Page 207 of A Taste of Vanilla

Warren crouches near the mattress. “Can I touch you?”

I shake my head.

He nods once. “Okay.”

He’s not hurt and doesn’t hesitate.

The fact that he’s not making this about him makes me cry even harder.

At some point, when this is over, I’m going to have to process this.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

His expression shifts. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Warren.”

“No.” It’s firmer now. “Don’t apologize.”

“It happens sometimes.” My voice quivers. “With endometriosis. Sex can hurt. Not always. Sometimes it’s fine. And sometimes any type of stimulation causes pain.”

His face remains steady, and he looks angry.

Not at me.

“I know,” he says.

“You know?”

“You told me sex can hurt sometimes when we talked about your flare before.”

“I did?”

He nods. I barely remember. A passing comment, probably.

“I hate this,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“I was having fun.”

“I know.”

“I wanted?—”

A cramp cuts me off, and I press my face into the pillow again.

Warren’s voice stays low. “Heating pad?”

I nod.

“Second blue bin again?”

He stands, and I hear the bin slide open.

When he finds it, he brings it over to the mattress and plugs it in. “May I place it?”

I nod.