Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  Staring. He’d stared at her breasts and she’d thought he’d ogled her harness. That had to be it, damnit.

  “Izzy.” Curtis sat up, tried to get her to look at him. “I don’t care about this.” He fingered the black straps stretched over her chest and back.

  “Wait.” Izzy caught his hand and rose. “Just give me one minute.”

  • • •

  Izzy hurried to her bedroom where she plunked on her bed for a few deep breaths. From her night table she retrieved a condom, tearing one from a chain of three, leaving the rest next to her alarm clock. She couldn’t believe she had any. She was on the pill, but Curtis’s magic hands didn’t change the fact that she knew next to nothing about him. That she stalled for time didn’t cross her mind until she noticed her alarm clock’s minute hand had moved three ticks since she took root on the mattress. She clutched her plum colored comforter and the condom wrapper’s toothed edges pierced her palm.

  There was still a way out. She could still send him away. The ache that spread through her chest and between her legs at the thought sealed that idea away.

  Trailing her fingers absently over the black straps at her chest, Izzy shook her head, casting off the cloud of fear and insecurity fogging about her. She stood like a soldier and strode back into the living room where Curtis waited expectantly on the couch. Seeing her, he smiled, but hesitancy tinged his questioning expression. As she passed, she placed the condom on the coffee table in response. His hand brushed her naked side, but she didn’t stop. If she lost momentum, doubt would creep in. Her barriers would shoot up and she’d find the words to send him running.

  “Izzy?” Curtis said when she reached the short hallway leading to her front door. She paused next to her mirror and barre and switched off the lights. She didn’t want an audience when she shed her prosthetic and came before him bereft of the one thing which kept her shape normal.

  In the dark, Izzy found the buckles securing her harness and loosened them. She eased out of the contraption, located her heap of pointe shoes with her foot, and set her arm atop them. Then she fumbled her way to the couch, groping for the nearest cushiony armrest.

  Curtis found her as she flailed and his hands locked around her forearms. Instinct nearly overrode desire when he grasped and stroked her bare, incomplete arm and, for a moment, the urge to flee overwhelmed her. He must have sensed it, felt her go taut all over, for he traced light circles in the sensitive crooks of her elbows, whispered sweet and sensual words like a husky lullaby. She melted into his hold and let him guide her so they were front to front. She hadn’t heard him do it, but he’d removed his clothes and, standing there, his bare skin threw off heat like banked coals. His heavy prick thudded against her jeans and the head of his cock nudged her belly just below her navel. Gasping, she reached for his length, but he caught her hand and drew it up. Wet heat engulfed two of her fingers and Curtis’s tongue swirled around them, stroking and lapping. The sensation traveled in a direct line to her sex and a slide of moisture wetted her needy entrance. She pressed herself against him, face buried in his warm chest. Her hips moved over his cock. Its tip brushed up and down her stomach leaving a dewy trail over her skin.

  Releasing Izzy’s fingers in a slow, sucking pull, Curtis settled back on the couch. His palms roved over her body, learning her shape in the dark. Slow fingertips traced the straps and cup-line of her cotton bra, following the curve of her breast. He hooked one finger into the band of her jeans and tugged her gently forward, hands moving down her hips until they met the supple leather of her calf-high boots. He patted the back of her thigh. Lifting her foot, she let him brace her on the couch. He removed one shoe and then the other before tackling her jeans. The confidence of his movements baffled her. Despite the moon and streetlights, she barely made out his form in the dark. He seemed not at all hindered by the gloom and stripped her easily. Cool air on Izzy’s already damp thighs provoked the all over tingle of emerging gooseflesh even in the room’s comfort.

  Standing before Curtis, Izzy heard his weight shift on the couch. For several moments, he did not touch her and she could have sworn he appraised her through the shadows. Something flashed in the dark like the eyes of a cat or raccoon. Her breath caught, but the circles of light vanished when Curtis leaned forward and eased his rough hand between her legs.

  • • •

  Darkness didn’t hamper Curtis’s vision. He didn’t mind it. He did mind what the dark implied: Izzy didn’t want him seeing her. The gloom didn’t assuage her insecurity either. As he sat back on the sofa, her left hand went to her right arm, a half-hearted attempt at concealing the damage. Disregarding the nervous gesture, he let the sight of her imprint itself in his mind like an exposed negative.

  Long legs met the slight outward bow of hip and inward dip of waist and torso in a sweeping line. The slender column of her neck twisted as she struggled to discern him and a tendon, a severe diagonal against the otherwise soft angles of her body, caught his attention. He wanted to nip at it and at her breasts.

  A sharp breath rasped from Izzy’s throat and her eyes trained on his. His eyes often betrayed his wolf. Even the utterly clueless caught glimpses of the inner animal sometimes. Whatever she’d seen would be easily forgotten or explained away.

  Reaching out, his hand grazed her inner thigh. His nostrils flared. Arousal made the smooth skin he touched damp and sticky. Curls from a narrowed strip of hair tickled his finger as he parted the delicate lips of her sex. He stroked her languidly and she rewarded him with a moan little more than a ragged whisper. Encouraged, he surged upward and her heated passage enveloped him, closed around his finger like a snug and silken glove. He caressed the sensitive knot of flesh at her apex with the pad of his thumb.

  Izzy faltered on unsteady legs and she caught Curtis’s shoulder. He smiled. He knew if she let him he could make her forget her pain and feel only ecstasy. Proving it would be his pleasure.

  • • •

  Izzy opened for Curtis as he stroked one finger through her wet slit. That thick finger slid inside her and she moaned, letting her head fall back as he thumbed her clit. Her mind buzzed with pleasure and her legs trembled.

  Reaching, Izzy found Curtis’s shoulder, using him for stability. His breath tickled the fine hairs dusting her stomach. Teeth gripped the tender flesh below her navel and she gasped. Lips kissed the place he’d nibbled and continued up her chest and between her covered breasts. When he sucked her peaked nipple into his mouth through the cotton of her bra, she cried out and clenched around his finger. Easing her bra straps from her shoulders, he pulled down their cups and her breasts spilled free. He squeezed and toyed with them, pinching and brushing her budded nipples, before doing away with the last of her clothing altogether.

  “Curtis,” her voice was breathy with mounting excitement. With one last tug at her nipple, he withdrew. His absence was an awful jolt. Moving around her, he threaded his arms behind her. His shoulders flexed under her supporting hand and he sat back.

  From the crinkle of foil and wet roll of plastic, Izzy knew when Curtis sheathed himself and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. His hands fixed on her waist and brought her forward. Shins meeting the couch, she bent her knees and crawled astride him, flinching when the blunt head of his cock parted her aching lips.

  Holding her, Curtis held still while Izzy impaled herself inch by inch onto his thick shaft. His low moan stuttered as she opened and stretched around him, gripping him in her tight space. She clutched his shoulders and whimpered into his neck. It had been ages since her last partner and Curtis was so long and wide he touched parts of her that were near painful in their intensity. Her body had to adjust.

  Curtis petted Izzy until her breathing slowed and her grip on him loosened. When she finally raised her head, he took her face in the vee of his thumb and index finger and stroked her cheek. Leaning into him, she found his mouth an
d drew on his lips as she rose on her knees. The motion had Curtis groaning into her mouth and when she came back down, their thighs clapping together, he broke away, a low rumble vibrating in the back of his throat. His fingers dug almost cruelly into the soft flesh at her hips and he pumped into her, his ass lifting from the couch.

  All Izzy’s musings about his touch were answered as his rhythm intensified. He wasn’t careful, thank God. He didn’t handle her like she might shatter at any moment. He fucked her like he never needed anything more than her body wrapped around his.

  Curtis’s hands covered her small breasts, kneading as he bucked beneath her. One slid to the hollow above her rear, supporting her as she angled back. This way, her clit rubbed against him, creating delicious friction. Insidious little hooks of pleasure latched inside her belly.

  “Oh,” she said, actually surprised when the first shiver of impending climax rolled up her spine. She latched onto Curtis’s neck and undulated against him, sending herself into a mindless fugue as she came.

  Cupping Izzy’s ass, Curtis lifted her, giving himself room to drive in and out of her, quickening his thrusts until he released, his cock jerking inside her with each heady spasm. She heard the squeaky grind of his teeth.

  Limp against each other, they lay together on the couch until Curtis repositioned himself, drawing out of Izzy — who made a grumbling, discontented noise — and bringing them both on their sides. He kissed her cheeks, eyelids, face, and forehead, letting her tangle her smooth legs around his prickly ones.

  “May I use your bathroom?” he asked, nuzzling into her hair.

  Izzy said he could and told him where to go. His sure steps sounded in the dark room, his feet slapping the hardwood floor. A light flicked on from the hall leading to her bedroom. Nervous, she sat up and hugged a throw pillow to her chest. Would he leave now that they’d finished? The cold heaviness in her gut surprised her as she contemplated this. Many times, she’d hoped her onetime lovers wouldn’t make nuisances of themselves after they’d had their fun. She didn’t feel that way about Curtis and cringed at her need for him. While he cleaned himself she padded into the bedroom, not bothering with the light. She pulled the covers back in a one-handed tug and tucked herself under them. Chilled sheets felt wonderful over her deliciously sore body. The bathroom light clicked off.

  “Izzy?” Curtis called quietly. “Did I hear you come in here?”

  “Yes.”

  Curtis was just visible, one hand scratching his thigh, his cock hanging against his shadowed groin.

  “Is it ok with you if I sleep here?” he asked.

  Izzy turned into her pillow and smiled. “More than ok,” she said into the plush fabric. She didn’t see it, but she knew he grinned when he bounded into her bed and his warm weight settled beside her.

  Chapter Four

  Dull pain in Izzy’s stunted arm woke her and the extra weight in her bed jolted her sleep-muddled faculties. Curtis sprawled over the mattress like a starfish, legs spread-eagled, one arm draped across her chest, lips parted as he snored. She snorted and squirmed from under his heavy arm, pausing to see if she roused him. When he took his next thunderous breath, she tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting the door to a crack before she flipped on the light.

  Before the accident — Izzy considered it B.A. time and the aftermath A.A., or after the accident time — when dance had been her whole world, mirrors had been invaluable. As a child in the Glazier Studio, she’d watched her little form, jaw set and expression too serious for a six-year-old, repeated over and over in the reflective walls while she learned basic steps and positions. Mirrors had shown her mistakes and had proved her accomplishments. Mirrors were the only gauge of her talent besides the glowing praise of Madame Glazier herself. In their shallow surfaces, she’d trusted. A.A., she knew the truth: mirrors lied.

  Izzy blinked as she regarded herself. In the deceitful glass, she was whole. She had two arms, strong, graceful, powerful. Of course, the mirage faded and her right arm vanished two inches below the elbow. When she’d first left the hospital, she’d seen herself complete all the time whether her brain was sleep addled or not. Worse was when phantom pain accompanied the hallucination, but, the pain that had woken her was very real and wasn’t a mystery. She inspected the pink and shiny scarred skin at the end of her incomplete limb, already knowing what she’d find.

  Deep indents marked where her prosthetic dug into her skin and a reddened patch of oozing flesh showed where the arm cup chafed. Izzy hunted for disinfectant in the cabinet under the sink. When she rose, someone else stood reflected behind her in the mirror and she yelped, dropping the Neosporin.

  Curtis looked sheepish and picked up the tube of medicine. “Didn’t startle you, did I?” He yawned. “I heard you leave. Usually takes a nuclear device to wake me up.”

  “I — ”

  With the lights out in the living room and bedroom, Izzy hadn’t had a proper view of naked Curtis. His brawn had been obvious under her hands but seeing him so unexpectedly made her brain mushy. Broad and thick, his arms and face were tan, his torso onward paler where his clothes shielded his skin from the sun. Deep lines on his stomach contoured his abdominals, creating a vee that pointed down to his groin where his softened sex lay against a thick patch of dark hair. His thighs, she knew, were equally sculpted as his torso, but she couldn’t pull her attention from his cock.

  “Startle me?” Izzy said, her words high pitched and constricted. She cleared her throat. “No. Not too badly.” She shut her eyes against the sight of him and instinctively covered her right arm, wincing when her salty fingers brushed the open sore.

  “What’s wrong?” Curtis asked and came toward her.

  Izzy shied away, turning her right side to the sink. “Just some irritation from my prosthetic. Happens a lot. No big deal.” She wished he’d go away, but he just kept coming. Seeing her couldn’t be half as impressive as seeing him.

  Reaching out, Curtis ran his fingers over her shoulders and back where her harness straps had left reddened marks. “May I see?”

  No.

  No one looked at her arm but her, her doctor, and her physical therapist. Izzy’s dark expression likely spoke for itself.

  “Please,” Curtis said.

  Reluctantly, Izzy relinquished her arm. Foreign hands roaming over her skin gave her the shivers and made her nipples taut, achy, points. Curtis didn’t seem repulsed by her deformity, but a severe line appeared between his brows and he frowned as he uncapped the Neosporin.

  “You wear your harness too tight,” he said as he squeezed a dollop of balm from the tube and dabbed it on her irritated skin. It stung, but Izzy had toughed out far worse. B.A., there’d been ankle injuries, sores from her pointe shoes, and split toenails. A.A., there’d been recovery and physical therapy.

  “I have to wear it tight,” she said. “If I don’t, there’s a gap between the prosthetic and my arm. My clothes get caught in it and you can see the seam. I hate that.” She disentangled her arm from his loose grasp and rooted for a cotton pad and Band-Aids.

  “You’re hurting yourself,” Curtis said.

  “Most dancers live with a certain amount of pain.”

  “Yeah, but your arm has nothing to do with that. Just because you can take the pain doesn’t mean you should go looking for it. There isn’t some kind of insert you can put in your prosthetic to protect your arm?”

  “There are, but those make gaps, too.” Inserts also reminded Izzy of the gel cups her younger and non-professional students used to cushion their toes en pointe. Dancers at the advanced and professional levels had no business wearing them. They restricted movement and foot expression.

  “So there’s a gap. Who cares? Hiding who you are all the time is a lot of work, don’t you think?”

  “You know what I think?” Izzy ripped open a Band-Aid with her teeth and spit out t
he paper scrap. “I think it’s none of your business how I deal with my disability. I don’t need another therapist. I need,” Izzy stopped short and puckered her lips. She couldn’t argue properly when he was all … out there.

  Curtis raised his brows.

  “I need to get back to bed,” Izzy finished and brushed past Curtis, jumping when his semi-erect cock grazed her hip.

  “That was my plan, too,” Curtis said.

  “‘Bed’ as in ‘sleep.’” Izzy strode into the bedroom, ignoring the flutter of excitement in her gut and the way her breasts tingled in anticipation as they jiggled. Curtis followed.

  “You’re ready for bed after chewing me out? All keyed up?” he asked.

  “You want to screw after I did?” Izzy belly flopped onto the bed. The dipping mattress and creaking springs announced Curtis’s arrival. Crawling over her, the length of his erection brushed her back and his balls lightly smacked her rear.

  “Can’t help it.”

  “And why’s that?” she asked. Face down in her pillow, the question came out muffled.

  Curtis sucked in breath. “You want the PC answer or non PC?”

  Flipping over, Izzy saw Curtis boxed her in. His arms caged her head and his knees trapped her lower half. Hairs on his legs tickled her calves. His cock curved toward his belly.

  “Both,” Izzy said, swallowing. “PC first.”

  “It turns me on when you get aggressive.”

  “And?”

  “When you challenge me, I want to show you who’s boss.”

  Izzy bent her leg. With her knee, she put gentle but insistent pressure to his balls. “Well, the boss thinks out the door might be the best place for you.”

  “Putting me in the dog house?” Curtis rubbed against her knee and dipped his head to her face, tracing her lips with his tongue. “Sure that’s what you want?”