Page 55 of Salute, To Bravery

Jane

T he night has been perfect—simple, heartfelt. Dinner was filled with laughter, subtle glances, and hands brushing just a little longer than necessary across the table. It felt like us again. Real. Present. Healing.

When we pull into the familiar drive, I pause, letting the engine idle for a moment as we both stare at the house bathed in the soft glow of porch lights. There’s a quiet between us, not awkward—just full. Full of everything unsaid, everything forgiven, and everything still to come.

Craig clears his throat. “Can you push me in?” he asks, his voice soft but tight, laced with nerves. I smile, touched by the vulnerability in his eyes.

My hand stills on the gearshift. That question—so simple, yet full of trust—carries more weight than he likely realizes. Since the injury, he’s been guarded, fiercely independent even when it hurt. But tonight, he’s letting me in.

“Of course,” I whisper.

I get out, circle around, and place my hands gently on the handles of his chair. The wheels creak slightly as we ascend the ramp together, but inside, the house is still and quiet, as if it knows something significant is about to unfold.

When we reach our room, I notice a faint scent of lavender floating in the air, almost like a memory.

The moment I open the door, the breath is knocked from my lungs.

A warm, amber glow spills from within, casting a golden sheen across the floor.

Flameless candles are scattered throughout—on the windowsill, the dresser, along the floorboards—casting soft halos of light against the walls.

It feels like stepping into a dream, a carefully crafted one, meant only for us.

In the center of our bed rests a small, woven basket, brimming with thoughtful gifts—indulgent chocolates, a folded deep-purple spa robe, a delicate bottle of massage oil, and a handwritten note folded in half. The sight makes my eyes sting instantly.

I bring a hand to my lips as emotion swells in my chest. “How did you do this?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Craig watches me closely, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then he speaks, his voice thick with sincerity.

“Rei and a few other of the housemates helped. I needed to take you out on a real date, and celebrate, but also know I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the hurt I’ve caused.

I’m sorry it’s been hard for me to open up about everything.

I didn’t want to shut you out—I just didn’t know how to let you in. ”

His words reach some buried, aching part of me. The part that stayed strong on the outside but quietly carried the weight of fear and uncertainty. And now, he’s letting me set that burden down.

“I’m done with secrets,” he continues. “Which is why I decided—regardless of how walking goes—I’m getting out. I’ve already started the paperwork.”

Tears well in my eyes as I cross the room in a few strides and lower myself onto his lap. I don’t care about the logistics or the awkwardness—I just need to be close. He holds me without hesitation, arms wrapping tight around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

I kiss him—deep, lingering—and pull him even closer. “This feels like the first page of a new chapter,” I whisper. “Like we’re finally free to dream again.”

He leans his forehead against mine, exhaling slowly.

“You know what would make this even better?” I ask, breathless.

A playful smile curves on his lips as he kisses down my neck, his breath warm against my skin. I shiver.

“What?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

“I miss taking baths with you,” I admit, cheeks flushing. “It used to be our favorite part of the day.”

He stills, then nods slowly. “Me too.” Without needing further explanation, he wheels us into the bathroom and turns on the faucet, adjusting the temperature just the way I like it. The sound of running water fills the space, soft and comforting.

“Pick any scent you want from the basket,” he calls out, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled room.

I slide off his lap slowly, careful not to lose the warmth of his touch too suddenly.

For a brief moment, his hands linger at my hips before falling away, and I take a deep breath as I watch him manoeuvre with practiced, quiet determination.

He begins undressing with the confidence of someone who has learned, the hard way, how to do everything on his own.

But tonight, there’s something different in his movements—less guarded, more vulnerable.

There’s no rush. No attempt to shield himself.

And I don’t look away. I let my gaze trace the lines of his body, every mark a testament to what he’s survived, and I feel nothing but awe.

No pity. Not fear. Just overwhelming love.

Turning back toward the bed, I reach for the basket again.

My fingers brush across the neatly folded robe—deep purple, soft to the touch—and the row of carefully selected bath products.

Tiny glass bottles filled with shimmering oils, silky lotions with names like serenity and midnight calm , and a stack of handmade scrubs wrapped in twine.

Everything here is intentional. Every item feels like a love letter.

I let my hand drift, hovering above each choice until I find it—nestled near the bottom. A round lavender vanilla bath bomb, wrapped in delicate parchment with a tiny sprig of dried lavender tied to it. My favorite.

I lift it gently, press it to my nose, and close my eyes. The scent is nostalgic—floral and sweet, but with a warmth that makes my chest ache. We used to use this scent all the time. On lazy Sunday nights. After long days apart.

I step into the bathroom, holding the bath bomb in both hands like a delicate treasure.

The mirror above the sink is already fogged over from the rising steam, and the air is thick with warmth.

The low flicker of candlelight reflects in the gleaming tiles, dancing along the surface of the water now slowly filling the tub.

Craig is already in, settled into the deep end, steam curling around his shoulders, water glistening on his skin. He looks up at me, eyes soft, a half-smile playing on his lips as he reaches for me.

“Perfect choice,” he says.

I kneel beside the tub and offer him the bath bomb. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, unwrapping it with care, the paper crinkling softly. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers it into the water between us.

With a quiet hiss , the bomb erupts in a swirl of lavender and cream, soft purple spirals unfurling like petals in bloom. The scent blooms instantly—comforting, luxurious, almost holy in its simplicity.

We watch together as the color seeps through the water, staining the heat with memory and promise. Then he looks up at me again, his voice quieter now, reverent.

“Come,” he says.

I quickly strip out of my dress. Now, standing in just my cotton bra and underwear, I feel his gaze settle on me—intense, reverent.

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. The air hums with energy, charged with unspoken words and mutual longing. His eyes trace every inch of me, and for the first time in months, I don’t feel self-conscious. I feel seen. Desired. Loved.

Flushing, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra. The straps slide down my arms with a quiet whisper, followed by my underwear. I step out of them slowly, my movements deliberate. Vulnerable. Honest.

“You are truly stunning,” Craig says, voice low and awed.

He reaches for my hand and helps guide me into the warm water, positioning me carefully in front of him.

I settle back, feeling the strength of his body behind mine.

His legs flank me on either side, his arms gently wrapping around my waist. The press of his chest against my back, the rhythm of his breathing—it grounds me.

Feeling the firmness of his arousal pressed against my back. “See what you do to me?” he murmurs against my neck.

As he runs a soft washcloth across my bare skin, my breath quickens, and my chest rises and falls rapidly. His cloth-covered hand traces the curves of my breasts before moving down to my stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder as he presses his face against me. He traces soft, wet circles with his tongue before teasingly nipping at me with his teeth. I squirm in anticipation, but he pauses and whispers, “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“You stop, and I will riot.”

A low, dark chuckle escapes his lips as he bites down a little harder. His hands reach forward, eagerly cupping my breasts and rolling my nipples between his skilled thumb and forefinger. I gasp in pleasure, loving that he still remembers the way I like it.

But instead of satisfying my need, his hands continue their teasing, avoiding the one spot I crave contact with the most.

I buck my hips in anticipation.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases.

His large, rough hand gently grasps my thigh and lifts it over the side of the porcelain tub. My body trembles with anticipation as he spreads my legs apart, exposing me to him.

My body trembles with anticipation as I whisper, “Can you blame me?” It has been months since we’ve been together, and my desire for him is almost unbearable.

Our bodies mold together, and I throw my head back on his shoulder in pleasure as he finally slides his hand over my wet folds.

The warmth of his touch leaves a trail of fire on my skin, igniting every nerve ending within me.

My moans escape in unbridled ecstasy as he explores the depths of my desire.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs. His velvety voice sends shivers down my spine as he leans in, whispering against my ear. His strong hand cups my pussy, pressing firmly against my pulsing clit. A gasp escapes from between my lips as he gently slides a finger between my wet folds.

I couldn’t help but smile at his words, finally feeling desired and wanted again. “Me… or my pussy?” I tease, biting my bottom lip.

“Mostly you,” he replies with a smirk, tracing a finger along the outline of my lips. “But your pussy is a close second. I want to prove to you that I still need you, that you are the only one for me,” he whispers into my ear, his warm breath sending tingles down my spine.

With a gentle touch, he traces his fingers over my sensitive area, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

I feel his lips on my neck, his hungry desire evident as he kisses and nips at my skin.

As he explores further, his hand moves to my breasts, teasing and playing with them as his fingers expertly find their way between my folds.

With every touch, I whimper and moan, completely lost in the sensation.

He continues to build my arousal, skillfully bringing me to the brink before slowing down and drawing it out even more. I couldn’t resist him anymore and beg for release. He finally gives in, thrusting his finger deep inside me and bringing me to completion.

My moans still reverberating off the tiled walls of the bathroom, I ride out my orgasm. The waves of pleasure crash over me like a raging sea, leaving me breathless and trembling. I steady myself against the smooth tiled wall and tilt my head up to gaze at him.

“Can I ride you?” I ask, desperate for more. I’m not ready for this to be over. I need to feel him inside me again.

“Yes, but I will need some help getting out.”

I nod, pulling myself forward with his supportive hands on my back.

My legs are still shaky in my post orgasm bliss.

Reaching for a towel to dry off, I turn and offer a hand to help him crawl over the side of the tub.

He takes the towel from me and carefully dries off before making his way behind me.

“The one major bright side about losing my legs is I have this amazing view of my favorite asset.”

I can’t resist a laugh as I shake my hips playfully.

His reaction is immediate, and he pushes me forward onto the bed, eagerly bending me over in front of him.

Without hesitation, he dives in and began licking me from top to bottom, his skilled tongue working quickly to bring me to the brink of orgasm again.

“I need you inside me, please,” I beg.

After much resistance, he gives in and joins me on the bed, settling himself in the middle. I can see a hint of vulnerability in his expression, and it tugs at my heartstrings.

“Do you worry that I don’t find you attractive anymore?” I ask, meeting his gaze.

He responds with a simple, “Yes.”

With a seductive crawl, I make my way over to him, watching the anticipation and desire build in his eyes.

A smirk plays on my lips as I reach out and lightly run my fingertips along his length, feeling it twitch under my touch.

“That would never be possible,” I purr before taking him in my mouth.

I lick and swirl my tongue around the head of his shaft, tasting the salty sweetness before slowly taking him deeper into my mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” he growls, his hand reaching for my hair and pulling me off of him. “As much as I would love to have you suck my cock, baby, I need to be inside you.”

I straddle him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as I position myself above his thick cock.

With slow and deliberate movements, inch by inch, I lower myself onto him, savoring the sensation of being filled and intimately connected with him.

Every movement sends sparks of pleasure through my body as we move in perfect harmony together.

The sensation of being filled with him sends waves of pleasure through me.

“You always feel so fucking good.” We lean towards each other, our lips meeting in a tangled embrace, fueled by desire, our moans muffled by the intensity of our kiss.

“I missed you,” he whispers against my lips.

“I missed you so fucking much,” I reply, my voice filled with longing. “Ready to go round two?”

A mischievous chuckle escapes his lips, causing my heart to flutter with happiness. “Yes. But this time, I want to be on top.”