by Sosie Frost
I could work anywhere, do anything, and feel a sense of pride as long as I had a mission.
What was I supposed to do without one?
Life decided to answer that question for me. Karma was a bitch, and she kept coming for my leg. Only this time she sent her minions.
A blur of black and white sprinted across the backyard. A spotted tornado of rabid insanity and puppy adrenaline dove for my prosthetic leg. The dog barked, captured my leg, wagged his fucking tail…
And then he sprinted the fuck away.
“The hell!” I shouted, but the dog took off quicker than I could get up on one leg. Varius offered his hand, but I batted it away. “I’m fine.”
My brother laughed. “Might be life’s way of telling you to take it easy.”
“No. It’s life’s way of telling me I’m gonna spend two days camped outside the Ironfield VA trying to get a new leg.”
Jesus Christ. The dog brandished my leg like he’d found the greatest goddamned bone in a butcher’s shop. The metal squeaked. The dog gave it a vigorous shake, as if he’d planned to tear the stuffing out of it. The prosthetic had no stuffing. Only had hundreds of dollars’ worth of very precise plastics, metals, and artificial joints.
And I thought the fucker and I were friends.
It had to be the same dog. What other asshole border collie roamed Butterpond’s streets stealing limbs and underwear? For one afternoon, the dog had delivered me the greatest treasure since my disability check. I had the bra currently hanging from my rearview mirror. A gift. A delicate piece of cloth that had caressed the skin of the most beautiful woman I ever had the displeasure of meeting.
Varius offered me my cane. It was about as much help as I dare take from my brother. I didn’t let him chase the dog. What sort of man would I be if I couldn’t retrieve my own leg from the mongrel’s mouth?
What was worse—losing a leg in war or losing it to a damn dog?
I knew the answer to that. Just tried to prep myself for the inevitability of crawling my ass to the VA to ask for a second prosthetic.
I hobbled through the backyard, around the side of the house, and towards the brand-new barn. Hardly recognized the farm anymore. On my way to the dog, I’d tripped over a blind rooster and collided with a three-legged goat. To add insult to injury, the goat had better dexterity than I did. My youngest brother, Quint, hooted from the porch, pissing himself in hysterics as I shouted for the fucking dog.
“Need any help?” Quint shouted.
I flipped him off. He collapsed back onto the porch swing, tears in his eyes.
And of course, the dog thought this was a ridiculously exciting game. His head went down, his ass shook in the air, and those ultra-sharp canines undoubtedly wore holes into a brand-new leg that I’d promised I would keep safe. I hadn’t destroyed it yet, so I thought the recovery was going well.
At least until this point.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom the instant the bomb went off and I lost my leg with most of my blood. I’d laid on the ground, staring at the sky, figuring that nothing would ever be as bad as that moment.
I was wrong.
Rock-bottom was losing my career, coming back to Butterpond, and chasing a stray dog around the family farm while it mocked me by waving my own prosthetic toes in my face.
The farm was now part family heirloom, part animal sanctuary. One of the few ways we were able to secure a barn with the current zoning laws. Of course, the rejected Noah’s Ark of inbred animals we’d received weren’t even good enough for a pot of stew. And we sure as hell didn’t need another mongrel sprinting around.
I dug the cane into the soft dirt and hauled ass—hopped—after the mutt.
A woman’s scream echoed over the yard.
Shit.
I couldn’t sprint, but I could hop. Looked like an idiot doing it, but I bounded through the grass and dove for the corner of the barn. I rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the true horror of Butterpond.
Our alpaca.
Alicia was two hundred pounds of ugly, four feet of bad attitude, and one living, breathing demonic nightmare taking shape within our backyard. She was the most unpleasant creature on God’s green earth…and also the angriest.
The alpaca suffered from a condition called alopecia. Apparently, that meant she had no hair, no manners, and no common decency. She had a bad habit of wandering out into the open where anyone could see her. She also tended to spit when she sensed our displeasure—which was all the time as no one ever wanted to come face-to-face with a creature forged from the bowels of hell and shat onto our farm as a charity case.
And there was my glorified meter maid, antagonizing the alpaca. Gretchen curled into a tiny ball at the creature’s feet, covering her head as the alpaca’s leathery, bat-like skin jiggled in the wind.
Alicia reared to attack, consumed by her jealousy of other mammals with hair and the blessings of God.
“Get!” I pitched my cane at the naked pachyderm. “Back the fuck up!”
Alicia had seen enough horrors in her life, most of them herself. But my one leg seemed to disturb her more than her own fleshy, hairless skin. With a perturbed snort, she juked away from Gretchen and pranced into the barn my brother had built to shield her from the world…or to protect us from looking at her.
The dog had more sense than Gretchen. With my leg still clutched in his jaws, he trotted after the alpaca, running circles around the critter to herd her away.
The dog should’ve returned for his owner. The alpaca was nothing compared to the danger I posed.
What the hell was Gretchen doing here?
Gretchen wasn’t a cop, but a body like hers should’ve been criminal. I thought she’d had enough fun for a lifetime, humiliating me in that parking lot. Fucking figured. It was the first time I lowered myself to using the handicapped spot. To my credit, I hadn’t appeared weak. Two days ago, I had stood my ground. Though now, I tumbled to that ground and landed on top of the most beautiful woman in the world. A woman who made me too acutely aware of what I was missing to make this moment of fantasy complete.
Christ she was beautiful. Even the ridiculous puffball pigtails on the top of her head were more than adorable. It was sexy. Casual and fun. Beneath me, her eyes widened. Big pools of cherry chocolate. Deep, rich, absolutely Disney Princess.
How did a woman who so thoroughly busted my balls appear so innocent?
Maybe it was her lips. She gasped and O of recognition. She bit her lip to hide a half smile of squirmy embarrassment. It made her that much more kissable. Plump lips like hers demanded attention, appreciation, and a thick cock pushed between them.
Then again, it seemed wrong to denigrate such a beautiful, lovely girl with such monstrous thoughts. But that’s what made it fun for me. The chase. The capture. The thoroughly, remorselessly, deliberate defiling of a woman for the utter worship of her every curve.
Damn. The things I would’ve done to this woman.
The things I could still do to this woman.
I had to adapt, but it would still be quite enjoyable.
Gretchen wasn’t my type, and yet she was all I wanted. She wasn’t the tag chasing, blonde haired, blue-eyed tramp I’d always imagined in my bed. She was a sexy, athletic girl with skin as dark is my promises and a body desperate for my touch.
Gretchen clung to my arms, dug her fingers into my shirt, and stared at me with such amazement that it was as if I were the first, last, and only man she’d ever seen.
What was it about this girl?
She held my gaze as if we’d already spent our entire lives together instead of a few awkward minutes in the middle of Butterpond’s three handicapped parking spots.
Nothing I said would forgive the hardening of my cock. “You okay, sweetness?”
She pouted. Her eyebrows furrowed. “You shouldn’t yell at the alpaca.”
What the hell?
That was her concern?
Not getting pinned on the ground beneath my
body, wrapped tightly underneath a layer of muscle and sweat? My shirt was saturated. My arms and leg burned from a morning of fierce exercise. I held her against me, but she didn’t demand that I let her go. Didn’t even try to move.
She could scold me just as easily on her feet or on her back.
That was some good intelligence to have.
I hardened. Fierce. Conquering. Every instinct I possessed, every ounce of blood running in my veins, every muscle rending itself in tight frustration, demanded I take this woman. Somehow. Some way. Gretchen had to be mine.
I’d give her the option. Right there on the ground like an animal or pushed against the side of the barn for a little more dignity. I wasn’t a man who offered champagne and roses. Hell, I didn’t even keep promises. I never knew where I was going, couldn’t tell anybody where I’d been, and for the past fifteen years of my life, I had no idea where I’d be in the future. In the states. Overseas. Alive. Six feet under.
A night with me had always been just that. One night.
But for this woman? I needed more than a taste. I had to hear her voice again. Loved how her fingers dug into me. I wanted to shock her, pleasure her, and earn that wide-eyed, innocent smile once more.
And she was worried about the alpaca?
Gretchen’s eyebrow perked, a thin waggle of determination and indignation. “Go apologize.”
Probably deserved it. The thoughts I’d had of this woman were downright unholy.
“You sure you want an apology now, or would you rather forgive me for something a little dirtier?”
I rested on the ground with Gretchen tucked neatly under me. Her legs practically wrapped around my waist. So fucking natural, as if this was where she belonged.
“You shouldn’t be mean to the alpaca,” she said.
She wanted me to apologize to the freak show on four legs? “That’s not an alpaca. We’re pretty sure it’s a demon.”
“Alicia is a beautiful animal.”
“Alicia is a walking testicle, and believe me, that’s her best trait.”
Gretchen frowned. “She has a right to be irritated. She’s naked.”
And for the first time, I was jealous of the fucking alpaca. “So?”
“Don’t you think you’d be uncomfortable if you were naked right now?”
Uncomfortable? No. Exhilarated? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I smirked. “I’m not ashamed of being naked.”
This surprised her. “Really?”
And suddenly I was aware of how strange I probably looked without the prosthetic. I gritted my teeth. “You think I should be? I might be missing a couple parts, but the rest of me makes up for it. I consider it a kindness. Gives the rest of the men in this world a fighting chance.”
Gretchen groaned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean your leg…That’s not what I…I’m sure you look great naked.”
“Only one way to find out.”
She wiggled out from under me, propping up on her elbows and biting that delicious lip. “That’s not what I meant either.”
“You’re allowed to wonder. Everything is in working order.”
“That new leg come with a warranty?”
“Hundred thousand miles…good enough for a couple hard rides.” I winked. “Promise you won’t be disappointed, sweetness.”
She smirked before she could hide it. A blast of heat crashed through me. That adrenaline was a fierce kick in the nuts.
I’d missed that.
For the past couple months, I’d been nothing more than a piece of meat. Weak. Stuck in hospital. Tended to by nurses and pitied by my family.
I didn’t need to heal anymore.
I needed to reclaim what was mine.
That surge of testosterone yielded to a quick and fierce hunger. I’d been a ravenous beast before the injury, but now? This wasn’t about proving anything to myself. This was taking what had nearly been stolen from me.
But Gretchen didn’t deserve that aggression. She settled onto the grass, sitting cross-legged in the sunlight.
“And what makes you think I’d be interested, Mr. Payne?” She tapped her fingers on her knees. The booty shorts tempted me—short enough to tease a man, just long enough to make him curse the day he decided to become a gentleman. “You talk a big game.”
“Not looking to talk.”
She hummed. “Not even one little conversation?”
“Slows me down.”
She pouted. “But what if I like it slow?”
“There’s a difference between doing it fast and doing it right. Life’s too short to piss around. Cut the bullshit. You’d like everything I give you.”
Didn’t scare her. She leaned back, supported by her elbows. The booty shorts accentuated her long legs. Pink tennis shoes crossed at her ankles. The girl was all legs. Dark, cocoa skin teased me. Teased everyone.
Never thought I’d be chasing a beauty like her. I couldn’t see a blush on her cheeks, but every other part of her wiggled and squirmed with a mischievous delight.
How else could I make her squirm?
For the first time in months, I felt like my old self. At least, whatever of my old self was left.
This was healing. Not wasting away in some hospital bed, hiding from the world. Chasing a pretty girl. Delighting us both with the promise of simple, terrible, unrepentant pleasure.
“So, Marius…” Gretchen bravely offered a smile. “Give me one good reason why I should sleep with you.”
I grinned. “No bullshit?”
“At your request.”
“If you want to make a man’s wishes come true, I can give you a much better request.”
“What more could you ask for?”
I smirked. “Now there’s a dangerous question.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, we’ll start easy.”
“On the contrary, sweetness. You make this very hard.”
“And you’re making this far too difficult,” she said. “I just need a reason. Why should I get into bed with you?”
“I shouldn’t have to convince you. Isn’t the offer of endless pleasure enough?”
Her giggle was bright, lovely. “And what if I like to be teased?”
I doubted that. “Do you?”
“I suppose I do,” she said, “And I think a man like you knows how to tease a woman.”
“Sweetness, I just spent the last three months getting my leg sewn back together. I’ve been bounced through four countries, three different hospitals, and now I’m stuck at my family home. I’ve been through enough shit. I don’t need to tease right now. I’ve earned the real deal.”
She smiled now. Amazed by me or maybe just curious. Either way, it be her downfall.
“Are you always this sort of ravenous beast?” she asked.
Occasionally. “I’m a man who gets what he wants.”
“And what will you do when you get it?”
“That, sweetness, is up to you.”
Gretchen didn’t answer. She peeked over her shoulder and whistled with her thumb and finger. Her dog returned, but the little mutt didn’t look the least bit ashamed. He offered her the leg. I reached for it, but Gretchen took it instead.
Great. She examined the prosthetic. Hell, I’d avoided looking at the damn thing for the past month. But she turned it over in her hands. Bent the joint at the foot. Study the mechanism for the knee. Even winced as she peeked into the cast for what remained of my leg. It didn’t disgust her. Quite the opposite. She looked intrigued.
Or at least, a little guilty for slobber-coated plastic.
“You didn’t have to send the dog after it,” I said. “If you wanted a piece of me, all you had to do is ask.”
“If only he had come back with your wallet.”
“I can think of a far better place to grab me.”
Gretchen snorted. “So, I guess the alpaca isn’t the only dick on this farm.”
I shook my head. “No, the alpaca’s the ball sack.”
“And here I thou
ght the big bad military hero would have the biggest balls in Butterpond.”
“Only because they’re underused.”
She laughed. “And I’m supposed to take pity on you?”
I shrugged. “I got plenty of pity. A good blow job though? That’s how you really thank the troops.”
Gretchen tossed the prosthetic to me. “And here, I thought I was pulling your leg.”
I took it, but I wasn’t strapping it on in front of her. Wasn’t likely to move either. Last thing I needed was for Gretchen to see my one and a half legs or the raging erection tenting my shorts.
“You know,” she said. “You make it really hard for me to have a crush on you.”
That was the most wholesome shit I’d heard in years. “You’ve got a crush on me?”
“Why bullshit?”
I liked this girl. “Good. I’m not a man who does formalities.”
“What do you do?” Gretchen asked. “Since we're being so honest with each other.”
“Everything a little girl like you his wanted but never dared asked.” I lowered my voice, a dark and sensuous promise. “Pleasure. Excitement. The fucking of a lifetime.”
She wasn’t convinced. “You make it hard to resist.”
“You’ve never been truly fucked until you’ve been taken by me.”
“And what if I’ve never been fucked before?”
“Life isn’t that good to me.” The girl was worse than a tease. I groaned, rubbing my face. I had enough bruising after the accident. At least I was used to blue balls. “What the hell are you doing here? I’m not returning your bra.”
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “I’m not here for the bra. You can keep it. Call it a trophy.”
“Or an appetizer.”
She smirked. “Better savor it.”
“You’d be surprised how voracious my appetite can be, especially if I’m offered something sweet to eat.”
“Too bad I don’t have any time in my schedule for a quick lunch.” She winked. “Too busy with the farm.”
“So, you aren’t here for me?” I asked.
“What if I’m here to reveal that I’m madly in love with you?”
Then I would’ve believed that I had died when the bomb went off, and Gretchen was the angel sent to rescue me from the purgatory that was Butterpond.