Page 45 of Missed Steps

I swallow down my awkwardness and nod. “I’ll go take it off.”

Mark makes an unhappy noise in his throat.

I glance and find his eyes boring into mine. “It’s not bruised anymore, Mark. You don’t need to check it.”

“I’ll do it,” Mark says.

I squirm, because having to deal with the prosthetic—though I am definitely getting better about it—still makes me extremely uncomfortable. “This better not be because you have some weird disability kink.”

Mark’s eyes widen. “I donot!”

“You sound very defensive.”

Rather than defensive, he actually sounds offended. “Kyle!”

I shrug. “I’m just checking.” I don’t enjoy looking at my stump, so I can’t picture Mark feeling anything other thanughwhen seeing my residual limb.

“You’ve made it clear you don’t enjoy handling your prosthetic or taking it on and off. I’d prefer doing it rather than you doing it and being uncomfortable,” Mark answers. He’s staring at me, like he’s trying to read my expression. “Does it bother you if I do it?”

I think back to the times he’s taken it off. It hasn’t bothered me. “So long as you’re not getting off on it.”

Mark hesitates.

“You are!”

“There have been times when we bothhave gotten turned on, haven’t there? A certain strip tease comes to mind…”

I flounder.

Mark places his hands on my shoulders. “Point is, I’m not a sexual degenerate. Right?”

My agreement is begrudging; memories of my behaviour that day swarm my mind, and I struggle with the knowledge that Mark is alsothinking about it.

“Right,” I grumble.

“Okay. Let’s get you blindfolded.”

“Mark!”

Mark chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on.” He slips his hand to mine and tugs me toward the couch. The grin he casts over his shoulder as I follow is downright devious.

Chapter Fifteen

I’m on my back blindfolded. Fear of Chris walking into the living room in the middle of this prompted me to lead Mark to my bed instead. Chris already saw us making out in the hallway. If he saw me blindfolded, I’m not sure I’d be able to convince him we weren’tdoing something kinky.

“This is perfect,” Mark says as he folds up my trousers. “I can give you the massage now.”

“Only if you want me to fall asleep,” I warn. If it’s anything like the one from before, Mark’s expert hands will have me knocked out in moments.

Mark hums. He peels back the sleeve and applies pressure against the prosthetic until the suction releases my stump and the device comes free. He peels off the lining and rubs feeling back into my leg, his fingers working their way into my thigh muscles. The bed dips down as he moves onto it, and I feel his weight near the knee on my good leg. He hooks my left knee over his thigh, giving himself a better angle to reach all of my thigh.

I relish the feeling of his large hands working through my muscle groups, and sigh in delight as I relax against him. Unconsciously, my right leg draws up and presses against his body.

“Feel good?” I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Really good,” I sigh.

I’m putty when his fingers tease high in my thighs, and I groan as he massages my behind. “Mark.” I grab his wrists.