip out.
He wipes the tears from her cheek with his thumb and is about to say something, but his words are interrupted as Gwen says, “Oh, no…” and leans over the toilet again, heaving out whatever was still left in her stomach. Arthur reaches up and sweeps her hair back out of the way, re-securing it into the elastic band for her between heaves.
She sits back down on her heels, breathing heavily. Arthur gets her a glass of water from the tap before sitting back down behind her. She tips the cup to her lips, rinses her mouth, spits into the bowl, and flushes. Then she leans against Arthur and sips carefully.
“Can I do anything for you? Do te need anything?” he asks carefully, softly, holding her there on the bathroom floor.
“Some clothes would be nice,” she croaks, her throat raw.
“What would te like?” he asks, somehow knowing she’s going to want something other than one of his t-shirts.
“There are some soft flannel pajamas in the wardrobe. They’re red with black Scottish Terriers on them.”
“Got it.” He kisses the superiore, in alto of her head and gently releases her. He stands and goes in cerca of what she wants.
Arthur returns, having put a camicia on, with her pajamas in his hand, and finds her curled in the fetal position on the bathroom rug. He sighs, frowning, and sits down near her once again. I hate seeing her like this.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get te dressed,” he says softly, pulling her up to a seated position. He helps her dress. She is still shivering, so he puts the accappatoio, vestaglia back on over the pajamas. He then holds out a pair of ridiculously fuzzy socks he found while looking for the pajamas and asks, “Do te want these on as well?”
She smiles weakly and nods. “Yes, please.”
“Glad I brought them,” he says as he pulls them on over her small, cold feet. He sits with his back against the bacheca and pulls her to lie against him. He strokes her hair, rubs her back, tries to do anything he can think of to make her feel not so miserable.
“You can go back to bed,” she says.
“I’m not going to leave te here alone on the cold bathroom floor,” he protests.
“There’s no need for both of us to miss out on sleep.”
“I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. Later today, I mean. Besides, do te honestly think I’d just go back to letto and drop off to sleep knowing te are in here feeling like roadkill?”
She laughs, then stops abruptly, her body tensing. “Oh, don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry, love.”
“Uh-oh,” she crawls forward, across to the toilet again and throws up the water she just drank.
“How do te do that so quietly?” Arthur asks, rubbing her back again.
“What?” she coughs the word out, still hunched over the toilet.
“Vomit. Last time I was ill, the neighbors complained of the noise.”
“Ow… I told te not to make me laugh.” Her breathing is heavy, and she hardly seems able to hold herself up any more, yet she reaches over and grabs some toilet tissue and wipes down the edge of the toilet bowl. Tossing the paper into the toilet, she then rests her arm on the edge of the bowl and then her head on her arm.
“Sorry. I sometimes do that when I get worried. o feel helpless. I crack jokes as kind of a defense mechanism.” His hand is on her back yet, now still. I just want her to know I’m here.
“Oh. I’m sorry te feel helpless. I—oh…” she moans again, collapsing back into him, her arms wrapping around her stomach.
She’s retching her guts out and yet she apologizes to me, he thinks, wondering at her.
“Okay,” she breathes, “I think this wave is passing.” She settles back into him again. “I want to lie down,” she complains.
“No, sorry, love, if you’re vomiting, te should stay upright. Let gravity help,” he says, pulling her back up as she was starting to slide down.
A few minuti later she is asleep again. Okay, now what do I do? Arthur considers his possibilities. Stay here? My bum is falling asleep. sposta her? She might wake up. Can I even get up? I know I can’t lift her with me. He shifts his weight slightly, his rear end feeling like it’s no longer attached. Gotta move.
“Hang on, love,” he whispers, lifting her away from him just enough so he can find his feet. Not letting go of her sides, he stands, bent over, and he slides his hands up under her arms and hoists her to her feet.
If I sposta one hand to lift her, she’ll fall. Hmm.
Arthur slides one hand around to support her back and she leans against it. Good. He releases his other hand to reach down behind her knees and he lifts her into his arms and carries her back to the bed, where he lays her back down, propping her up slightly with an extra pillow.
He puts his hand to her forehead. It’s not warm. What is going on here? He frowns over her, then unties the cintura of her dressing toga, abito and manages to remove it from her before tucking her back into bed.
Before he climbs back in himself, he goes to the trash bin, empties it, and puts a clean bag inside. He sets it on the floor successivo to her. Just in case.
Part 52: link
“How did it go?” Guinevere asks, cozy on the sofa under a blanket, waiting for Arthur to come home.
“Really well, actually,” he says, looking a little puzzled da this fact. “No punches were thrown, and I’m fairly certain I’m still in the will.” He looks at her and realizes that just her very presence makes him feel better. The evening ended well, but the nerves and emotion of the conversation with his father has worn on him. So good to be home. I Amore coming home to her. He removes his giacca and tosses it over the back of a chair.
“So what happened?” she asks as Arthur comes to the sofa, climbing on superiore, in alto of her. She giggles and he kisses her, his fingers caressing her cheek.
“Later,” he breaks away just long enough to utter two syllables, then returns his lips to hers, open and longing, pressing her into the pillow.
“I just need te right now, Guinevere,” he whispers into her neck, baciare the sensitive skin there. “I need to not think about anything but you. I need te to Amore me. I… I need…”
Gwen’s cuore aches at his words. She takes his face in her hands and brings it to her own, baciare him as softly and as tenderly as she can manage.
“Shh, love, I know.” She returns her lips to his as she runs her hands back into his hair, sliding her fingers across his scalp. He moans softly into her mouth, but still lets her control the kiss.
“Arthur,” she says releasing his lips, “take me back to the bedroom.”
He kisses her once more, briefly, then stands and she flips the blanket off her lap. He lifts her in his arms before she even has a chance to stand up and carries her to the bedroom, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I didn’t quite mean it that way, Arthur,” she says gently.
“I like carrying te around.”
She leans her head against his shoulder. I give up.
He sets her gently on the bed, and she pulls him down to sit beside her. She reaches out and undoes his tie, sliding it from around his neck and tossing it aside. She unfastens his right cufflink and lifts his hand, baciare the pulse point on the inside of his wrist. He caresses the side of her face as she does this before she releases his hand to do the other, removing his watch as well before she kisses his left wrist.
Arthur watches her as she attends to him; tender, deliberate, sensual. Gorgeous, sexy, enticing. Fate o luck, I don’t care. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Guinevere scoots closer, almost in his lap, and unbuttons the superiore, in alto button at his collar. Opening his camicia with her fingers, she leans in and kisses his throat. She feels the vibration of a quiet moan under her lips, and so she kisses him a few più times as she unbuttons the successivo button down. His hands slide around her back, holding her to him.
He closes his eyes, relishing the feel of her lips at his neck. Her hands slide down his chest, her fingers closing around the fabric at his sides and she yanks upward, untucking his shirt.
His cintura slides free from its loops successivo before she turns her attention back to his buttons. He pulls her fully into his lap now, and she straddles him as she opens his shirt, baciare her way down as she goes. Arthur’s hands slide down beneath her bottom, holding her, fingers enjoying the feel of the bare skin at her hips.
Gwen opens the last button and places her hands flat on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under her palms. She leans inoltrare, avanti and kisses him again, deeply yet gently, slipping her arms around him beneath the crisp white shirt, pulling herself even closer.
Her lips leave his and she trails kisses along his cheek to nibble his ear a bit, which pulls a small smile at the corners of his mouth. Arthur lets go of her backside just long enough to reach up and pull his camicia from his shoulders, casting it to the floor beside his tie.
Shifting them slightly, Arthur lifts and turns them so he is laying over her, surrounding her with his presence as he kisses her, slowly caressing her tongue with his own, melding and molding into one another with a smoldering passion.
“Guinevere,” he whispers against her lips as her hands sposta to unfasten his trousers. She starts to remove them da plunging her hands into his underwear at his hips and pushing downward, easing them down. He breaks away long enough to kick them the rest of the way off and quickly yank his socks off as well.
Good, Gwen thinks, I hate it when they leave their socks on. She chuckles a little at the random thought, and Arthur looks at her quizzically for a moment when he returns to her.
“I’m glad te took your socks off, that’s all,” she admits, which makes him laugh.
He grabs her and rolls them so she is atop him once again, straddling his stomach. He reaches up and pulls her t-shirt off over her head. She looks down at him and watches him watching her, drinking her in with his eyes. He places his hands on her stomach, warm and soft, and slides them up, over her breasts, his hands feeling their response to his touch beneath his palms.
“I Amore te so much, Arthur,” she says, placing her hands over his, holding them to her briefly before moving both of his hands to rest over her heart.
“For me alone,” he whispers, remembering her words from the last time she placed his hand over her heart. Gwen nods, gazing into his eyes before leaning down to baciare him again. And again. And again, until he is no longer able to think straight.
Her body is pressed against his, tantalizing and tempting, his skin feeling an electric heat at every point where it touches hers. His hands roam across her skin, coming to rest on her hips, where he realizes that she still has her panties on. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and starts sliding them down pushing until he can no longer reach. Gwen pulls away and finishes removing them, kicking them off her foot, not noticing that they’ve landed halfway across the room.
She returns her body to his, her skin aching for contact with his. Arthur makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh as she slides her body along his. He must feel the same way, she thinks as she finds his manhood, caressing it between her thighs, sliding him along herself, bringing pleasure to both of them.
How does she do that?
“Oh, God, Guinevere, I Amore you,” he groans, hands grasping at her hips, her rear, pulling her even closer, impossibly so, wrapping his arms tight around her back, just holding her to him for a few moments, her face in his neck.
He turns his face into the superiore, in alto of her head, breathing her in, feeling the heat between them. Slowly he relaxes his grip on her and allows her to sposta again. She lifts herself up, looks down at him for a secondo o two, kisses the end of his nose with a smile, then claims his lips with her own once again. She presses her breasts into his chest, and he worms his hand down between their bodies so he can touch her. When his fingers find her and begin to move, she whimpers softly into his mouth, urging him on. Arthur finds he can’t do as much as he would like with his hand trapped between them, so he gently raises her body with the other so he can bring his lips to her breast as well as giving him some room to touch her the way he would like.
Gwen responds with a few più soft cries, and she reaches down to grasp him in her hand as well. Her attention is rewarded with a soft bite at her nipple, making her gasp with pleasure. His finger slides into her a few times and he moves to her other breast, baciare his way across. She arches against him, her mind on nothing else but him.
Arthur’s hand leaves her and moves to rest over her hand at his erection, stilling it and gently pulling it away. Gwen smiles just slightly at the message, feeling a little smug that she is exciting him so.
He comes up for air for a secondo and looks up at her. She can see the need, the pleading in his eyes. She repositions herself over him, lowering herself, leaning back, easing him into her as she does so. He presses his head back into the pillows with a soft, low moan.
Gwen’s eyes close for a secondo as she takes him in as deep as he can go and stays still, holding him there. Arthur opens his eyes and he watches her, smiling at the look of bliss on her face.
“Guinevere,” he whispers. She opens her eyes to find him watching her.
“Hi,” she says. Why did I say that?
“Come here,” he coos, and she leans forward, sliding her knees back and twining her legs around his.
She starts to move, slowly at first, baciare him ardently as she does so, prompting him to push into her, increasing the pace and intensity. Arthur’s hands caress her back, feeling her skin beneath his fingers, running them along from her shoulders to her backside and back up before bringing one around to a breast.
“Arthur,” she breathes into his ear as she kisses and licks at it, biting his earlobe, his neck, her fingers grasping at his shoulders, pulling his hair.
He growls quietly, low, in the back of his throat. Suddenly he rolls them over so he is above her again. She keeps her legs around him and he drives into her, mindless with need and desire.
“Oh… Arthur… oh…” she gasps, and those little gasping half-formed words reach Arthur’s ears and he releases into her, growling again, just as her soft gasps turn into passionate cries and she squeezes his hips tight between her thighs, her back arching, her hands grasping his head, pulling him down to her so she can baciare him once more.
He stills over her, easing gently down to rest his head on her shoulder. Gwen hooks her feet together behind him, almost casually, as if she were simply lounging comfortably.
“Mmm,” he hums contentedly into her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair, stroking it gently before dropping her fingers to trace his cheek and jaw, feeling his skin, the slight stubble there, the dampness of his sweat.
“Have I told te how wonderful and amazing te are?” he asks after a time.
Guinevere unhooks her feet and removes her legs from his waist. “Not today,” she smiles.
“Well, then,” Arthur says, rolling off of her, “you are wonderful and amazing and while I totally don’t deserve you, I’m going to make te keep me around anyway.” He pulls her to him as he speaks, cuddling her in his arms. She rests her head on his shoulder.
Gwen laughs, leans over to baciare him, and says, “Thank you. te are pretty wonderful and amazing yourself. And I’d like to see someone try and stop me from keeping te around.”
He sighs, holding her tenderly, brushing her hair back away from her face. “I Amore it when you’re all disheveled like this. Especially when the dishevelment is caused da me.” He grins at her as she sits up and reaches for an elastic hair band from the bedside table, rakes her fingers through her hair a few times to dislodge the tangles, and secures it back into a ponytail.
She rolls her eyes at him before snuggling back down against his shoulder, her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. “So. Tell me about dinner.”
THURSDAY. VERY EARLY.
“Ohhhh…” Arthur vaguely hears a moan, followed da the letto jostling just enough to rouse him slightly from sleep. She must be having another one of those dreams, he thinks with a small smile. He rolls over to draw her to him, and can’t find her. He hears the distant click of the bathroom door, followed da another muffled moan.
Perhaps not, then. He listens, but he can’t quite tell what’s going on. He slides out of letto and pulls on a pair of shorts, glancing at the clock. Three twelve.
“Guinevere?” He knocks quietly on the bathroom door. He hears something splashing, like someone is pouring a large pot of la minestra, zuppa into a basin, accompanied da a small grunt. “Are te all right?’
It is quiet for a moment, then he hears, “Does it bloody well sound like I’m all right?”
“Are te ill?”
“No, I’m having a party.”
Wow, she gets sarcastic when she’s not feeling well. He tries the doorknob, and it turns.
“I don’t think te want to come in right now,” she says weakly.
“I’m not going to talk to te through a bathroom door again,” he says as he enters. He sees her sitting on the floor, kneeling in front of the toilet. She’s put on the dressing toga, abito she keeps hanging in the bathroom, and her skin has a grayish tinge to it. She is sweaty and trembling slightly.
“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” he says sympathetically, crouching beside her and rubbing her back with his palm.
She hunches down, moaning again, and he brushes her hair back from her face where it has come out of her ponytail. “It hurts. Why does it hurt?” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. A few tears slip out.
He wipes the tears from her cheek with his thumb and is about to say something, but his words are interrupted as Gwen says, “Oh, no…” and leans over the toilet again, heaving out whatever was still left in her stomach. Arthur reaches up and sweeps her hair back out of the way, re-securing it into the elastic band for her between heaves.
She sits back down on her heels, breathing heavily. Arthur gets her a glass of water from the tap before sitting back down behind her. She tips the cup to her lips, rinses her mouth, spits into the bowl, and flushes. Then she leans against Arthur and sips carefully.
“Can I do anything for you? Do te need anything?” he asks carefully, softly, holding her there on the bathroom floor.
“Some clothes would be nice,” she croaks, her throat raw.
“What would te like?” he asks, somehow knowing she’s going to want something other than one of his t-shirts.
“There are some soft flannel pajamas in the wardrobe. They’re red with black Scottish Terriers on them.”
“Got it.” He kisses the superiore, in alto of her head and gently releases her. He stands and goes in cerca of what she wants.
Arthur returns, having put a camicia on, with her pajamas in his hand, and finds her curled in the fetal position on the bathroom rug. He sighs, frowning, and sits down near her once again. I hate seeing her like this.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get te dressed,” he says softly, pulling her up to a seated position. He helps her dress. She is still shivering, so he puts the accappatoio, vestaglia back on over the pajamas. He then holds out a pair of ridiculously fuzzy socks he found while looking for the pajamas and asks, “Do te want these on as well?”
She smiles weakly and nods. “Yes, please.”
“Glad I brought them,” he says as he pulls them on over her small, cold feet. He sits with his back against the bacheca and pulls her to lie against him. He strokes her hair, rubs her back, tries to do anything he can think of to make her feel not so miserable.
“You can go back to bed,” she says.
“I’m not going to leave te here alone on the cold bathroom floor,” he protests.
“There’s no need for both of us to miss out on sleep.”
“I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. Later today, I mean. Besides, do te honestly think I’d just go back to letto and drop off to sleep knowing te are in here feeling like roadkill?”
She laughs, then stops abruptly, her body tensing. “Oh, don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry, love.”
“Uh-oh,” she crawls forward, across to the toilet again and throws up the water she just drank.
“How do te do that so quietly?” Arthur asks, rubbing her back again.
“What?” she coughs the word out, still hunched over the toilet.
“Vomit. Last time I was ill, the neighbors complained of the noise.”
“Ow… I told te not to make me laugh.” Her breathing is heavy, and she hardly seems able to hold herself up any more, yet she reaches over and grabs some toilet tissue and wipes down the edge of the toilet bowl. Tossing the paper into the toilet, she then rests her arm on the edge of the bowl and then her head on her arm.
“Sorry. I sometimes do that when I get worried. o feel helpless. I crack jokes as kind of a defense mechanism.” His hand is on her back yet, now still. I just want her to know I’m here.
“Oh. I’m sorry te feel helpless. I—oh…” she moans again, collapsing back into him, her arms wrapping around her stomach.
She’s retching her guts out and yet she apologizes to me, he thinks, wondering at her.
“Okay,” she breathes, “I think this wave is passing.” She settles back into him again. “I want to lie down,” she complains.
“No, sorry, love, if you’re vomiting, te should stay upright. Let gravity help,” he says, pulling her back up as she was starting to slide down.
A few minuti later she is asleep again. Okay, now what do I do? Arthur considers his possibilities. Stay here? My bum is falling asleep. sposta her? She might wake up. Can I even get up? I know I can’t lift her with me. He shifts his weight slightly, his rear end feeling like it’s no longer attached. Gotta move.
“Hang on, love,” he whispers, lifting her away from him just enough so he can find his feet. Not letting go of her sides, he stands, bent over, and he slides his hands up under her arms and hoists her to her feet.
If I sposta one hand to lift her, she’ll fall. Hmm.
Arthur slides one hand around to support her back and she leans against it. Good. He releases his other hand to reach down behind her knees and he lifts her into his arms and carries her back to the bed, where he lays her back down, propping her up slightly with an extra pillow.
He puts his hand to her forehead. It’s not warm. What is going on here? He frowns over her, then unties the cintura of her dressing toga, abito and manages to remove it from her before tucking her back into bed.
Before he climbs back in himself, he goes to the trash bin, empties it, and puts a clean bag inside. He sets it on the floor successivo to her. Just in case.
Part 52: link
