Chapter 13

I drastically underestimatedthe amount of time it would take me to finish Jimmy's work in the garden. It doesn't take me twice as long as him.

It takes me three times as long.

Three hours.

Three exhausting, muscle-straining hours.

No wonder his back went out. This is absolutely miserable, and I can't figure out a way to position myself to make it easier on my thighs and back.

I work straight through, afraid if I stop for a break, I'll never start up again.

Even though I force myself not to rush or move too fast, I'm still out of breath and way too hot not even an hour after I start.

When I finally get to the end, I drop the trowel and slowly straighten up. My thighs are sorer than my back is. I feel like I might melt away completely despite the mild air. And for some reason, focusing again on the broad landscape of the pond, house, and forest instead of a tight view on my task makes me dizzy.

Ridiculously dizzy.

I breathe in slow, deliberate inhales, trying to keep the world from spinning around me.

It doesn't work.

I end up having to step out of the garden and throw up in a clump of long grass.

Fortunately, I feel better once I get it out. I'm still exhausted and sore but no longer dizzy. I manage to pick up the tools and put them back in the shed before I go inside.

I clean up before I check in on Jimmy so he won't know what I've been doing and get all needlessly riled up.

He's still grumpy and impatient, so I bring him a fresh glass of water and leave him alone.

It's late morning now, and I haven't even started on my baking. I've already done so much manual labor I'm at risk of falling over, but I push through and get the kitchen ready for baking.

Then I force myself to start on the familiar process. Mixing and kneading and leaving it to rise and pounding down and pulling and letting it rise again and then finally baking it in the oven.

Jimmy comes trudging out of the bedroom around lunchtime, still wearing the same T-shirt and boxers. He heads for the outhouse without a word, and I don't go with him since he seems to be walking more steadily now.

Plus he's annoying me.

"What the hell?" he demands as he bursts back in a few minutes later.

Shit. I forgot he'd see the garden.

"What?" I ask, blinking up at him innocently.

He grimaces. "What the fuck did you do in the garden?"

"I finished it."

"When?"

"This morning."

"Why the hell did you do that?"

"Because you were worried about it and I was capable of doing it. What exactly is your problem?"

My bad-tempered question appears to stump him. He's silent for a moment, still frowning at me. "You didn't have to do that," he finally says in a milder tone.

"I know I didn't have to. But I did it anyway. Are you seriously mad at me about it?"

"No. Not mad." He's relaxed now into the kind of mumbling he does when he's self-conscious. "But I coulda done it. You mighta hurt yourself out there."

I gasp, half-amused and half-indignant. "Why would I hurt myself? I'm not totally inept, you know."

"I know that. But you got enough to do in here." He nods toward my baking. "You're gonna get too tired. You're not feelin' good."

"I'm feeling fine." He has no way of knowing that I've not been feeling great today or that I threw up earlier, and I'm certainly not going to inform him of that fact. So I'm not sure what he's basing his assumption on. "Everything's fine, Jimmy. I did okay."

"Looks like you did real good," he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

The understated compliment makes me blush in pleasure.

Since I'm busy baking, I fix us sandwiches again for lunch. We eat them at the table with a glass of milk. Afterward, I expect Jimmy to return to bed, but he doesn't. He walks around some more, insisting that stretching his muscles will help. Then he camps out in the kitchen as I work.

He wants to help me with the bread, but the mixing and the kneading and the leaning over into the oven would all put strain on his back, so I don't let him. Instead, I give him a pile of mending to do, telling him if he insists on working, he can do that.

He chuckles but immediately starts on the project. He knows how. He had to make do on his own for a long time. His fingers are a lot bigger than mine and not as nimble, so his stitches aren't as small and straight, but it doesn't matter. We just need to get the clothes with fabric that's still good but that have torn seams to be wearable again.

His mood improves as the afternoon progresses and so does mine even as I get more and more tired. When the final two loaves get put in the oven, I sink into my chair with a groan.

"You done too much today," he says disapprovingly.

"No, I haven't."

"Yeah, you have. And you look kinda pale. You got a stomach bug or somethin'?"

"No! Why would you ask that?" Surely he doesn't know I threw up earlier.

"You haven't been eatin' much. Somethin's not right."

"Everything is fine, but I am tired. It's more work than I usually do. I really have no idea how you do so much all the time."

As I hoped, buttering him up like that works to divert his attention. He drops his eyes and mumbles something incomprehensible in response.

After I clean up, Jimmy insists I rest for a while. He's moving better—still stiffly but not wincing with pain at every step—so he goes outside to check on the animals while I stretch out on the couch.

I fall asleep before he gets back, and I don't wake up until I smell ham frying.

Jimmy is making dinner.

* * *

Dinner is good. Jimmy is closer to his normal self, and the mood between us is pleasant and companionable. I'm a little embarrassed by my long nap, but I do feel quite a bit better now.

The evening passes quickly, and I'm relieved when Jimmy gets into bed after washing up and changing his boxers. He definitely didn't need to sleep on the floor again.

I get the animals ready for the night and lock up the house after I go to the bathroom. Since I'm dirtier and sweatier than normal, I take longer than usual to clean up. I put my gown on since Jimmy's back isn't going to be up to having sex tonight.

He's watching me as I come to bed.

"You feelin' okay?" he asks as I climb over him.

"Yes. Of course. Why?"

"Don't know." His eyebrows are pulled together. "Guess you're real tired."

"Not so bad now that I had that nap. How's your back?"

"It's better. Not great but better."

"You want me to give you a back rub?"

"What?" He gapes at me.

"A back rub?" I frown as I sit on my folded legs beside his prone body. "I thought it might help because your muscles are all clenched up."

"Oh."

"If you don't want it, it's totally fi?—"

"I want it!" He appears startled by his outburst. Chuckles slightly. "I mean, you don't gotta do it just 'cause I'm all enfeebled. Don't like you feelin' sorry for me."

I giggle at that. "I'm not feeling sorry for you. I just thought it might make you feel better."

"It probably will."

"Okay then. Can you turn over on your stomach?"

It takes him a minute to resituate his big body because moving too fast or at the wrong angle might cause his back to catch again. But he's eventually settled on his stomach with his head turned in my direction. "You sure? You did a lot of work today, so you really don't gotta coddle—" He breaks off his sentence with a gasp when I gently stroke down from his shoulders to the waistband of his boxers.

"Did that hurt?" I ask, a little nervous about making things worse.

"No. No way. Didn't hurt at all."

Relieved by this reassurance, I start massaging him with moderate pressure, starting at his shoulders and moving down. I've given him back rubs before when he's overworked himself, but his back has never gone out like this before, so I don't know how much pressure will be best.

Every single muscle in his back is clenched up. He's got tons of knots and trigger points I try to release by pushing into. He gasps and moans with increasing shamelessness as I work my way down his back.

His lower back is the worst. That's the source of most of the pain. I do my best to rub the tight muscles but not overdo it.

He's a lot more relaxed when I've reached his boxers. He's still making those low, extended groans that prove how much he's enjoying it.

His responsiveness makes me feel good, causes something deep and heavy to clench below my belly, like all my female parts are trying to grab him.

It's an odd and intimate feeling, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

I rub his butt through the fabric of his boxers. Those muscles are really clenched up too, so I gently pull down his underwear.

He's turned on. I realize it when he lifts up so I can pull the waistband down over his groin.

I don't mention his erection. Instead, I massage the tight muscles of his ass and then slide my hands down to the back of his thighs.

He moans his way through it, occasionally forming guttural words. "Yes. Chloe. So good. Right there. I need it right there. Chloe, baby, you make me feel so good."

My whole body is buzzing with arousal and an even deeper kind of possessiveness when I finally withdraw my hands.

Jimmy lies motionless, breathing raggedly.

"Can you turn over?" I ask, my voice cracking strangely.

He does as I ask immediately, moving slower than normal so he doesn't jar his back.

He's completely naked now. His erection is big and hard, resting upward against his lower belly. He's deeply flushed, and his eyes are on my face.

I know what he needs, so I give it to him. I reposition myself so I can lean over and slide my mouth around the head of his cock.

He starts groaning again immediately, taking my head in both his hands, combing his fingers through my loose hair. "Yes, baby. That's what I need. Take me all the way in your hot little mouth."

I love it when he talks to me as I do this for him. He doesn't always. It's only when he's particularly relaxed or in a certain possessive mood that he talks a lot. But whenever he does, it makes me feel safe and protected. Undeniably proud to hear how much he enjoys what I do for him.

I try to relax my throat muscles so my gag reflex doesn't trigger. Some nights I take him in farther than others, and I manage to do pretty well tonight.

"That's right," he's muttering, guiding the speed and rhythm of the bobbing of my head with his strong hands. "You're always so sweet and hot and good. You always know just how to get me there."

I'm mumbling out sounds of pleasure around the thick substance of his cock in my mouth. I'm ridiculously turned on already. I often get going just from sucking him off, but not usually this much this quickly. My hips are rocking involuntarily to match the rhythm of my hard sucks.

"Look at how good you're doin' tonight," he goes on, his fingers tightening into fists in my hair. His stomach and thigh muscles are tensing up. "You're really gettin' into it. You're really likin' doin' this for me, aren't you?"

"Mm-hmm," I mumble, fighting the instinct to lift my bottom into the air. "Mm-hmm."

My body is growing impatient, but the rest of me wants this to last for as long as possible since it's making me feel so good. So I don't reach down to massage his balls like I normally do. I keep sucking rhythmically, responding to the urging of his hands as I slide my mouth up and down on his cock.

"Oh fuck," he gasps, arching his back slightly as his body clenches up even more. "It's feelin' so good. I'm gettin' so close. You're gonna take me all the way, aren't you? And that's gonna make you feel so good. You love bein' so good at takin' care of me this way, don't you?"

"Mm-hmm." I'm not sure how he's able to read my mind so clearly, but he's somehow landed on exactly what I'm feeling. I keep hollowing out my cheeks and sucking as hard as I can.

He lets out a loud exclamation, and his whole body jerks. His hands accelerate the speed of my head motion. "Yes, baby. Just like that. Need it just like that."

His hips are rocking slightly. I know he tries hard not to thrust into my throat because he doesn't want to choke me, but his body can't seem to help to make that primal motion into my mouth.

I love it. I love all of it. I'm washed with pleasure and pride and deep need and white-hot assurance.

I'm making wet, humming sounds around his cock when it finally starts to pulse in my mouth. His body jerks and his hips lift up off the bed as he releases a loud, long cry of pure satisfaction.

He's still holding my head as he comes into my mouth. I'm ready for it, want to swallow all of him down tonight.

I'm hot and sweaty and shaky as I suck him through the duration of his climax, then finally let my lips slide up to the tip and release him.

He's collapsed back on the pillow, his arms and legs limp and his eyes closed. I stroke his cock for a minute as it softens. Then I caress his chest and belly until his breathing has slowed.

He pulls me down so I'm curled at his side in the crook of his arm. "That was mind-blowin', baby."

I kiss his chest lightly. "Good."

"You really got into it, didn't you? Looked like you were gettin' turned on."

"I was. I don't know why." I'm squirmy and embarrassed by the admission. "But I don't think we should risk real sex. I'm not going to hurt your back again."

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "Not sure how much I'd be up for. And you took me so far tonight might be a while for me to get hard again anyway. But I can still do something for you."

He trails his hand down my arm and my hip and my thigh until he's edging his way between my thighs. "Shit, you're real wet tonight, aren't you?"

"I told you I got turned on."

He's smiling. "Didn't know how much. Let's see. I better not change positions so I don't hurt my back. That blow job you gave me was about all I can handle tonight. But I'm still gonna do you good. Why don't you get on your hands and knees and point your little ass toward me?"

I gasp, startled and excited at the same time. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm gonna take care of you real good. So hands and knees. Right now."

I swallow hard as I do as he instructs, positioning myself on my hands and knees with my bottom near his hand. "Like this?"

"Yeah, that's real good. But lower your shoulders so you're at a better angle."

I do as he says, folding my arms and resting my cheek on the mattress with my bottom in the air. It's embarrassing and sexy as hell at the exact same time. The new angle opens my pussy up to him more fully, and I can feel the cool air of the room against my aroused flesh.

"That's good. Look how round and soft that little ass is. You like showin' it to me like this?"

"Y-yeah," I admit. "I don't even know why."

"I know why." He rubs my butt with slow, firm strokes, eventually moving down to the cleft between my thighs. He finds my clit and pushes into it.

I whimper at the shock of sensation.

"I love seein' you like this," he murmurs, sliding two fingers into my wet pussy and scissoring them to stretch my inner walls. "Givin' yourself to me so sweetly. Opening up all the way for me."

It's already feeling so good I'm beyond words. I'm having to smother my whines and moans of pleasure against the bedding.

He pulls his hand back and penetrates me again, with three fingers this time. He curls them, rubbing my G-spot and then pumping in and out in fast strokes.

I'm making all kinds of sloppy, helpless sounds and pushing my bottom back against his hand.

"Don't hide your face from me. I want to see and hear how much you're feelin'."

I turn my head to the side to free my mouth. I'm so far gone already that I feel saliva at the corner of my lips and my eyes are blurred over.

"That's right. Let me see you come." He speeds up the rhythm of his hand-fuck. He's pushing into me vigorously now with a slapping noise and the sound of wet suction. I make shameless sobs as my climax mounts and mounts but doesn't break.

"You're almost there now. I'm gonna give you everything you need."

I have no idea what to expect when I suddenly feel a sharp slap on one of my butt cheeks. The slice of sensation stabs through my cresting tension and breaks it. I cry out loudly as my body shakes through a hard orgasm.

"There you go. That pussy keeps grabbin' my fingers so tight. I can feel how hard you're comin'. But you're not done yet."

Before I've come down even a little, he spanks me again, pushing me into another orgasm so suddenly that I cry out even louder.

He keeps it up for what feels like a long time. Every time he gives me a little spank, my body reacts like it's been revved into overdrive. It's either a series of orgasms or one that lasts a ridiculously long time. I don't know which, and it doesn't even matter.

I'm finally so exhausted that I beg him to stop. He slows his fingers' pumping and caresses my hot bottom instead of swatting it again.

"You did so good," he murmurs hoarsely. "Never seen you let go this much before."

"I kn-know." I'm still gasping. Completely wiped out. My body is buzzing, pulsing, throbbing with lingering pleasure and bone-deep satisfaction. "I can't believe I came so hard."

"You did real good." He strokes me some more until he finally gives my butt one more soft pat and then helps me get back into position at his side. "I'm real proud of you."

I half giggle and half sob, ridiculously touched by the words even though they embarrass me. When I'm nestled against him, I suddenly remember something. "Oh no. Your back! Did you hurt it?"

"Course not. Barely moved except for my arms. I'm pretty proud of myself too for doin' all that for you without even getting up off my back."

I dissolve into more giggles, but I don't have the energy for more conversation. He strokes my hair gently, and soon I'm sound asleep in the crook of his arm.

* * *

It's not until I wake up feeling queasy again the following morning that it occurs to me that something else might be making me feel sick.