Page 58 of Spring Rains

That was so not me.

I stopped when I got my first glimpse of his chest in the light—every other time had been in the dim pantry, and then, the hallway, and while I’d mapped each inch of him with my fingers, to actually get to see him… mind blown.

He was slim and toned, and I saw more burn scars running down his left arm, matching the ones on his face, which I knew were there by touch. I forgot about getting my jeans off and, instead, reached out to trace a path from his chin to his nipples and back. He wasn’t the hairiest of guys, but what he had felt crinkly under my fingers, and looked perfect.

“Oh god,” I muttered. “You’re so beautiful.”

He let out a sigh, grabbed me for a kiss, and helped me unbuckle my belt and take off my jeans, leaving me in jersey boxers and socks, which I toed off because socks are not sexy. Then, it was his turn, and he hesitated, and I hated that this was a big deal for him, that maybe he was scared.

I encouraged him to the bed, and he sat on the edge.

“Can I do it?” I asked, on my knees between his legs, my hands on the zipper of his pants. He stared at me, reached out and pressed a finger to my lips, searched my gaze forsomething, and then nodded. I was so hard, but I wanted to go slow and gentle. I wanted to show him what he meant to me, and when he shifted his ass so I could slide his pants down, I let them pool on the floor, taking the time to remove his shoes and the sock on his left foot.

I was faced with the prosthetic, something I’d never seen up this close, and it intrigued me.

“Can you tell me what to do?” I asked, wanting to understand how not to hurt him, desperate to get this right. I’d researched transtibial prosthesis, knew about the socket that would be custom-made to fit the stump, knew that in most technical descriptions it was called a residual limb. I indicated the socket, wondering what else to call it. “What is this called?”

“Stumpy,” he deadpanned, and then, raised a hand. “Not my idea—it’s what Daniel and Scott came up with. I fell asleep once, and they drew a face on it and called it Stumpy.”

My heart hurt for him, but he didn’t seem upset. “Did that make you feel bad?”

“What? No, it’s gallows humor. It’s okay.”

“I meant the parts of the prosthetic, so I don’t get it wrong.”

“Oh, that, well that is the socket, and it has soft material in it, and the suspension system keeps it attached to Stumpy.” He quirked a smile at that. “I have a suction cap, which is good for riding as well. Then further down foot, ankle, blah blah.”

“How do I take it off?” I asked.

He went quiet. “You want to take it off?”

“Yes.”

“Let me,” he said, and I nodded, trying to show that it was no big deal.

He removed his prosthetic leg, setting it aside. I could tell he was watching me, maybe worried about how I’d react. But it changed nothing for me. He was still Chris, the guy I enjoyed spending time with, the man I kissed, the lover I wanted to taste.

“Okay?” I asked.

He frowned a little. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

I wanted him to know that I saw him,allof him, and that he was beautiful to me. “Chris,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You are beautiful. All of you.”

He looked a bit surprised, maybe relieved too, and he smiled with caution.

“I’m vers,” I said before he could think anymore. “Can I ride… can you… will you make love to me?” Oh god, now I was tripping over my words, and I could tell he was still a bit cautious, maybe unsure about how I felt, but then, his eyes darkened, and he shimmied up the bed. I didn’t know what he could do, or what he would want to do, but I wanted him every way I could, starting with him inside me.

“Fuck yes.”

I couldn’t help but stare for a moment at him lying there, his cock hard, wanting me as much as I wanted him, andgod, I wanted him. His scars and the stump where his leg used to be—they were parts of his story. I tipped up his bag, a box of condoms and two pump containers of lube tumbled out, and then, I kissed him because I’d never seen anything so sexy as all those condoms and so much lube.

He reached for the slick; his eyes hooded. “Can I get you ready?” His chest heaved with unsteady breaths as he unclipped the pump, squirting so much lube we could probably wrestle in it. I needed that—it had been so long since I’d bottomed, and fuck, he wasn’t small, all hard and pretty and flushed red.

“How do you want me?” I murmured.

He made a motion for me to turn, and as soon as I did, I bent and licked his cock, and at last I had my lips on him. He made an abortive thrust into my mouth. I smiled around him, using a hand to close the space and twisting gently, smoothing the length of him as he pressed cold lubed fingers to my hole and groaned when I gasped. Chris gripped my thigh, as I sucked and tasted, the scent of him so perfect, shower gel and man and everything I wanted.

He worked in a finger, and I pushed back, the burn was too much, and then, it wasn’t enough.