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“Holy shit,” I pant, moving up, then capturing her mouth. “I’m addicted to that.”
“Fuck me,” she demands, and I smirk at her urgency.
Gripping my shaft, I slowly ease inside, watching her reaction with every inch I thrust. Once I’m all the way in, she releases a sigh and lifts her hips.
“I can’t get over how well we fit together,” I whisper in her ear as she widens her thighs. “So goddamn good.”
“It feels amazing. I never knew it could be this way,” she admits, digging her nails into my back.
“I want your come all over my dick, baby. Think you can do that for me?”
She nods, unable to speak as I pound harder and faster, but I keep an eye out for any discomfort. When she tenses, I know she’s close, so I sit up and lower a hand between us. As I massage her clit, I keep up my pace, and within minutes, she’s moaning my name.
“That’s my good girl. Fuck,” I hiss as her pussy squeezes me so hard, I come without warning. “Shit…that was intense.”
Once I’ve filled her, she collapses, and I tower over her, then kiss her.
“Was that enough reason to scream my name?”
“How are you still so arrogant even after you get laid?”
“It’s my special skill.” I wink, then press my lips to her forehead before climbing off. “Are you okay, though?”
“I feel like I ran a marathon but without any stretching or water. But it was amazing.” She releases a contented sigh, and I chuckle at her analogy.
“Stay here, and I’ll get a towel and some water.”
I move down the bed, grabbing my prosthetic. She picks up the blanket that fell onto the floor and wraps it around herself as I get dressed. “Can I watch you put it on?”
“Sure.”
She looks at my stump and furrows her eyes. “I never noticed how many scars you have. Makes you even more badass.”
I snort. “Easton says I should’ve gotten a shark tattoo to make it look like it was bitten off.”
“Oh my God, that’s horrible!” She laughs.
I shrug. “Nah, he was just trying to be funny. I had thought about getting a tattoo but decided not to. The scars remind me of what I went through and how I shouldn’t take life for granted. No tattoo could be more real than the marks that bomb left.”
“You’re a hero, Tristan.”
“No. I’m not.” I roll on the liner, then the sock before grabbing the socket. I move into a standing position, then place my leg in and pull up the sleeve. Once it’s secured, I face her and press my mouth to hers. “Be right back,” I say slipping on some shorts.
After I use the bathroom, I go downstairs to grab a couple of bottles of water. Setting them on the counter, I wet a washcloth before getting a towel from the linen closet. As I walk upstairs, I think about my past and how easy it could be to open up to her. It’s not something I talk about freely, but for the first time in years, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it.
“Lie down,” I tell her when I enter. “Spread your legs a little.”
She watches me intently as I sit on the edge of the bed and press the warm cloth between her legs. “You’ll most likely be sore for a bit.”
“Is there blood?” she asks self-consciously.
“A little, but that’s normal.”
After she’s clean, I dry her off and give her some water.
“That was the best way I’ve ever avoided fireworks,” I taunt with amusement as I lie next to her and cover us up. I keep my prosthetic on just in case she needs anything else before she falls asleep.
“Yeah? Well good. Should we meet up every Fourth of July, keep the tradition going?”
“Independence Day sex? Sure, why not. Can I still bang your brains out the other days of the year, though?”
She shoves her elbow into my side, giggling, and I turn over toward her with a smile. “They remind me of the day of the explosion,” I admit. “The noise is triggering because they sound like gunshots or bombs. I don’t remember much from that day, only the explosions going off. I have dreams about it, but in them, everything’s black. Just the noises are there.”
“Were other soldiers there?” she asks.
“Yeah, there were eight of us. I was in the back of a Humvee with another guy, and we were the only ones who made it out alive.”
“Oh my God, Tristan. I’m so sorry. Where is he now?”
“He overdosed shortly after we were released. The pain was too much.”
“I’m so sad to hear that. How devastating.”
“Very much. We spent months in a German hospital recovering and only had each other since our loved ones couldn’t visit. My family could only talk to me over FaceTime, or we’d text when I wasn’t in extreme agony. I was already in a bad place having to deal with this new normal, and then a week after we flew home, I heard of his passing. It wrecked me pretty hard.”
