The Hard Truth About Sunshine(31)

"I'm ready," I snap at her, the words harsh as she's just uncovered my vulnerability. I pull back from her, then immediately close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out. When I open my eyes again, I look at her and in a softer voice, I repeat, "I'm ready."

Typical Jillian, her eyes warm with empathy for my struggles. Proving that she's astute as well as intuitive, she murmurs, "Tell me what your true hesitation is, Christopher."

Christ, I'm turning into a woman, I think. "Jillian …  we've known each other for five days-"

"No, we've known each other for seven weeks," she counters.

"No," I say with a shake of my head. "You didn't know me and I didn't know you prior to this trip. And truth be told, I'm not sure we really know each other all that well now, or you'd realize we both should be having some reservations about this."

"What reservations?" she asks innocently.

"Jesus," I mutter as I rake both hands through my hair. I keep them gripped at the top of my head and bore my eyes into her. "You get I'm an asshole, right? I'm broken. I don't care about anyone or anything but myself. If we fuck, that's all it will be …  a fuck."

"Now that's a lie, Christopher Barlow," she interrupts, chastising me. "It would not just be a fuck."

"Fine," I say in exasperation as I throw my hands into the air. "It would be more than a fuck, but goddamn it, Jillian …  I don't know if I can do that. Open myself up to that."

"Because you're scared," she surmises in a gentle tone.

"Yeah," I admit with a huff of breath, defeated by her constant poking at me. "I'm scared."

"Of what?" Her eyes watch me carefully, perhaps wondering if I'll just bolt the hell out of here.

"Of freaking you out," I mutter, dropping my gaze to my feet. That's fucking embarrassing as hell to admit.

"How would you freak me out?" she asks, and now she sounds genuinely confused.

My eyes snap back up to her, and I scowl. "Come on, Jillian …  I have a stump for a leg. It's ugly. Just like my hand." To prove that point, I hold it up before her face, but she's seen it before. She doesn't even give it a glance when she puts her fingers around my wrist and lowers my arm.

"You don't give me enough credit," she whispers, and I can see the hurt in her eyes.

I try hard not to roll my eyes and succeed before I say, "Sure …  I know you can look past that and all, and that you're not worried about looks-"         

     



 

"Christopher," Jillian says with a sharp bite to her voice. "I don't look past that. I look right at it. I see your gorgeous face, I see your scars, and I'd like to see your leg. When I do, I will think it's beautiful because it's what makes you who you are. It's what helped to shape you into the person you are today-"

"An asshole," I blurt out.

"An individual who has been hurt, let down, abandoned, and betrayed. Suffered immense pain and now lives in a world of doubt. But you're also an adventurer and a risk taker. Underneath that gruff exterior, you're kind, thoughtful, and accommodating. Your eyes are angelic, your mouth devilish, and you are without a doubt the best kisser I've ever had the pleasure of trying. Assuming what's down below is in working order and wasn't injured, then I'm going to guess you're probably really damn good in bed even if you do only have one leg."

"Well, truth be told, I have like one and one-third of a leg," I tell her. As expected, she bursts out laughing. I grin at her, feeling a great deal of weight floating off my shoulders. My main concern has been addressed, and I feel better about the prospect of intimacy with this gorgeous creature. She's actually made me feel somewhat safe.

Jillian's eyes go soft, droop a bit more, and her voice is husky again. My entire body tightens when she says, "So …  my suggestion is we go lay on the bed and make out for a bit. Let's see where this goes."

"Let's just see where this goes?" I ask, making sure there's no pressure on either one of us for it to go anywhere we don't want it to. I mean, I know where I want it to go. I want a used condom to be in the bottom of the trash can by night's end, but at least I know she can stop if she wants. If I want to stop, I can too, not that I would.

Jillian merely answers me by turning and walking to the bed closest to the bathroom, which I'm guessing is hers. With her back to me, she reaches down to the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it over her head. Her hair disappears for a moment. When the shirt is pulled free, it falls in a glorious golden cascade over her smooth, tanned back.

I walk toward her, more hopeful than I've ever been in my entire life.





Chapter 24





The room is dark and I wake up disoriented, confused, and with a full bladder. Not confused about the full bladder, but I am slightly unsure about the soft, naked body pressed up against mine. Or rather, why I'm spooned around a warm, silky skinned, luscious, and clearly female body. Then it comes back to me all at once.

Beautiful images of what we did last night …

Made out forever.

Fondled.

Stripped clothing.

Traced skin.

Struggled out of a prosthetic.

Kissed scars.

Bold touches.

Tongue on tongue.

Awkward handling of a condom.

Making love.

Phenomenal.

Gasps.

Shuddering cries.

Feeling like my heart would explode.

Sleep.

With a glance at the bedside clock, I see it's just past one in the morning. I push my nose into Jillian's hair, listening to her deep, even breaths. The entire front of my body is plastered to her back. We're laying on our right sides, my legs split with my stump cocked back and away from her and my whole leg wrapped up in hers. I didn't do that intentionally; it's just the position I woke up in.

Perhaps it was a subconscious thing-to keep my deformed leg from her-but I don't think so. Jillian spent a great deal of time last night looking at my C-leg, watching how I took it off and asking questions about the liner. When it was bare to her, she ran her hands over my skin from my hipbone to the scar where the flaps of my skin were stapled together after the amputation. She did all of this while I laid on the bed in my boxer briefs, and I was so nervous about it I didn't think there was any way I'd be turned on. Yet, the minute her fingers touched my skin, I got a huge boner that was painfully obvious.

The fear I'd had that she would be turned off or grossed out completely evaporated when she leaned over and kissed me right in the center of what was left of my thigh.

She'd looked up at me. "You know what I hate most about this?" she asked with a hand stroking my stump.

I looked down my body, past my hard dick, and to her eyes, shaking my head.

"I hate to think of the pain you were in," she murmured. "I honestly hate it for you so much."

"It's over," I told her. I suppose, much like childbirth …  that my memories of it had dulled somewhat. I could still recall with brutal clarity my wanting to die and how those emotions felt, but the actual memories of the physical pain had definitely diminished.         

     



 

Her face told me she seriously doubted my claim, but I didn't want her feeling sad for me anymore. She'd seen the worst my body had to offer her, but there was more she hadn't seen. I gave a pointed look down to my erection and then back to her with a lazy smile. "There's more of me to touch if you're up for it. I know I am."

"Hah-hah," she teased with an eye roll, but then her hand was on the part of me that was clearly up for her touch, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

Thereafter, I had the most amazing sexual experience of my life. Based on the noises and cries Jillian made, I was pretty sure she felt the same. I imagine, in my case, it was because I hadn't had sex in so long and I'd been rejected for my shortcomings, so when Jillian made it clear that she liked and was attracted to every single inch of me, it gave me the freedom to open up and enjoy the experience without any self-doubts clouding over me.

Right now, I want to wake her up, push her on her back, and start all over again with her. I don't think my mouth had nearly enough time exploring her body, but the pressure on my bladder takes precedence. Carefully extracting myself from Jillian's body, I scoot to the edge of the bed and swing my legs over. Pushing up easily to my left leg, I brace my hand on the wall and take a few short hops to the bathroom. I never bother with my prosthetic for short trips like this. In fact, there was a time early on in my rehab that hopping was just so much easier than using a prosthetic that I considered just hopping around everywhere for the rest of my life.

Stupid as fuck, I know.

I do my business in the bathroom, wash my hands, and then quickly brush my teeth. When I head back into the bedroom, I'm surprised to see the bedside lamp on and Jillian sitting up in bed. She's got the sheet pulled up to her armpits, modestly covering her body, and her hands clasped over her belly.

"You okay?" she asks as I balance myself against the wall on one leg.

"Um, yeah," I say as I take the two most awkward hops in my entire life to the bed, because hopping while butt naked causes things to flop around. Jillian watches me with interest, completely unrepentant in doing so. And when I say she watches me, I mean the bouncing parts.