Ring of Fire (12 page)

She deftly undid the button at his waist and worked the zipper down, and then she reached inside his boxer briefs and grasped him.

He jolted and almost came in her hand, it felt so damned good. He groaned. “Shit, Lark.”

Her warm grip loosened. “Can't take it, soldier boy?” she teased.

“Yeah. No, I mean. This is too good. You're too hot. It's been too long.”

Humor tinged her voice. “Then I'll take a rain check.”

“Please.”

She released him and tugged on the waistband of his jeans, urging him to lift up so she could pull his pants down.

He'd been lost in the sensations, the need, but now cold reality hit him and he caught her hands, stopping her. “Lark . . .” He had no idea what he wanted to say.

“I know you have a prosthesis. I'm not going to be shocked. Do you want to leave it on, or take it off?” She sounded practical, not squeamish.

“Uh, off, if that's okay with you. I'll be more mobile that way. You'll have to deal with an ugly stump, but that's probably better than having me whack you with a mechanical leg.”

“Okay. Can I help you take it off?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. If he wanted to have sex with her—if he ever wanted to have sex with a woman in his life—he had to cross this hurdle. The first time was bound to be the toughest, wasn't it? Besides, he'd likely never find another woman as understanding and matter-of-fact as Lark. Opening his eyes, he said, “Would you mind giving me a minute? Maybe go pour a couple of glasses of wine?”

She gazed at him, her cheeks flushed with arousal, her eyes steady and calm. “Of course.” She rose from the bed and sauntered across the room, her back straight, her body moving with an athlete's grace. Long legs; gorgeous ass.

With spare efficiency, Eric rose and stripped off his jeans and briefs, freeing an erection that had subsided somewhat over the past few minutes. He took off his prosthesis, stuck the leg under the bed, and peeled off the sheath and sock he wore over his residual limb. Then, feeling about as undignified and unsexy as a man could, he turned off the light and scrambled between the sheets.

Was there any possible way that this would go well?

* * *

Lark, carrying two glasses of red wine, walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. Her body hummed with the afterglow of a very satisfying orgasm, and she hungered for more.

She wished Eric felt the way she did—that his missing leg was a nonissue—but it was clear he was uncomfortable. It wasn't that she couldn't relate. If she'd lost a leg, an arm, or a breast, she'd be self-conscious, too, the first time a man saw her naked.

Tonight she would do everything in her power to make it good for both of them, and she figured that once their bodies' natural instincts took over, all would go well. For her, sex was a physical thing. But that didn't mean she'd go to bed with a man she didn't like, or that she didn't care about the guy's well-being, only that she'd never again let her heart get involved.

When she had left the bedroom, the old-fashioned overhead light had been on. Eric had turned it off, and the room was almost dark, the only illumination coming through the open hallway door. He was in bed, on the far side, sitting with a couple of pillows behind his back and the covers pulled up to his waist.

Easy in her nudity, she strolled around the bed and handed him the glass. Her eyes hadn't adjusted well enough to read his expression, but the fact that he grabbed the glass by the bowl and took a couple of large gulps told her a lot.

She went back around the bed, taking her time, knowing that his gaze followed her. Hopefully, her nakedness was enough of a turn-on for him that it would overcome some of his unease. She lifted her glass to her lips, sipped, and then raised her head to swallow, letting the smooth, slightly fruity wine slip down her throat. Then she put the glass on the bedside table, raised her hands to link her fingers at the back of her head, and gave a leisurely, sensual stretch. The motion arched her back and thrust her breasts out. Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light now, enough that she appreciated Eric's ripped, tanned torso against the white pillowcase.

“Am I invited in?” She bent to lift the edge of the comforter and top sheet.

“Sure.” He took another gulp of wine, put his glass down, and faced her. His expression, now that she could see his face more clearly, was more tortured than welcoming.

He lay on the right side of the bed. She knew it was his right leg that had been amputated above the knee. Smoothly, she slipped into the left side of the queen-sized bed and slid across to press her front against his left side. “Lie down,” she urged.

After a moment's consideration, he pulled one of the pillows from behind him and eased down in the bed. He stacked his hands behind his head, not touching her. “I'm not sure how this is going to go.”

“Me either, but there's one thing I
am
sure of. It'll go better if we just enjoy it rather than think about it.” Suiting action to words, she scrambled up to her knees and swung one leg across his body so she straddled him at his waist, facing him. She was still damp between her legs from the way he'd aroused her and brought her to orgasm, and as she pressed herself against him she knew he had to feel it.

What she felt was a semi-aroused man; his doubts were inhibiting his body's response.

The way she was sitting, the loss of his leg wasn't apparent. She hoped that this way, with her taking top, taking control, he could lose himself in the pleasure and stop worrying.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders. What heterosexual man could resist two full, naked breasts dangling in front of him? Not Eric. As she'd hoped, he reached out with both hands to fondle her breasts, his caresses making her nipples harden. Arousal pulsed through her with each touch.

“Such beautiful breasts,” he murmured.

“I like the way you touch me.”

Beneath her butt, his body was responding, growing.

Earlier, when she'd first freed his erection and felt him, seen him, he'd been so hard, so hot. So impressive. She'd craved the feeling of him inside her. Now, as he grew underneath her, she craved him even more.

Lark liked sex. She liked it subtle and slow with lots of foreplay, and she also liked it hard, fast, and driving. Now, this first time, she chose fast.

She shifted, trapping his shaft between her legs, and wriggled back and forth, rubbing herself against him. Getting them both worked up.

His hands tightened convulsively on her breasts, and then he must have realized what he'd done because they released. He reached instead for her waist, holding her firmly. “Shit, Lark, you feel so damned good. I want to take it slow, make it good for you, but—”

“Sshh. I'm on top. Ladies' choice how this round goes. Condom?”

“Drawer in the bedside table.”

She stretched over to open the drawer, and pulled out a package. Deftly, she ripped open the wrapper. Moving her butt back a little, she freed that thick, lovely erection, and rolled the condom onto it, eliciting a moan from Eric.

Gripping him with one hand, she raised up and eased him inside her slowly, enjoying the friction of every inch. Gazing into his eyes, she rested her hands on his chest, feeling the tautness of his muscles as he forced himself to remain still while her body adjusted to his size.

She began to slowly raise and lower on him, her internal muscles loosening and moisture coating his shaft as he stimulated her sensitive intimate flesh. God, he filled her so perfectly, and felt so wonderful.

He caressed her legs, running his strong fingers along the tender skin of her inner thighs. Then he tilted his pelvis, meeting her up-and-down movements with his own powerful thrusts.

Despite the fact that she'd already climaxed once, her need built again quickly, especially when he pumped into her more urgently, his breath quickening to harsh gasps. Slanting her body down a little, she changed the angle so that his strokes brushed her clit. “Mmm, Eric.” Like him, she was having trouble catching her breath. “So good.”

“God, Lark, I want—I can't—” His hips jerked convulsively, and then he was coming inside her in long, powerful thrusts that grazed her clit and reached deep, deep into her core.

Those thrusts toppled her over the edge, and her climax melded together with his, shuddering deliciously through her entire body.

When her body finally settled, she felt boneless. Somehow, she managed to climb off Eric and lie down beside him.

He tugged the covers up to their chests. After tossing the used condom into a wastebasket by the bed, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer as she curled her body into his. “Thank you, Lark. That was fantastic.” He kissed her hair.

She smiled into his shoulder. “Thank
you,
Eric.” It had been great, no doubt. But the two of them were just getting started. One day before long, she'd show him a
fantastic
that would knock his socks—sock—off.

She kissed his skin idly, still coming down from that delicious peak. He stroked her arm in that same aimless, casually sensual way. She lay her left arm over his chest and lifted her left leg to wrap over him at the hips, twining herself around that fabulous body. He tensed for a moment, and then his muscles relaxed again.

A glance at his alarm clock told her it was getting late. She should get up and head home.

Except every instinct told her that the leg issue wasn't resolved. She wanted Eric as her lover for more than just this one time. The man needed to get over himself and trust her or this wasn't going to work out.

She caressed his chest, brushing her knuckles over his hard muscles, teasing her fingers through curls of wiry hair. Gradually, she moved her hand lower, over his six-pack, his flat abdomen as he made occasional approving sounds. She removed the leg she'd slung over him and continued her exploration, feeling him harden again and rise to meet her. After giving his shaft an appreciative squeeze, she moved on to explore thicker curls and to fondle his balls.

He sucked in a breath, seeming completely focused on her sensual touch.

Until she made her way down his right thigh. At that point, his muscles locked. “Lark,” he said warningly.

“Eric, don't hide from me.” Boldly, she ran her hand down the full length of his thigh to where it ended midway between his groin and where his knee would once have been. Her fingers encountered a rounded stump with puckered flesh.

He groaned, and it wasn't a sound of arousal this time. It was more like despair.

Curious, she explored the stump. “Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No.”

“But it does hurt sometimes.” She'd seen him wince occasionally, when he was tired or changed position suddenly.

He gave a resigned sigh, as if he realized she wasn't going to quit. “Sometimes it aches where it rubs the socket of the prosthesis, especially if I work out really hard or move at an odd angle, or it's the end of the day and I'm tired.”

“You said the other night that you get phantom limb pain, too?” She moved her hand over to his other thigh, to give it equal attention.

“Yeah, sometimes. It's a piss-off.”

“I bet. Like adding insult to injury.”

“Exactly.” He sounded more relaxed now, either because she'd moved away from his residual limb or, she hoped, because he'd become more comfortable with her.

On his left leg, the whole one, she encountered ridges of scar tissue around his knee. “You also said you came close to losing this leg.”

“Yeah, it was touch and go. They did a number of surgeries, like they did with the residual limb. Just when I seemed to be healing and was getting on with rehab, I'd get another serious infection and they'd have to go in and clean out more crap.” He paused. “Man, those doctors gave it their all, and I sure owe them. If I'd lost both legs . . .”

Knowing Eric, thinking of what was most important to him, she said, “It might be almost impossible to rehab yourself so you could pass the physical tests for Universality of Service?”

“Yeah. You know about that?” He sounded a little surprised.

“A couple of the volunteer firefighters have a military background and mentioned it.”

In a sudden move that caught him off guard, she pushed herself up and tugged the covers down the bed, exposing his lower body.

He let out a wordless sound and started to sit up, maybe to reach for the covers, but then he lay back. “Fine. You want to see. Take a good look.” He reached out and clicked on the light.

And she saw him, completely naked for the first time. With a wilting erection. His left leg was muscled and well-shaped, but badly scarred from above the knee down to his ankle. She bit her lip, thinking about the surgeries, the pain, he'd gone through in order to be able to use that leg. The stump of his right thigh was less scarred, and sealed with a puckered seam.

“Don't try to tell me you don't wish I had two whole, unscarred legs,” he said gruffly.

She raised her gaze to his face, which was all harsh lines now. “Yes, of course. Because then you wouldn't have suffered so much pain.” After reflecting a moment, she added, “But then I'd never have met you. And I'm very glad I did.”

His expression softened. “Ah, Lark, you're really something.”

“You bet I am. And so are you, Eric Weaver. Something very special, and I'm glad you're my lover.” She shifted down in the bed and began to kiss his scarred leg, starting at the ankle and making her way up to the thigh. The inner, upper thigh. By the time her tongue flicked his balls, he was fully erect again. That erection didn't even flinch when she shifted to his right leg, kissing his thigh and his stump as well.