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Finally he rolled off me, onto his back, panting. “Shit,” he said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I breathed out a laugh. My body was in a state of bliss—my restlessness gone, my blood like warm honey in my veins. I couldn’t think of a single problem in my life right now—not one. “I think we happen,” I said, letting my eyes drift closed. “Get used to it.”
I was boneless and relaxed, but I felt him sit up, wrestle with his jeans which were still on his legs. “I didn’t even take my leg off,” he grumbled.
“Do you usually?” I asked, curious and hoping it was okay. “Take your leg off for sex?”
He pulled off his jeans and dropped them to the floor. He took so long answering I decided it was a rude question, but then he said, “I’d rather, I guess.”
It seemed an odd answer—either you took it off or you didn’t. But I really, really didn’t want to explore the idea of him fucking some other woman like he’d just fucked me, so I didn’t pursue it. Instead I drifted with my eyes closed while I listened to him get up, go into the bathroom, run the water. He came back with a hot, wet cloth, and I dabbed between my legs while he sat on the edge of the bed, removing his leg. His big back was thick with muscle, the ridge of his spine flawless as he bent, and I could see the curve of his ass, which made my mouth water. I wanted him to get back over here. I wanted that big body between my legs again. I also wanted to sleep for a week.
“What are you looking at?” he asked without looking back at me.
“Your butt,” I answered.
He shook his head, then glanced back over his shoulder at me. “Most people would stare at the leg.”
“I can’t see it from here. And I’m not most people.”
“I’m getting that part.” There was a thump as his leg hit the floor, and then he pulled the covers down and slid onto the bed, lying down. I could look at that body for years, centuries. He was hairier than any man I’d been with, though he wasn’t particularly hairy, I supposed—he had some dark hair on his chest, some whorls in a line down the center of his stomach, and his cock was in a dark, glorious nest of pubic hair.
I made my eyes travel lower before I made a fool of myself. Jesus, he was just a man. There were millions of them out there. “Can I look at your leg?” I asked him.
“No.” Not hostile, but definitive.
“I don’t think it’s weird,” I said. “I want to see it.”
“Nope. Go away.”
I huffed a breath and pulled the covers down on my side, climbing under them. “I’m not leaving, by the way,” I told him. “I’m staying. You’re stuck with me in your bed.”
His chest rose and fell, and I pressed next to him, feeling his muscles relax as he stared at the ceiling. He was warm as a furnace. I again had the desire both to sleep and to fuck him raw at the same time. “My bed’s go
ing to smell like coconut,” he observed.
“It’s my body lotion.” I sidled even closer, letting my cheek rest against his shoulder. His bachelor’s bed, in this crummy apartment building, was somehow nicer than mine. “You smell nice,” I said, which was an understatement, because his warmth and his smell were making my whole body feel good. “Not like a sweat sock.”
He might have said something in reply. I didn’t know. I was already asleep.
Chapter 10
Max
There was a woman in my bed. A real one.
She was hot, and sexy, and wild, and that made me uncomfortable enough. But I kept circling back to the fact that there was an actual woman in my bed, like it was amazing. Because it was amazing.
Before Gwen, the last woman I’d had sex with was the girlfriend I’d had while I was deployed. We’d slept together on my last leave, which I remembered, because we’d broken up soon afterward. I’d gone back to Afghanistan, and three months later an IED had ended my career.
I hadn’t had sex since before I lost my leg. Four years. Until Gwen showed up at my apartment.
She’d been so casual, asking if I usually had sex with my leg on. She had no idea it was a situation that had never come up.
I didn’t feel the need to enlighten her. She’d probably think I was even stranger than she already did.
She was still asleep, though the sun was coming up behind the blinds in my window. Asleep, she was just as beautiful as ever, her features relaxed, her hair tousled, her skin pearly and smooth. She’d slept heavily all night, barely moving. I had been more restless, my body pleasantly tired after the sex—Jesus, that had been incredible—but my brain doing its usual ticking over. I was used to it—sleep was both my friend and my enemy.
At least I hadn’t had any nightmares last night. But I found myself wishing I could just sleep for once instead of thinking too much.
