Love Me (One Night with Sole Regret Book 12)

by Olivia Cunning

  “Enjoy, big brother,” Owen said, exchanging a fist bump with Chad as he passed and then shut the door behind him

  Lindsey hung a bath sheet from the doorknob and arranged the huge towel to cover the gap along the demolished doorframe, offering them at least a little more privacy. Next, she busied herself with spreading another towel on the seat of the chair and draping a third one over the chair’s back. She had to squeeze herself between his wheelchair and the wall. There really wasn’t much room to maneuver, which probably should have felt claustrophobic, but it just made Chad uncomfortably aware of her closeness.

  “Do you think you can stand?” she asked quietly.

  At that moment, he was sure he could do a long series of backflips if it would get him laid faster, but he didn’t tell her that. He locked the wheels of his chair, flipped the footrest aside, and used the chair’s arms to leverage himself to standing. He didn’t even wobble until she approached and nervous energy broke his concentration. He placed a hand on her shoulder to help him balance.

  She stepped closer and turned her face into his neck. She breathed him in as her hands slid up his back under his sweat-damp T-shirt. She pulled the fabric upward slowly, her hands skimming his skin. He liked standing against her. He didn’t feel so small and powerless. He felt almost like the man he’d once been.

  He circled her body with both arms and drew her closer, loving the press of the firm bulge of her belly against him.

  Don’t wobble. You’re just standing on one leg, he told himself. He could almost feel the floor under the foot no longer attached to his body.

  “Angel?” he whispered close to her ear, and when she tilted her head back, he pressed his lips to hers. Her fingers dug into his back as she flattened herself against him as best she could with her rounded belly between them. Near his spine, her fingertips found one of a hundred nearly faded bruises, but somehow the pain she caused made him feel alive.

  He drew away to stare down into her eyes, wondering at the strange feeling swarming through him. Gratitude. He’d never felt gratitude toward a woman before. He was grateful that she’d come into his life at exactly right moment.

  “Have a seat,” she said breathlessly, nodding toward the folding chair.

  “I’d rather stand.” He was tired of sitting, especially around her.

  “I’m too short to reach your head, and we need to change that bandage.”

  After lunch yesterday, the nurse who had done his first, and if Chad had anything to say about it, only home visit, had shown Lindsey how to change his bandages and explained how often it needed to be done and told her the signs to look for that hinted he needed to see a professional. He’d tried to block out the entire ordeal. It was humiliating to be talked about as if he were nothing more than a wounded body, but Lindsey never made him feel that way. So yes, he was grateful for what she did for him, but even more grateful for how she made him feel. He was forced to lean on her now to hop to the chair. He let go as soon as he could, holding on to the chair back to get his weight off her. He was about to plop onto the towel-shrouded seat, when she stopped him with a firm hand on his belly.

  “Maybe we should get you naked before you sit,” she said.

  “You first,” he said.

  He expected her to protest, but she slipped her top off over her head and kicked her knit pants and shoes aside. Now in her bra and panties, she peeled his shirt off over his head and then crouched to tug his shorts down—or to try to. They got hung up on his hard-as-stone dick.

  “Sorry,” he said, though, honestly, he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “It’s completely inappropriate for me to get hard for my nurse.”

  Her hand slid down his shorts and freed his cock from its entanglement. His breath stalled in his throat even though her touch was more purposeful than erotic.

  “You’d better not get hard for her,” Lindsey said, looking more devil than angel as she looked up at him. “I want this all for myself.”

  She licked the head of his cock, sending ripples of pleasure up his shaft to travel through every inch of his body.

  He shifted to his left to try to regain his sudden loss of balance. She grabbed his wrist to steady him, her eyes trained on his as she blew a breath across the wetness she’d left on his cockhead. His balls tightened, and his thigh quivered.

  “I think I need to sit down,” he said.

  She smirked. “I knew I’d get you to cooperate.”

  He chuckled and did his best not to collapse onto the folding chair. He really needed to work on sitting more gracefully. She folded the wheelchair and tucked it against the closed bathroom door to give herself more room. When she knelt between his legs, he was very aware that he only had to lift one foot for her to finish removing his shorts. Holding his gaze, she placed a hand on each of his thighs and pushed his legs apart. He shoved feelings of vulnerability aside and held his ground, curious about what she planned to do next.

  “You smell like sex after you work out,” she said. “It makes me want to lick the sweat off your balls.”

  His jaw dropped. God, she turned him on when dirty words came out of that sweet-looking mouth of hers.

  “By all means,” he managed to say. He gripped the edges of the chair seat so he didn’t get in her way. Josie wouldn’t let him come near her when he was sweaty and stinky, so this was something new for him. Don’t think about Josie, he reminded himself as Lindsey’s hand circled his shaft and she lowered her head. Her silky blond hair covered his lap, so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but lord, he could feel it. He closed his eyes and lost himself to her warm, wet tongue and her soft lips as she pleasured every millimeter of his sac. He was soon seeping so much precum that it dripped over his rim and onto her fingers.

  She leaned away, her eyes trained on his cock. He clenched his jaw when her thumb rubbed over his rim to collect his fluids.

  “Do you want me to rub one out for you,” she asked, “or can you wait?”

  “I’ll come after I fuck you, after I make you come,” he said. He lifted a hand to the gauze taped to his head. “Do you want me to start before or after you change my bandage? Because I’m seconds from tackling you to the floor and seeing how long it takes to get you off this time.”

  She directed the tip of his cock into her mouth and did a quick job of sucking him clean before rising to her feet. “Duty before pleasure,” she said.

  She carefully peeled the bandage off the side of his head and cringed at what must be a horrible sight.

  “How does it look?” he asked, not sure if he wanted her to say how disfigured that side of his face would always be. His ear had been hanging on by an inch of flesh when they pieced his scalp back together and sewed him up.

  “No signs of infection, but it’s going to scar,” she said, her touch light as she caressed the tender flesh from his temple to his jawline.

  “Pretty gross, huh?”

  “Not gross, jagged. Lots of stitches. It looks like it hurts.” She kissed the unbroken skin just in front of the stitches which pulled and itched now that they were exposed to the air. “I wish I could take all your pain away.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I feel pretty damn good whenever I’m with you.”

  She kissed his temple tenderly once more. “Then I’m here to stay.”

  Because she pitied him? Was that why she vowed to stay? He didn’t want that to be her reason, but he was still too emotionally fragile to push her aside.

  “We’ll let those stitches breathe while I wash your hair,” she said.

  He would very much like her to cover the gash with a fresh bandage so she wasn’t forced to look at it. She’d likely have nightmares over the hideous injury for the rest of her life. When she moved to stand behind him and used a cup to pour warm water over his head, he forgot to be unreasonable. The water that trickled down over his neck, back, and shoulders cooled his skin, but as he was overwarm due to physical exertion and Lindsey’s close proximity, the sensation felt good. Not as

good as her gentle hands on his scalp as she worked a smidge of shampoo into his inch-long hair, but her every action aroused him on a new level.

  “Your hair is a little darker than Owen’s,” she said.

  “Can you stop comparing me to my brother all the time?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that it upset you.”

  And now he felt like an ass for bringing it to her attention. It shouldn’t upset him; she was just comparing their hair color. “It is darker than his and curlier when it’s long.” Which Chad had always hated, so he preferred a buzz cut even when he wasn’t wearing the uniform.

  Lindsey held her hand along the gash on his scalp to direct the flow of soapy water away from the stitches.

  “I’m making a huge mess,” she said, though the towels on the chair were absorbing all the water. “We probably should have done this in the yard.”

  He wrapped a hand around the solid length of his shaft. “I’m sure Mrs. Futznitz would have been a tad scandalized by the sight of this.”

  Lindsey giggled. “Even more so if she could read my thoughts about it.”

  He wouldn’t mind reading her thoughts about it. Maybe. He might not want to know what she really thought of his body but was too nice to say.

  She added shower gel to a soft sponge and began to rub it over his back and shoulders, arms and chest. Her other hand mirrored the same strokes to his soapy skin.

  “You’re so hard,” she said as her hands moved up his chest.

  He knew she meant his muscular body, but couldn’t resist teasing her. “Are you sure? You haven’t touched it in a while.”

  Standing behind him, she pushed the sponge down his belly. Her breath tickled his ear as she said, “Hard abs too.” When the sponge touched his dick, his entire body jerked. “Hard cock. What else is hard, Mitchell?”

  “Sitting still while you touch me. Hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Her cheek moved against his, and he imagined she was smiling.

  “I’m not finished yet.”

  She leaned away and dipped the sponge into her bucket of water, rinsing the soap out of it by squeezing it several times. He wasn’t sure why that simple action had his balls tightening in protest at having to wait. He was thoroughly enjoying this sponge bath.

  Lindsey used the sponge to remove the traces of soap from his skin, rinsing the sponge several times and using a towel to dry him as she went. He figured she was about finished until she pulled the bucket around to the front of the chair and knelt. She held his gaze as her fingers moved to the edge of the bandage that covered his stump or—what had that physical therapist called it?—his residual limb.

  “Lindsey, don’t,” he said, taking her hands in his. She didn’t pull away, just looked up with compassion written across her face and shining in her eyes.

  “Why not? Your bottom half needs to be cleaned too.”

  “I don’t want you to have to look at it. It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s part of you,” she said, her gaze still holding his. “No part of you could ever disgust me.”

  “Not even my toenail clippings?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Not even your toenail clippings.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable with my stump exposed.”

  She nodded. “Okay, you can wash it later. I wish you’d let me massage it. The nurse said that would help it heal.”

  The nurse had said that, but she’d never said that Lindsey had to suffer through the task. Chad had been doing that chore on his own so far and would continue to do so.

  Lindsey added more shower gel to her sponge and soaped up his balls. The head of his dick somehow ended up in her mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed as he gave himself over to the pleasure she offered. She sucked his tip gently while she squeezed soapy water over his balls. It felt so good, he couldn’t catch his breath. The sponge moved to his inner thighs, his hips, outer thighs, and still she sucked him. She stopped just short of the bandage on his right leg but continued down over his knee, calf, and ankle of the left. His cock had to leave her mouth for her to wash his foot, but the sponge and her thumbs against his instep felt too good to pass up.

  “Why don’t you trust me?” she asked.

  His eyes popped open, and he looked down at her, wondering why she thought he didn’t trust her.

  “I do trust you.”

  “I’ll be gentle,” she said. “If I hurt you, I promise I’ll stop.”

  She was still fixating on the one part of him not completely bare to her. “Why do you want to see it so bad? Do you have a stump fetish or something?”

  Her eyes widened, and she flushed. “No, I just want to know all of you.”

  “You’ll never know all of me because parts of me are missing.” His leg being the least important part that he’d lost on that battlefield.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and she ducked her head.

  He pulled off the bandage and pointed at the neat row of stitches at the end of his stump. “If you want to see it so bad, there! Don’t cry over it, for fuck’s sake.”

  “That’s not why.” She sniffed and rubbed a hand over one tear-soaked cheek and then the other, but she still wouldn’t look at him. “That’s not why I’m crying.”

  “Then why?” He stroked her hair, his heart panging with hurt. For her. He’d rather suffer a thousand more wounds than see her shed a single tear.

  “Because you haven’t.”

  “Haven’t what, angel?”

  “You haven’t grieved for everything you’ve lost, Chad. You haven’t cried, so I’ll cry for you.”

  “How do you know that? Maybe I cry myself to sleep every night.” He smirked at her, not willing to admit that she was right. He hadn’t grieved the loss of his leg or Emerson or Jawa or even Josie, and he didn’t plan to. Not ever. “Now, please stop, angel. I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

  “How do you think I feel seeing you hurt?”

  “There’s not much pain, really,” he said. At least not the kind a few Tylenol couldn’t alleviate.

  She bent her head and kissed his left thigh and then the right not far above where the bandage usually covered. She circled that thigh with both hands and looked up at him as she massaged the muscle, inching her way down. It took every bit of his self-control not to push her away. She wasn’t the one who had an issue with what remained of his leg—he was—and he wanted to prove to himself and to her that he didn’t need to grieve. He was glad to be alive. Any life was more than Emerson had, more than Jawa had.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her hands on him. It wasn’t so strange really, her touching his leg. She never quite made it to the staples.

  “It looks like it’s almost healed,” she said.

  So she was looking at it. Closely.

  “Staples come out in another week,” he said. “Then I can get a wooden peg, an eyepatch, and a parrot.”

  “You’ll be able to get around so much easier,” she said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up with you.”

  “I won’t leave you behind.” He opened his eyes and found her blinking back tears again. “I asked you not to do that, angel. Don’t cry for me anymore.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “This time it’s for me. I’m extra emotional today.”

  “Must be hormones,” he said.

  She shook her head slightly. “It’s this guy I’m seeing.” She reached up to trace his lower lip with one fingertip. “He’s pretty terrific.”

  So she admitted they were seeing each other. Maybe Chad did have a chance with her. And maybe it wasn’t pity or a sense of duty that caused her to like him. Maybe she liked him for who he was, even if he wasn’t some famous rock star. “Do I know the guy?”

  “I think you might. He hangs out in your mirror.”

  “I think I have seen him around. Is he clean enough to take you to bed now?” Because he wanted to make her body feel as good as his heart felt whenever she was near.