Page 14 of Missed Steps

Mark’s eyes soften. “Here,” he offers me the pack of Advil from yesterday and a bottle of water. “Better to be prepared. I noticed you wincing at lunch. Where was it bothering you?” Mark rubs my thigh as he asks.

“Mainly where my leg sits into the prosthetic,” I answer. I take the tablets and Mark sets the bottle on the coffee table. He brandishes the scarf next.

“If it gets overwhelming, tell me,” Mark instructs me. “I’ll cover your leg with the throw blanket and you can take off the blindfold without having to see anything you don’t want to.”

I nod.

“You understand?”

I nod again.

“Out loud, Kyle.”

I stare right at him anddon’tanswer out loud. Mark’s eyes glitter, but he doesn’t keep insisting. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. I do, and then Mark ties the scarf around my head. He tugs the knot at the back until it’s firm and then feels around to make sure it’s lying flat. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s tight enough to stay in place, but not enough to restrict.

“Good.”

I lean back on the couch as Mark folds up my jeans. They’re a faux-jean fabric that has more give in them than real jeans, so Mark can fold the material up past my knee. He hesitates there, then slowly peels back the liner securing the prosthetic to my knee. Once that is out of the way, he grasps the prosthetic firmly, applying gentle pressure until the suction releases. I shudder in relief when the prosthetic comes free and the pressure is released from my stump.

Mark freezes. “Sore?”

“No, no. It’s the pressure,” I tell him.

Mark folds up the jeans on my other leg and slips his fingers into the heel of my sneakers. He tugs the shoe off and I hear it being set down behind him somewhere. His body moves closer to mine, and then his fingers are tugging at the button of my jeans.

“Whoa.” I jolt, grabbing his hands. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your trousers,” Mark answers.

“Why?”

“They’re in the way, Kyle,” he says patiently. He waits a moment, then his fingers move underneath mine, undoing the button, tugging down the zip. Which underwear did I put on this morning? God knows, I changed in the dark.

“Can you lift up for me?”

I’m way too stimulated, but I do as he asks by setting my hands on the soft cushions either side of my thighs and raising my hips. Mark is very slow to move. I hear a heavy breath before he tugs my jeans down and gets them to my thighs. “Okay, lower down.”

I do so, steaming.

“Now this feels kinky,” I complain. Except my voice is low, and it’s not a complaining tone that comes out.

Mark grunts. “Yeah. That was sexy.”

I’m overheating. “Youtoldme to!”

“Yes, I did. Now lie on your back.”

“Mark!”

His hands are on my shoulders then, guiding me down so firmly I’m flat on the couch before I can bluster a defence.

“Work with me here,” Mark requests.

I’m squirming, and he’s keeping me in place with a single hand on my abdomen. “If you want me to work with you, don’t manhandle me,” I say, wryly. I stop squirming, wishing desperately I could see Mark’s face. I know he’s looking at me.

“I’m setting your leg on my lap,” Mark informs me. He’s keeping one hand on my stomach so I can’t move. My good leg is at his back, and he’s sitting on the couch in front of it, positioned so that the curve of my knee hooks comfortably over his thigh. I settle down as he carefully takes the protective sleeves off my leg, one at a time. I focus on that and not on how much my dick liked the sexy remark.