Page 42 of Scout’s Honor

What she did, though, caught him by surprise. She put one hand on his knee, then traced a deep scar on his stump through the silicone sleeve.

Dallas laughed at himself. “I thought you meant this,” he said, grasping his cock through his boxers.

She smiled. “I know I can touch that.” She leaned forward and gave it a kiss through the cloth and his eyes rolled back in his head, but she went back to touching his bad leg. He kept a hold of his cock at the base to keep it hard while his focus shifted.

She ran her fingers over the gnarled flesh at his knee, and it felt so good, not only easing pain, but making the tissues feel strong again. He moaned. “Feels good,” he bit out.

She touched his hand that had a grip on his cock. “What you’re doing or...”

He let himself go, returning the hand to the armrest. “Your touch. Feels good. Not sure why but it eases my pain.”

She put both hands on him, encircling his knee, and his leg relaxed in a way it hadn’t since he’d been shot. Dallas melted into the chair and sighed.

“Can’t you heal by shifting?”

“Normally, yes, but the injury wouldn’t heal with a hundred shifts. No one knows why. Possibly I was shot with a bullet infused with the blood of a switch.

Her face crumpled. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not making any of this up?”

“I wish I was. But no, I’m not.”

She worked her hand up his thigh, with her other hand on his other thigh. Her touch felt so good, raising tingles all over his body. His softening cock perked up again, and he was glad. He hadn’t known how this would go.

“Shit,” he rasped. “You’re hot as fuck.” He gripped the armrests, fingers digging into fabric. “This is the first time I’ve gotten hard since I was shot. I thought I’d lost the ability.” In truth, he hadn’t tried, hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t found anyone attractive in the last year and a motherfucking half. That was a long fucking time to go without a boner. Thank fuck that streak was over.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said. “Your hair, your body, your voice… every damn thing about you is sexy.”

She smiled and blushed, hair falling over her face. “You can touch me,” she said. “I want you to touch me.”

He pushed her hair back over her shoulder and cupped her face to his, kissing her.

Something crashed and Dallas thought it was his heart, but then Bonhi stiffened and raised her head. “Is that in the backyard?” she asked.

Dallas listened and heard two men swearing and things being thrown around. Bonhi climbed off him, going to the window.

Dallas shot to his feet and pulled his pants on. He ran out of the bedroom and pounded down the stairs. The backyard floodlights were on, an entire panel of the back fence was knocked over, and two people were fist fighting—one of them was Maze—and the other one was blurry! The blurry guy had blond hair, was tall, wearing a red shirt, a jacket, and jeans, but the guy was just a kid—early twenties, maybe.

Dallas tore the door open and jumped into the fight, holding the blurry kid while Maze got him in an arm lock.

“Where is she?” blurry kid yelled, twitching in Maze’s arm lock.

“Who?” Dallas demanded.

“Her! The woman who lives in this house!”

“Let him go,” Dallas told Maze.

Maze did, stepping back several paces. The kid snarled and ran for the house. Dallas caught him around the neck and threw him to the ground.

“You’re not going in there,” Dallas grated.

“The fuck I’m not,” the kid yelled, bouncing up like a Jack-in-the-Box. Dallas punched him in the jaw. The kid swung around and fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes and lay still. The blurriness leaked away over the course of a few seconds, exactly as Dallas had seen with the kidnapper.

Dallas looked up at the house, waving Bonhi out. She came out in a pink bathrobe, her face saying she’d heard everything. Dallas turned the guy face-up. “You know him?”