Page 33 of Codename: Dustoff
I realized that with me on my stomach, his functioning arm was better able to get a grip on the area above my missing leg. From the front he had to cross his arm over his body to access it.
I heard him slip out of his shirt, the fabric sighing as it went over his head and onto the floor. Followed by the tinkling of a belt buckle and the thunk of his pants hitting the floor.
“Still green?” he asked, running his hand up and down the muscles of my back. “I wish I had both my hands right now, angel. You deserve to feel consumed by bliss, instead of having it stop and start in fits.”
He leaned over me, lips at my neck, tracing the dip of the muscles along my shoulder. I felt his cock hot and hard against my panties. With every movement Emmett made to situate himself and keep balance while teasing my neck and back, his cock further ingratiated itself between my cheeks.
“You okay?” He pushed off the bed, leaning back and away from my body.
“Mmm, I’m more than okay, Emmett.”
“You didn’t answer me when I asked.” He ran his hand down my back to caress my ass. “I was worried.”
“I need to shift positions,” I told him, “can you help me up to the pillows?”
I tried not to feel shame or embarrassment. But my tolerance for positions where a joint or limb was working against gravity, put pressure on my whole body, and a halo of pain began to circle. I wanted to make sure to cut it off before it had the chance to surface.
Having situated myself on the pillows, I had full visual access to Emmett’s body. I don’t know what I expected to see when looking at where his arm should be, but I hadn’t been prepared for the violence of his scar tissue. Even the worst of us that lost limbs overseas, were tended to from highly trained surgeons, so the scars that we bore were much cleaner and less apparent. Emmett’s scar looked as if he’d fought a bear and lived to tell the story. I fought against the well of tears I could feel fighting to be spilled.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Please kiss me.”
I poured everything into that kiss. All of the pain I felt for him, knowing he’d suffered through such a traumatic event alone, and with no access to the kinds of resources I did.
“It happened a long time ago, Amelia,” he told me, running his lips along my forehead. “It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”
It hurt me though. It hurt me knowing that a young man went to work one day and his whole world changed. And, while his world changed, he had to face that new frontier totally alone.