She had no idea what to do next. The room seemed to be getting warmer.
“You want to use them?” Sounding like a man talking through a glass of water, Wulf pulled at his collar. “On me?”
He looked willing, not shocked, so she managed to bob her head. But she wasn’t sure she meant it. The toys were only supposed to be a joke.
“Goood night su-weet prince, there’s nothing rotten in Denmark.” With dumbfounding speed, he shucked his shoes, socks and everything else until, in what felt like less time than it took her to blink, he was naked and reclining. One of his muscular thighs was flat on the bed, the other knee was raised and both hands rested under his head. “Flights of angels may sing me to my rest, but they’ll have to wait.”
Staring at the sprinkling of chest hair that arrowed to his growing cock, she watched that part move, quite literally jump in size, against his thigh, while she held her breath.
“Doc, this is Wulf. Wulf calling Doc. Over.” He wiggled his fingers by the headboard.
“You got naked so fast!” In theory she had the advantage over him, with her responses covered by clothing and his fully visible, but she knew her control was illusive. If he chose, her warrior could take charge in a second. That certainty made her chest rise and fall faster.
“In the future, around you I intend to wear nothing but pelts. And handcuffs.”
His complete comfort exposing his arousal sent her reeling for the safety and predictability of details as she fastened the fabric tabs of the fur-lined cuffs around his wrists. “Technically, these are called restraints, not handcuffs.”
“Technically, these are called Santa’s-making-up-for-my-crappy-Christmas. And now I also believe in the Easter Bunny, since he’s in the other box.”
She couldn’t speak while she tied the attached cords in bowline knots to the headboard posts and tugged. She knew she was a babbler, especially when nervous, but the outlines of his triceps where his arms extended on either side of his head had robbed her of words. His body was chiseled, hard, perfect. He hadn’t changed since they’d explored each other in the light in Italy, and he never would. Only she had changed.
“I want to see you too.” His voice sounded clogged and thick, as if he struggled to speak.
That wasn’t possible. Shrapnel had left dots on the skin of her thigh and hip, like pepper on a roast chicken. She couldn’t show him, not when he would remember as clearly as she did the way she’d looked before, so instead she traced a path from the edge of the cuff, down his forearm and along the meaty part of his upper arm to his collarbone. Her fingers spread to cover as much of his heated skin as they could. She’d love to watch him like this all night.
“Kiss me.” His demand made her raise her eyebrows. Even tied to a bed, he wanted to stay in charge.
When he licked his lips and swallowed, the interplay of the tiny muscles focused her gaze. “Be patient.” Her hand caressed his chest, then circled and flicked his nipple.
“No.” His stare locked with hers as if trying to bend her will. “Kiss me.”
“Stop ordering me around.” She pinched his nipple a little harder than she meant to, but since he inhaled and closed his eyes as if he liked it, she rolled the light brown nub between her fingers and pulled. This time he moaned.
Under her clothes, her own nipples quickened as her chest rose faster and higher. She wanted to rub every part of herself, most especially her aching breasts, against him while she watched his responses, but to see his body, she needed light, and light wasn’t her friend.
Unless... “Wait.” She scrambled from the bed and found a hand towel in the bathroom without pausing to wonder whether he’d agree to being both tied and blindfolded.
“What are you—oh.” He saw the towel. “Only if you take all your clothes off.”
His commanding tone restored her nerve, which was undoubtedly what the tricky man had intended. “You’re tied up. Not the best negotiating position, is it?” Admittedly, the headboard might fall apart if he applied his full strength, but she wanted to pretend as she wrapped the folded cloth around his forehead.
“I have no doubts about how excellent my position is, believe me.” He gripped the ties above where the restraints circled his wrists and flexed. The move highlighted every upper-body muscle in perfect, Michelangelo-sculpted display. “But now I can’t see, and the internet says that men need visuals, so you should describe everything you do. Out loud. If you want me to, you know, be fully happy.”
She glanced the length of his body. “You don’t seem to need help with fully happy.”
“Please?” His request was what she wanted.
“That will get you somewhere.” She dropped her cardigan, then the stretchy shirt she wore underneath. Her mouth had become so dry she had to swallow before speaking. “I took off my sweater.” Simple actions she could handle describing made a good start. “And my bra.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she told him about removing her shoes—she wore two, so both legs were the same height and she looked normal to other people—and socks—also two. Then it was time to lift her pants leg and press the release pin on her prosthetic, but she froze.
“Theresa?” He waited. “I hear you breathing and rustling so I know you’re there.”
She cringed and held her breath.
“I’m guessing you’re doing something that embarrasses you, like taking off your leg.”
Either he could read her mind or she hadn’t tied his blindfold well enough.
“We had a deal,” he reminded her softly. “You’d talk if I wore the blindfold.”
“Not about this.” As she removed it, the C-Leg felt heavier than usual. She propped it next to the bedside table.
“Why not?” He sounded gentle, not challenging or teasing as he had been earlier.
“Because.” While she peeled the gel liner down her stump, the words churning in her chest sorted themselves into a burst of explanation that became more than she’d meant to share. “It’s ugly, it’s so ugly, and no one talks about it and nobody wants a woman who looks like this.”
“My key body parts beg to differ. Your leg isn’t ugly to me.”
“That’s not possible.” Not unless he had a freak fetish. There were plenty of those on the internet, but no normal guy could want to see this pink knob where she ought to have had the long, smooth line of a well-toned calf. “You haven’t seen what’s left.”
“Look at me. What do you see?” When he raised his hips from the bed, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the proof straining up his abdomen, proof that he wanted her as much as he had when she was whole. “I could be crude and say that spending a day watching your tits jiggle drove your leg so far out of my mind, you could have six or none, I have no idea. All I want is to bone you. Right now. Or should I remind you that I’ll act like an idiot to hear you laugh, so why would your leg change how I feel about you?”
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she conceded. His evidence was still getting longer and thicker. A man who’d allow himself to be tied and blindfolded deserved her courage in return, so she continued undressing. The grind of metal zipper teeth and the shoosh of fabric against the bedcovers filled the room. “I took off my pants.”
He turned his head toward her, and fleetingly she wondered again whether he could see under the towel, but then he asked, “Are you still wearing anything?”
“Panties.” His responses made it easy to say.
He groaned. “What color?” Desire lowered his voice.
To hear, she had to lean closer and brace a hand on the mattress next to him. Her hip bumped his scorching, naked skin, and she fought the urge to press her breasts against him.