Katie
He’d asked me to stay, and my heart nearly burst from my chest. I tried to appear calm, but I trembled with excitement. Despite his rejection, I knew I’d done something to clear his mind, if only briefly. I sat back, allowing him space to roll off the bed and right his jeans.
“I’m going to shower,” he said, and I nodded, lacking all words. He reached into a dresser and pulled out a T-shirt, tossing it casually to me. “Here, you can sleep in that.”
I tried not to let confusion take me. I wanted to be skin to skin with him like we had been last week, but he was in a fragile state of mind, instantly returning to the horrors of what he shared with me as soon as my feast on him ended. I covered myself with the T-shirt and removed my jeans, curling up on the pillows at the top of the bed. My palm skimmed over the spot where he laid, imagining the horrific scene he described, but knowing the only vision I had was Hollywood-personified. There was no reality for my vision. It seemed fantastical, but not in a magical sense. Unbelievable, that someone could mastermind the use of a child as a human bomb. The depths of such evil were beyond my scope and yet Levi had faced the devil in an innocent child. No wonder he cursed the cries of his child. Only briefly did I fear for AJ. I refused to believe Levi would hurt his own son, sensing his son diversely different from some threadbare kid in a war-torn country. Still, I was haunted.
“Want a drink?” he offered, standing in the doorway to his room, dressed only in a towel. He used cuffed crutches to support himself as he stood before me without the prosthetic leg. I took a moment to admire the godlike stature of his body. While labeled disabled by this country, before me appeared the able body of a sexy man minus a leg and missing his heart. A bottle precariously dangled in one hand and a glass accompanied the other. He maneuvered himself with crutches and alcohol, and I realized he’d practiced this walk too often.
“The other day…” I hesitated
“Marked the anniversary of their deaths.” The words were blunt, casual and contrite. I stared in heartbreak as he crossed the room, pausing to take a deep swill straight from the bottle, my attempts at sexual distraction forgotten.
“I know you want to ask, so just ask.” His tone sharpened, oiled by the alcohol, I assumed, so I refused to back down.
“What happened?”
He sat on the bed, twisting his side to me. The length of his shortened right leg raised up and resting on the mattress.
“I just told you. My leg was sliced by debris, cutting the bone. I bled out from a vein down my leg, and the only way to save me was to remove it.” He rotated the leg, left to right. It changed nothing in my mind about him. I held my breath, feeling like he was sharing something important. Exposing himself in a way he hadn’t done with others before me, which was silly considering he’d been with a woman who gave him a child. He let me stare at his severed leg.
“You can touch it,” he offered without looking at me. I scooted closer to him and my fingers shook. I didn’t want to appear afraid. I wasn’t frightened. I was nervous. I didn’t want to offend him. Instantly, I changed tactics. My hand came to rest on his thigh instead. This wasn’t sensual, because I didn’t know how to play sex kitten, but it was intimate. My body was hyperaware of his, once again, and I stroked downward on his shower-warm skin. My fingers tightened, massaging his flesh, as they moved slowly lower. Curving over his kneecap, framing his knee with my fingers, I flattened my palm just beneath the bone. Brushing cautiously, I reached the hard hump, curling my fingers around it, touching scar tissue and tight skin. I didn’t look up at him. He was allowing me to investigate, so I inspected. The room was dark and I let my hand be my eyes, rounding the curve of his body, cupping under this portion of his leg, and caressing up under his knee. His leg flinched and my eyes jumped to his.
“That tickled.” A small smirk twisted his lips, and he reached for the bottle on the stand. Taking another swig, his eyes never left mine. My hand moved higher on the underside of his thigh.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Katie.” I wanted to believe him. My heart galloped with hope, but my breath stopped. I couldn’t measure the amount he drank, or how much he would need before he’d forget it was me, forget it was him, and take something more from me. I offered myself earlier, to keep him sober. I wouldn’t give myself to him if he was drunk.
“So are you.” I released his thigh and sat back, my feet curled under me. His eyes warred with mine, but I wouldn’t give in. I’d sleep with him if he asked, but not like this. Sensing my decision, he swung his leg off the bed and stood. He hopped over to his dresser and I marveled at the strength it took to support his body on one leg. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a small scrap of fabric. One hop brought him to the edge of the bed. I watched in wonder as he bent at the waist, slipped into the boxers and tugged them upward. He balanced again. His body was a sculpture of perfection. The muscles in his back strained and stretched as he performed the simple act of putting on underwear, and I do mean perform because watching him was a peep-show. The drag of material up his thighs, hinting at where they were headed, had me all hot and bothered once again. The towel dragged upward, exposing too briefly the solid round globes of his ass, and I swallowed hard enough for him to hear me. His head turned sideways, not enough to see me, but enough to give me a profiled smile, digging up dimples.
“Like the show,” he teased. I gripped the sheets in my sudden lust for a man I refused to give myself to under his condition.
“It’s better than a sexy movie or romance novel,” I muttered.
“Speaking of those books,” he said, tugging off the towel and turning to give me the full display of his chiseled body, minus the blackout cloth, covering his most intimate parts. Long and erect, the outline of his length could not be missed, but he dismissed it himself. “You never answered that question I asked.”
“What one was that?” His dilated eyes held me captive. I couldn’t remember my name when he looked at me like that, let alone some question he’d asked.
“Did you want a man to pour whiskey over your pussy and lap it up? Is that your fantasy?” The crassness of his question both thrilled me and annoyed me. My stomach was tied up in knots as was my heart. This wasn’t how I wanted him. My eyes drifted to his leg again as he crawled up the bed, stalking me. Taking too long to answer, he ignored his own question. “Time for sleep.” My eyes shifted to his leg.
“I can sleep on the other side of you if it will make you more comfortable,” he offered, thinking I was offended by his missing part.
“No, this is…” I caught myself before I said the word fine. “This is good.”
Reaching for the top cover, he pulled down the comforter, and I tucked my legs underneath. He climbed in next to me, stretching out his arm for me to curl into him. I slipped my head onto his shoulder and laid a hand on his thick chest. I could feel his heart hammering beneath his skin. My legs tangled near his.
“Is it too weird? Are you freaked out?” In answer to his question, I wrapped my leg over his, allowing my other leg to rest against his outer thigh. Curving my knee, it took a second to adjust to the fact there was no calf to wrap around. Instead, I clenched my thighs around his, holding him tight.
“Jesus, Katie, you do that and we’re going to have a problem.” His body stiffened, and I started to retreat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“Don’t move,” he said softly, his head rolling to face me. His hand flat on my back. “I won’t do anything, I promise, just stay how you are.” He kissed my forehead, and we remained quiet for a long time, each lost in our thoughts. Mine raced with images I couldn’t imagine. His hand gently stroked over my back. As much as I fought the pull to close my eyes, my lids finally gave in. I concentrated on his breathing.
“You’ve made a fantasy of me, Katie, and it’s a dangerous thing.” I didn’t reply, holding myself still, hoping he’d think I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. I didn’t want to think. I felt him stretch under me, reaching for the bottle on the stand and heard the telltale sound of swallowing. Tears burned my eyes like the liquid filling his throat, and I knew he was right. I’d dreamed him into a gallant hero when he was nothing more than a damaged man.