by Amelia Wilde
23
Christa
Sandwiched between a thick wood door and a steel-muscled man, I came, screaming like I’d never screamed in my life. I’d never clenched so hard, never felt such a big thing inside me, never been so wide open for what was happening.
And, I don’t know if it was because of my near-death experience, or the fact that this man was my own personal hero, maybe emotions or exhaustion…whatever the reason, the orgasm was like nothing I’d ever experienced. High and tight, it hit me low and worked its way out to the tips of my limbs, my breasts, my tongue, my nose—fizzing and shimmering like I’d left the earth for a minute or two.
He stopped moving entirely, just held me through it, as if I needed to be held together. Which I probably did.
He probably also couldn’t budge, with how tightly my inner muscles held his cock. No way he could move a millimeter.
“I need…” I swallowed, leaned forward, looking for…
His kiss. His lips, tongue. This taste—everything I’d been missing.
He slid out, just a couple inches, then slowly pressed back in, the movement hitting all those lit-up places we awakened together.
“Your turn, Micah.”
He shushed me, kissed me again, held me up, pressed me to the door. Taking care of me, because he couldn’t be bothered to worry about himself.
“Come on. Do it.” I didn’t even ask myself why I wanted him to come. It wasn’t something I’d considered before with a man. Did he come? Did he not? Did it matter? I mean, yes, as far as mutual satisfaction was concerned, but this was different. This was about…giving him something. Pleasure, maybe?
“I want you to come in me.” Jesus, I’d just acquired a new kink. The list, with this man, was getting long.
“Yeah?” He leaned back, eyes wide open, questioning.
“I want to feel it.” And then, because I liked the way he looked at me when I said his name. “Come in my cunt, Micah.”
“Fuck.” He picked up the pace, his thrusts messier, my body a tool now, rather than the center of everything.
“Fill me with your come.”
“Shit.” His hold under me tightened, one arm a steel band, lifting and dropping me, impaling me on his massive erection. “I’ve never done this before.”
For a few short seconds, I thought he meant sex. Which wasn’t possible.
“Never…done…what?”
“Bareback.” The word, pornographic, to my ears, tightened my nipples painfully, made me clench harder around him.
“You’ve never done it without protection?”
“No. No, never.”
“You want to come in my pussy?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Fuck, I want to fill you up with it.”
“Yeah. Good. Do it, Micah,” I urged, the bad devil on his shoulder. I wanted to see his face when he came, wanted to be the receptacle for all that built up pressure inside him. He pounded harder, pumped sloppily, grabbed my breast, twisted my nipple. He looked like chaos and pleasure and pure animal instinct. I wanted a picture of this to wank to for the rest of my life.
“Soon.” Faster, almost leaving my body concentrating hard on nothing but his cock, getting there, his arms tight and efficient. “Fuck, Oh, Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuck…” The sounds coming from his mouth turned wordless, pained, his rhythm disappeared, he jerked me hard onto his body, another couple fast ones and then one final push, deep, deep inside, his teeth imprinting the side of my neck.
All of this was like a claiming—him me or me him, I wasn’t sure. He pulsed inside me and I imagined I could feel his semen. I squeezed around him and he hummed.
After a few harshly drawn breaths, he dropped my legs, slumped against the door, and gave a worn half-laugh against my neck before sliding out of my body.
“That was unbelievable.”
I huffed out a giggle, bereft, now that he was no longer in me, but happy. “It was.”
“Yeah?”
I looked up and what I saw in that hard-planed face made my belly go squishy. “You turned me into a porn actress.”
His smile was massive, his teeth big and white against that dark beard, his eyes lit up, the creases around them making him ten times more handsome. “You were quite the dirty talker, Christa.”
“Yeah, well that’s new.”
“It was incredible.”
I blushed and looked away. “If we’re doing a dirty weekend, we might as well do it right.”
“Sure.” He gave me a final squeeze and stepped back. “Let’s see if we can both fit into that bath.”
Since I was already naked, I started toward the bathroom. Micah's voice stopped me.
“Hang on. I’d better take off the prosthesis first.”
“Oh.”
I followed him into the bathroom, where he lifted his chin toward the bench built into the outside of the tub. I stayed out of his way, not sure where to go or stand, or if I should look.
When he peeled off his shirt to reveal those hard-packed muscles, scattered with hair and dark freckles, I stop questioning things and watched, blatantly fascinated by this man’s body, his face, the way he moved. The way he lived.
He yanked his pants down the rest of the way, drawing my eyes to his penis, soft now, but still, somehow, attractive.
Which was weird. I’d never thought that before.
I blinked when he sat on the bench, and stepped out of his pants, then went to work taking off the leg. He pressed what looked like a little button at the ankle, slid it off to reveal his leg, covered in layers of…cotton tights or something. A black pin stuck down from the end, a few inches below his knee.
“The pin sticks into the prosthetic leg.”
“Oh.” I lifted my eyes to his and flushed hard, feeling caught out. “I’m sorry to stare.”
“S’fine. I’d be curious, too.”
“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head. “Worst pain is at night. Ghost limb pain.”
“So…the pain’s not real?”
“Brain thinks it’s real. Feels real.”
“Seems unfair.”
He shrugged and focused back on his hands pulling off the black stocking thing. “Compression sock.” Under it was a thicker layer, attached to the leg mechanism. “Liner.” The liner appeared to be made from thick, stretchy silicone. “To put it back on, I put on the liner, the sock, then click this into the prosthetic’s socket.” He ran his hand down the thick, sturdy-looking muscles of his thigh. My eyes flew up to his face, unsure. Did he want me to look at him? I took a slow step forward, hesitated, and then rested my fingers on the long, red scar that dug a trench into his beautiful left thigh. The muscle here was hard, but more textured than the other side, the hair sparser in areas. When he didn’t protest, I followed the thick, ridged knot of muscle and tissue over his knee—slighter than the right one—to where his leg thinned and ended a few inches below it.
He put his hand on mine, stopping the downward movement before I reached the end.
“Must be a pain, doing that every time you get up and go out or bathe or whatever.”
He frowned, stroking my knuckles for a few seconds before setting my hand away. “Don’t mind. Small price to pay for being alive. Walking, running. Climbing trees.” He slid into the bath, which raised the water level to an alarming degree.
“I can’t fit in there.”
“Sure you can.” He reached forward to let some water out, then lifted his right leg and set his foot on the rim of the tub. “Plenty of room.”
I’m not sure what it was about that moment—after all the hugging and massaging, the sex and orgasms, the saving of my actual freaking life—that felt different from the rest. It could have been the sight of him naked, big and beautiful, strong and proud, or the unexpected intimacy of watching him pull off his leg, unabashed on the surface, but with a tinge of insecurity I’d never have expected him to show. Had he opened this much of himself up to another woman?
“You getting in?”
I nodded, out of words, grabbed onto the side of the tub and sank in, with my back against his front. The heat made me shiver and sigh and helped cover up the uncomfortable knowledge that, whatever this was for him, for me, it could never be just any old encounter.
24
Micah
Christa’s body fit mine like a glove. Or maybe the other way around, with me surrounding her. She felt perfect, like a fantasy come true, only real. So real that it almost hurt to hold her now, knowing that soon she’d be gone.
I opened my mouth to say something I’d probably regret, but she beat me to the punch.
“Wait, you actually climb trees? Like, for real?”
I huffed out a laugh and kissed the top of her head. Damn, she smelled good.
“I’m an arborist. Don’t always climb trees, since a lot of my work is consulting with clients.” I cupped a handful of water and poured it over her breast, watched it run down, fascinated. “Hate losing trees, but getting up there with a chainsaw’s my favorite part.” Incapable of not touching her, I weighed her breasts in my hands, wishing I could get down and lick her there again, suck on her nipples.
“That’s…you’re incredible.” Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. I did that to her. Me, imperfect, fucked-up loner dude. I hadn’t felt this… Power wasn’t the right word, but strength wasn’t it either. Whatever the word, I hadn’t felt like this in ages. Years.
Maybe ever.
“You are,” I whispered against the side of her head. “How the hell’d this happen, huh?”
She started to turn and I nudged her straight, not even remotely ready to show her what must show plainly on my face—this thing was bigger than a night or a weekend. Whatever the hell had brought us together—shit weather, divine providence, the fucking Holy Spirit. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to end. Couldn’t let it end and feel whole anymore.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me.”
She grew very still. “Why not?”
“You’ve torn me up inside, Christa. I’m not the same since I pulled you out of that car.”
“No?”
“Mm-mm.” To calm myself, or maybe just to get the attention off of me, I let one hand play with her nipple and moved the other further south, under the water, between her legs.
“How’m I supposed to go back to what I had before?” I cleared my throat. “How do you expect me to live my…messed up, lonely life up here once you’re gone?”
Her breathing was shaky, her breasts quivering. She tried to turn again and, firmer this time, I bracketed her with my arms, slid a finger inside her, and flicked at her clit. Maybe distracting her would do it. Maybe she wouldn’t notice how she’d torn me apart. Or how badly I wanted to tell her about it. Like I’d spent all these years quiet—and happy that way—but suddenly, she’d unlocked some magic door and I needed to spew feelings like a goddamn geyser.
Like with my sisters when we were kids, the emotions here were too big to stay locked up. But I couldn’t let her watch me come apart. Not again.
Another finger, sliding in to join the first, my thumb working her faster. My cock stirred to life again, which wasn’t remotely surprising considering how lush her ass was, right here against me.
I pressed forward, let her feel me, and continued to drive her higher. If I did this, we could pretend she hadn’t heard what I’d just said. I could pretend I didn’t say it.
Her hard breathing turned to moans and my body wanted her again, which seemed impossible after so short a time. I eyed the tub, trying to figure out if we could even do it in here and then she answered the question by lifting herself up.
“Can you…can you put it in me?”
Fuck, yeah, I could do that. I reached for my cock, held it at the bottom, ran it up and down her lips a couple times to slick it with her wetness, mixed with my come from our earlier session. Like I’d marked her with it. My cock pulsed at that idea and I notched myself at her entrance, wrapped my arm around her belly and pulled her onto me.
Our movements were awkward and slow in the tub.
And, shit, she was in pain from her accident. I shouldn’t push her.
“Don’t move, Christa. Don’t need to hurt yourself again. Just stay like that.”
She stilled for a few seconds, tightened around my dick and let go, tightened and let go.
“Holy shit.”
“I do my kegels.”
I grinned into her shoulder, then nipped her with my teeth, and pulled her down, hard.
“Is this good?” she asked, though she had to know it was.
“Yeah. Oh, yeah.”
Wet and round, sweet and smart as hell.
We fucked slow and sweet for what felt like ages. I’d never done anything like it before, never been so close to a woman as in that moment. Maybe not anyone. Like I knew her, inside and out. Like every tight contraction was a hug.
Her back to my front, her ass on my lap, my body inside her, all I could do was put my face to her shoulder and breathe.
You’re my dream woman, Christa Evans.
CHRISTA
I’m not sure how he knew it was time, but he reached around and put his hand to my clit to rub me. Even that movement was slow, languorous, more about pleasure than an end goal.
I could almost fall asleep like this, in his arms in the warm bath. Except his finger, slow though it was, had started a spark and the orgasm couldn’t be far behind.
I turned my head, caught his eyes and it flared.
“Micah.” The name came out of my mouth, as syrupy and warm as everything else about this moment.
Not an explosion, but a deep thrumming that emanated outward, heating everything in its glow. I bore down on him, moaning and breathing hard and, right on the tail end of it, he thrust up with a wounded-sounding noise of his own, and joined me in this immense, intimate moment.
In the afterglow, I lay back on him, boneless, as tears slid down my face.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I couldn’t be in love with him already. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t, dammit.
“You okay?”
All I could do was nod, sniffling back in an attempt to hide that I was—yet again—crying.
“Bed?”
I nodded again and stood up, releasing him from my body as I did. With a slosh of water, he stood behind me, snagged a towel and wrapped me in it. We dried off silently and quickly. He gave me a couple minutes alone, saying something about heading back out to shut off the generator.
I avoided the mirror.
His bed was cold and smelled like him and I worked hard not to cry again. Good God, woman, keep it together.
He returned and stood silhouetted in the door for a few seconds before speaking. “I wanna come in there, but I don’t want to assume.”
In answer, I pulled back the cover. He sat on the bed, removed his prosthesis, and slid in beside me. His hands on my waist made me squeal, but when he tried pulling them away with an apology, I grabbed them and pulled them in again.
“It’s the least I can do. You’re off in the woods, turning generators on and off and I’m just lolling around your house.”
“Naked.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he wrapped his body around mine. Perfect spoons.
“And waiting.”
“Got to tell you, Christa, this is the stuff fantasies are made of.”
I wouldn’t let that go to my heart. “Glad I can fulfill them for you.”
He didn’t respond. The silence dragged out.
“It’s a lot of work, putting that leg on and taking it off again, every time you get into bed or a shower or whatever.”
“Don’t mind. Used to it now.”
“Must have been hard when it first happened.”
When he didn’t say anything, I figured he didn’t want to talk about it. He surprised me a couple minutes later by answering. “Yeah.” He sniffed. “Some guys go back, even after an amp
utation. I never wanted to see any of it again. Never wanted to see the inside of a barracks or a mess tent. Couldn’t stand being around people, crowds, yelling. Dust and diesel and helicopters. Didn’t want to smell…”
“What?”
“War.”
I tried to picture what that would be—did bombs have a smell? Missiles? Burning flesh? Did the scent of certain spices bring him back?
I hesitated, not wanting to pry. “Where did it happen?”
“Afghanistan.”
“So you chose Whatcom County.”
He huffed out another almost laugh.
“And your job is dangerous, so it’s not like you left that behind.”
“Sometimes.”
“I saw your business cards. You don’t have a website or anything on there.”
“Not much for technology.”
“You get enough business?”
“Get what I need.”
“No desire to grow it?”
“I’d take more work, but I’ve got no interest in running after it.”
“You probably don’t want it, but…I mocked up a few new ones for you. And put together some website ideas.”
“Yeah? You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to. Needed to keep busy, you know?”
He tightened his arm around my waist and I snuggled into his naked body. “What about you, Christa? Now that you’re free from your shitty boss. What are you gonna do?”
I opened my mouth to respond and shut it again.
“Don’t have to answer. Just being curious.”
“No. No, it’s a good question. The thing is, there’s what I should do and what I’d like to do.” I thought of Granny Evans alone in her big house. “I need steady, decent income. So, I’ll probably hit the employment websites as soon as…” I get back to civilization. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
“And the other thing? The dream job?”
“I’d like to help small businesses and nonprofits find their audience.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“So, a lot of people who open a business really love what they do. Same with a nonprofit. These are people who believe in their mission. They’re not into it to hobnob with wealthy donors or market or whatever.” I turned onto my back and he loosened his grip, but kept his arm on my belly.