“You tell me I’m fine when we both know I’m not, yet you have to be perfect at all times? Even if you had your two original limbs, you would trip and fall because you’re human. I trip and fall. I drop things. It doesn’t make me less of a woman. And, if you do think that flaws make you less than normal and not worth loving, then what am I?”

She dumps the towels at my feet and drops to her hands and knees to clean up the mess I made. Poleaxed by her comments, I don’t try to stop her. I’d thought I’d made the big sacrifice by taking my prosthetics off in front of her, but I hadn’t fully let my guard down. She wore her flaws on the outside, like me, but she’d accepted them and allowed herself to be loved.

So I owed her the same or I didn’t deserve her. She’s allowed me to see her at her most vulnerable and to help her. I can’t turn her away now. I limp over to the bed and unfasten my jeans, pushing them down until the top of the compression sleeve shows.

“Will you help me?” I gesture toward my leg.

Her eyes widen and she nods. Halfway across the room, she turns back to look at the spill. “What about the mess?”

“Leave it for tomorrow. Someone will clean it up. Right now, I need you.” I needed to hold her in my arms and reassure myself I haven’t fucked it up too badly.

She kneels between my legs, looking like both a supplicant and aggressor. “What do I do?”

“There’s a valve behind my knee. Turn it to the left. You’ll hear the air displace and then the compression sleeve will loosen. Pull the sleeve down.”

She does as I instruct, her hands all over my prosthetic. But she doesn’t look revolted or, worse, turned on. The fetishists, the ones who get aroused by the amputations, the stumps, the devices, are worse than the ones who pity me. But there’s none of that in Natalie’s face. She’s full of intense concentration as she twists and then sits back to wait for the vacuum seal to evaporate.

“This is really cool. I’m going to incorporate some of this in my next story.”

She might be turned on a little, I guess, but just by the technology and the marvel of it all. Truth be told, it is cool and I’m glad that fascination is her response rather than revulsion. She pulls on the sleeve, her warm fingers a welcome touch. The sleeve goes nowhere.

“More force,” I say wryly.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.

She reapplies herself to the task and as she pulls, her little tongue appears between her teeth. My body responds in predictable fashion.

“Does this feel good?” she asks in surprise. My newly formed hard-on is hard to miss.

“Nope, this is just the result of being near you.”

This generates a smirk. She gives a hard jerk and the compression stocking gives way. When her hands pull down the inner lining and her knuckles brush against the tender skin, I shiver.

“Did that hurt?” She tosses the liner behind her and pulls my jeans all the way off and out of the way.

“No.” It’s my turn to laugh slightly. “It’s sensitive.”

“In a bad way or a good one?”

“Don’t know.”

She runs her hands down what’s left of my calf and I flinch at the sensitivity.

“Too much?”

“A little,” I admit. “I haven’t had anyone but a medical professional touch me. It’s not a very erotically charged situation.”

She rubs her hand on my knee. “Maybe another time.”

I don’t say no. The sensation was strong and maybe if I had time to steel myself to it, it might end up being very arousing.

I hold out my arm and she stands between my legs and helps me off with the arm. She picks up both devices and takes them over to the chair. I watch her with bemused affection.

I could get used to this. It was a lot easier with her help than doing it by myself.

“You up for a shower?” I ask.

“Tonight?” she says, turning around and climbing on top of me. I steady her with my forearm and squeeze her plump ass with my right hand.

“The hot water can make it harder to get into the prosthetic in the morning.”

She nods eagerly and we go into the bathroom. The shower has a wide marble bench for when I want to lie down during a steam. I place a couple of heavy towels on it and turn on the steam to warm up the enclosure.

Sitting down, I pat my lap.

She crawls on top of me. The rain head sprinkles hot water down on us and we make the sweetest, most tender love of my life.

I didn’t know it could feel like this. I’ve come hard for her and wanted her more than anything, but this?

There’s no describing it. There’s her slick flesh rubbing against mine. Her bouncy tits squish against my chest as she rides me. I grip an ass cheek and hold her hip steady with my forearm.

The water sluices over us, a stream that we drink in as we kiss each other in deep open-mouthed caresses. She rocks against me and I swell inside her, getting harder and bigger with every thrust. We make love for an endless amount of time, until our skin is wrinkled and we are dizzy with pleasure.

With love.

“I love you,” I whisper into her mouth.

Her breath catches and then releases on a half sigh, half sob. “I love you too, Jake. So much.”

And then the words as much as anything drive us over the cliff.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

NATALIE

Dr. Isaiah Crist is one of the most imposing men I’ve ever met. I fight not to cower under his dark stare. He doesn’t intend to be intimidating, but he’s got a command, a presence. Jake has something similar, but he wears it more casually—only occasionally trotting it out in the bedroom, to my eternal dirty-girl delight.

Crist’s demeanor is familiar in the way he holds himself, slightly erect, slightly alert. It doesn’t remind me of Dr. Terrance, though. I agreed to meet him at Jake’s request. After all, Jake met with him, and frankly, I’m at the point where I’m willing to do most anything to be better. I do believe that Jake accepts me as is. The other night when he allowed me to help him off with the prosthetic, I felt like the tectonic plates had shifted and I was right where I needed to be.

But it isn’t enough. I want to be able to go out with Jake, meet his friends, make new friends. I want to eat at a new restaurant and see a Broadway show.

So I said yes to Dr. Crist. I’d say yes to anything at this point.

As he greets me, I try hard to concentrate on the fact that I’m safe, that no one is going to hurt me, that no one would even be allowed into this house without Jake’s say-so. I can’t hide from the good doctor, and when he hands me a white paper bag, I take it gratefully.

Shoving it up to my mouth, I take one gulp and then two.

“Easy now,” he says and I concentrate on slowing down and taking more measured breaths. He settles into the sofa across from me and sets his overcoat to the side. “I thought it might rain today,” he says, tilting his head toward the coat. “I’m not a fan of umbrellas.”

When I’m in control enough to set the bag aside, I share, “I saw this invention for a hover umbrella. It displaces water through air, so it’s like holding a big hair dryer over your head, pointing to the sky.”

He stares. “I think I’d rather get wet.”

“You probably would if you used it on a windy day.” When I go to fold the bag I notice it bears the words Dr. Isaiah Crist’s Breathing Bags. “You have personalized barf bags?” I gawk.