Page 41 of Fear No Hell

“Show me how you make yourself come, my sweet pet. Wrap your hand around your cock, and work it the way you do every time you tongue fuck me. The way I heard you fuck yourself all those days up in your room.”

“Sweetness—”

“Do it, pet.”

I swipe some of her wetness from my face with my right hand before dropping it to fist my cock. Her cum is so gloriously slick that my palm moves smoothly along my shaft in easy strokes.

“Such a dirty boy, using me to lube yourself up.” Her fingers trail up and down my sides, the gentle touches sending wracking shivers through me.

As I pump myself more roughly, so desperate to come I can barely see, my cock pulses in my hand, so hard it has its own heartbeat. My spine is tightening, my grip going tight, as I feel myself getting closer and closer to the point of no return.

It feels like I’m about to explode when everything just… stops. The world around us. My heartbeat. The orgasm about to hit me like a fucking train. The only things moving are me and Lila, ensconced in our little world.

I need more.

“Lila—” I whine, kicking my hips forward.

“Aww, sweet boy, do you need something else?”

My lip juts into a pathetic pout as I nod.

“Do you need me to touch you?”

I nod again.

“What do you say if you want me to touch you, pet?”

“Please. God, please, sweetness, please touch me, I need—”

Her hand wraps around mine before I can finish my sentence. All it takes is one long, hard stroke with our joined grip, and I’m exploding all over her chest, broken shouts falling out of me as I paint her in thick, white streaks. My eyes clench shut, my head falls back—

“You better keep those eyes on me when you’re coming, pet.”

Her words unlock something in me that has me roaring with pleasure, my cock kicking in my hand and spurting across her chest another time. I grit my teeth and drag my head back to center, my eyes squinted open, locked onto where her chest is covered with my cum. Marked by me.

Mine for-fucking-ever if she’ll have me.

I finally slump, completely unable to hold my body up for one more second. At the last second, I slope to the side so I won’t crush her under my weight and face plant into the pillow.

“Fuck’s sake,” I groan into her hair. “I’m dead. You killed me. This message is coming to you from the afterlife.”

She giggles as her fingers rove across her chest, collecting cum on the tips before she lifts them to her lips to lap hungrily at them. With each lick, she closes her eyes and gives a satisfied hum I’ve only ever heard at restaurants.

There’s a lot of cum on her, though.

“Let me go grab a towel and clean you up.” I’m still flat on my back, barely able to move, completely naked except for my prosthesis. I let out a deep sigh and start to shift my weight upward, but Lila’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder and pushes me back down to the mattress.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“But—”

“No buts. Let me take care of you.” After a firm kiss, she hops out of bed and strolls across the room, her hips swaying with each step.

She vanishes into the bathroom, and I’m left dozing, my thoughts sludge-like and barely formed as they float through my head.

“My darling.” Lila’s voice comes from somewhere near me.

“Hmm,” I mumble back at her as I force my eyes open, only to find a clean Lila standing at the end of the bed holding a damp microfiber towel.

The caveman living in my midbrain screams in irritation that she’s not wearing my mark anymore.

My boneless body is unable to do much more than pout, a fact she notes with a giggle. “When did you get back here?”

She shoots me a happy smile as she kneels next to my right leg. “Sometime between when you were trying to convince me to let you clean me off and after you fell asleep.”

“Hmm.” My limbs turn to goo, and my eyelids are sliding shut again when I feel her fingers skim over the skin above my liner. “What’s up, sweetness?”

“You shouldn’t sleep in your prosthesis.”

She’s right. My eyes pop open, and I blink at her in surprise. “That’s not exactly something the general public knows. Most of the non-amputee world thinks it’s perfectly fine to sleep in a prosthesis.”

She lifts and lowers one shoulder in response.

“How did you know I shouldn’t sleep in my prosthesis?”

“I was around when they were invented, Sam. I imagine I picked something up.”

I stay quiet.

She huffs at me; I stare at her.

“Fine, I looked up how to help a significant other with amputation care for their leg. I wanted to make sure I could help if you ever needed me to.”

I’m never leaving this woman. Not if I can help it.

I’ve spent years being told by society that relationships will look different for me.

That significant others will pity me for the lost limb and will eventually grow disillusioned with having a disabled partner and move on to someone who’s "whole.

" All of it was harmful, ableist, and complete bullshit, but the inference that for some reason I’m not whole because I lost part of my leg when I was a kid was the most hurtful.

And now, the woman of my dreams is kneeling next to me ready to help care for me with no judgment or resentment to be found. My heart aches in my chest at the gesture as I push myself up and kiss her with all of the emotion I can’t bring myself to give a name to quite yet.

“Thank you, sweetness,” I say when I pull back, my hand outstretched to take the microfiber cloth from her. “I’ll take care of it.”

“My darling.” She places her hand on my shoulder and presses me back to the bed. “You were half asleep when I got back. Let me take care of it.”

The blood freezes in my veins. “No, it’s really—”

“Sam—”

“Lila, I can—”

“I know you can, but you’re exhausted and, as you may recall, recently came so hard you blacked out.” She traces her fingers over my hip. “Let me help, my darling.”

I clench my jaw so tight I would be concerned about breaking a tooth if I weren’t already so concerned with Lila seeing me as weak. Broken. Less than whole.

“What about this is causing you to panic?” she asks.

“I-I-I—” My therapist’s voice floats through my head, reminding me that open communication is crucial when healing from a life-altering injury.

That one piece of feedback managed to stick with me, even though I haven’t had an appointment with her in years.

Inhaling deeply, I open my mouth and listen in horror as I blurt out every word in my brain with zero filtering from point A to point B.

When I finally stop talking with only a vague memory of the phrases, “burden,” “judgment,” “broken,” and “whole,” my face is on fire. Because I’m a pale idiot, my blushes usually make me look like an angry tomato. I’m imagining that’s the case right now.

Lila’s expression is unforgettable. No pity. No judgment. Just something that looks a lot like understanding mixed with love.

“You have never once been nor will you ever be a burden to me, my darling.” I open my mouth to respond; she shakes her head emphatically to cut me off.

“Don’t argue with me please. You are the most selfless man I’ve ever met.

You took me in. You gave me a home. You let me torture Arthur in your basement.

You spoil me. There is no world in which I will ever think you’re a burden or less than whole.

I offered to get you ready for bed because I care about you and want to make sure you get sleep without having to deal with the ramifications of leaving on your prosthesis when you wake up.

Not because I don’t think you can do it or because I pity you. ”

I stare at her in astonishment.

“So if you don’t feel comfortable with me doing this because I’ve never taken off a prosthetic before, that’s okay. But if you’re not letting me help because you’re worried I’ll see you differently…” She trails off.

And I… well, I’m pretty sure I’m crying, the tears warm on my cheeks until she swipes them away with the tip of her finger.

I love her.

I'm certain of it. It’s too early to tell her, but I know it with my whole heart. I fucking love this woman. So I go against every internalized doubt about letting her see what it takes to care for my amputated leg and nod my agreement.

“If I’m doing anything wrong, please let me know.” Her capable fingers trail to the top of my liner. “You’ll tell me if I do something wrong, right?”

“Yeah, sweetness. I’ll tell you."

She rolls my sleeve down to an inch above the top of my prosthesis then reflects it down once, folding it on top of itself, so the metal trim is visible.

With the suction gone, she lifts my limb away and sets it on the floor next to the bed.

Carefully, she rolls my sock off followed by a slow removal of the liner, taking it down with tiny shifts of her fingertips until it pulls easily away from my leg.

Without flipping them inside out like most people would, she sets both on the nightstand before taking the damp cloth and gently cleaning away the remains of the day.

Once she’s done, she drops the cloth off the side of the bed.

Each touch is caring. Each one heals something inside me that I didn’t know needed mending.

I’m left tearstained and bewildered. “How did you know—”

“Do you need to put on your shrinker?”

“What?”

“Is that not what the thing you wear to reduce swelling while you’re sleeping is called?” She thins her lips into a frustrated line. “I knew the video was lying. The medical field wouldn’t name it something that silly.”

“No, the medical field definitely went silly on that one. Th-that’s exactly what it’s called, but how did you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “I told you. A video on the interwebs.”

I snicker at her use of 'interwebs' instead of 'internet.' “Yeah, but I can put that on. It’s easy enough, and I promise it won’t wake me up anymore than I already am. There should be an extra one in the top drawer right there.”

She pulls it out and hands it to me. It only takes a couple of seconds to roll the flesh-colored tube over my leg and drop back to the pillow.

“Will you stay with me today?” she asks as she lies down next to me and nuzzles into my chest. “I want you here with me while I sleep.”

“Of course I will.” My eyelids are already sliding shut when I murmur, “I’m so glad I get to have you in my arms.”

The last thing I feel before I fall asleep is a soft kiss pressed to my bare chest.