“What time is it?” she mumbled.

I held up four fingers and then five.

“Nine?”

I nodded.

Her hand skimmed down my rib cage, over my hip, and then up over a cheek.

Fuck me, how did I deny myself just this simple pleasure? The feel of her fingertips on me is enough to drive me apeshit.

And the feel of her beneath my hands, beneath all of me…

“You’ve lost weight,” she said softly.

I shrugged. I’d hardly noticed. Well, my pants had gotten baggier, but that was what belts were for. Being as big as I was, I had to eat all the time to keep weight on, and I hadn’t had much of an appetite.

“Should leave in about an hour or so…” she murmured, averting her gaze.

Kenna was trying to distract herself probably ’cause my morning wood was pushing into her belly. I could feel it in her—the need to feel me, make sure I was hers. I was feeling it, too. Reaching down, I took her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing her palm, without breaking eye contact. Those emerald windows opened just a little bit into the soul she had been recently guarding against me. Taking her hand, I put it on my heart.

Then, I slid it down the front of me and wrapped it around my dick.

“I’m yours,” I told her. “Only yours. You own me.”

Kenna’s eyes went liquid, kicking me in the chest.

Maybe I felt her wrong?

Perhaps she didn’t want to touch me after all.

“Please…” she said, her bottom lip starting to quiver.

Oh God. It wasn’t that.

She wanted me to touch her, too.

My Baby Girl was hot and slick, so soft, as my fingers slipped between her legs. I found her clit hard and pulsing, and I worked slow, gentle circles around it as she stroked me. Our eyes never left each other’s. I watched as her cheeks flushed roses, her lips parting to let her breath escape.

“I love you,” I told her, desperate for her to know it, to feel it.

“I love you, too,” she replied, reading my lips.

Closing her eyes, tears leaked out from beneath her lashes, and she bit her lip.

Fuck me.

She was magnificent. Just fuckin’ perfect.

“I’m coming…” she breathed.

My hand slid down, and I pushed my middle finger into her, groaning like a beast when I felt how wet she was. My dick twitched hard in her hand. It wanted in like a motherfucker.

No. Not until we know…

She gripped my finger and pulsed around it as I ground the heel of my hand against her clit. Gasping and whimpering, she came undone.

I came undone.

I buried my face in her neck and let out the most satisfied, hellish groan.

“I love you, Kenna Baby,” I said against her skin before kissing gently. “I’ll never leave you. I’m with you always, always…”

Waiting sucked. It all sort of compounded in me as I sat down by my lonesome while Kenna went for her scan.

When we’d come in, the doctor—the same one who had seen her when she was brought in that day, Dr. Linda Norimatsu—had decided that Kenna should have a CT scan, so organ damage could be better identified. Kenna had agreed. All I’d heard was radiation. That shit wasn’t good, but Kenna had said she’d hardly ever had any X-rays, and it wouldn’t hurt her in the long run. A CT scan would show what was going on in her ears better, and she really wanted to know what was up with that.

Dr. Norimatsu had given her a general checkup, taken some blood, injected her with some sort of dye, and made her get into a hospital gown. She’d gotten to keep her skivvies on, which had made me happy.

I had been given the boot to the waiting room.

As I’d been gearing up to make a huge stink, Kenna had taken my hand and smiled. “I’ll be fine. These things don’t take so long.”

I promised I wouldn’t leave you!

Dr. Norimatsu had nodded in agreement. “It’s quick, and we have the best machines. I have a radiologist who is here only to read her results, so you will have them today.”

“How long do the results usually take?” I’d asked with no clue as to what a radiologist was.

“Normally, a day or two. But I called in a favor for Dr. MacGregor, seeing as Kenna hasn’t gotten any hearing restored as of yet, and we love her here. From what I could see, her eardrums are healing nicely, but she should have gotten something back by now.”

Oh God, what the fuck does that mean?

So, I was sitting my massive ass in the waiting room. A couple of kids were staring at me, so I glared back at them. One chick kept checking me out. I’d bust her staring at me every time I looked up. She was cute, rocking that neck brace she had going on. It gave her a double chin.

My iPods were in my pockets, so I pulled one out and popped the buds in my ears. Led Zeppelin III sounded good, and I cranked that shit up, dropped my head back against the wall, and closed my eyes. When Kenna’s favorite song “Friends” came on, it made me smile, picturing her doing her sexy little hippie dance, hair swinging with the beat.

Halfway through “Celebration Day,” I got a light tap on my shoulder. Raising my head, I opened my eyes to see Neck Brace. I took out an earbud.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hello,” I replied.

“Um, I was wondering…”

“What?”

She blushed to the roots of her light-brown hair. “Are you the singer for NOLA’s Junk?”

That surprised me, and it must’ve shown on my face because she went even redder. She didn’t look the type, I guessed.

“Yeah. Phil,” I said, holding out my hand to shake hers.

She got a bit woozy-looking when she took it.

“You look a bit ill. You wanna sit?” I said, indicating the empty seat next to me.

She plopped down and took a shaky breath. “Thanks. I was so nervous.”

That made me laugh. “Why?”

She just gave me a weird look. “You’re famous.”

“Naw, I wouldn’t say that. Just well known in certain circles. You a fan?”

“Yeah. My favorite album from you guys is Moniker Mayhem. A lot less dark than Addicted Masochist.”

Nodding my head, I smiled. “Yeah, it was a different vibe for us then. We were havin’ some good fun durin’ Moniker.”

“Um…I don’t know if it’s appropriate to be asking this in the waiting room of a hospital, but could I have your autograph?”

“Yeah, sure. But only if I can sign your brace.”

She grinned, showing a little gap between her two front teeth. “Even better.”

Searching my pockets, I found one of my markers. They were for marking up my writing, like mistakes and shit I wanna change around. I didn’t go around, hoping that people would ask me for my autograph.

I whipped out the red one. “What happened to you?” I asked.

“I was hit by a drunk driver and got a hairline fracture in my C3 vertebrae.”

“No shit. Is the guy in jail?”

“He died in the crash.”

“Fuck. That’s some hairy shit right there. How long ago?”

“Four and a half weeks. The whiplash was what did it. I couldn’t move for a while.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Can I ask why you’re here?”

“Waitin’ for my fiancée. She’s gettin’ a CT scan. She was in the bomb blast a few weeks ago.”

“Wow. That was awful. I saw it on the news. Only two people survived.”

I nodded. “Yeah, she was one of ’em.”

“What are they checking for?”

“Internal injuries that might not have shown up early on. She should be fine. She’s healin’ up real nice, except she hasn’t gotten her hearin’ back yet.”

“I’m sorry. Is she a fan of your music?”

Grinning, I replied, “Yeah. She’s our number one fan, hands down. It’s been rough. She’s a huge music freak. Grew up listenin’ to the classics. Her brother is in the band now.”

“I read an article that you guys got a fifth member. I think it was an interview with Jason Jones. The new guy plays rhythm guitar, right?”