Crash Page 3

  I lean forward, sucking on his cock until I feel like I’ve gotten every drop of cum from him, then do an awkward tilt and roll down to a clattering sit. He kneels down next to me, then sits on the hard concrete. We both lean against my truck, spent and boneless.

  “Okay, well that was…”

  “Yeah…”

  “I’ve never had my knees go to jelly like that before.”

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  Ivan nods and then nuzzles his head into my shoulder and neck. “So damn good. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. Even before the accident.”

  I grab his discarded arm and hold it up to him, a question. He nods and I kiss him while sliding it back into place.

  “Wow, you do that better than when I do it with my eyes open.”

  I gesture to my multitude of prosthetics, all of which need to be adjusted, and grin. “Not my first rodeo.”

  ❖

  5

  Ivan

  We didn’t make it to the kitchen until several hours later, opting instead to head straight to the bedroom. Benning insisted on taking a shower and that I join him. Not that I was complaining. It was actually kind of nice to use a bathroom specifically built for someone with just one arm.

  All the fixtures were easy to use one-handed, and his shower was a roll-in, so all he had to do was hop into the wheel chair and take off his prosthetics. He showed me that if you set the brakes on the wheelchair, you can get pretty creative with what you do on it. At one point, I had my knees up on the padded armrests, stroking in and out of his mouth. Score one for amputee sex.

  Actually, score like three or four.

  At some point in the early morning, we finally ran out of fluids and energy and fell into bed with one another, his muscular arm holding me close.

  One of the things I’d always worried about after the accident was whether or not I’d be comfortable enough to be with another person without wearing my arm. Clearly, I needn’t have worried. I wake up a little after ten in the morning, and Benning is a sight. His long thick hair is in a halo around his head, and he’s face up, more or less spread eagle, his arm wrapped ballerina-like over his head.

  As I admire his sleeping form, he starts to make a soft whimpering noise. The whimpering becomes louder, and he starts to shout different names. The shouting becomes screaming, and based on the things he’s saying, he’s reliving the event that took his limbs.

  It’s horrifying.

  A few things are clear: he was conscious the whole time, he was terrified, and he felt everything. I try to wake him up, but he pushes me away, hard enough to roll me off the bed. I pick myself up off the floor and see that he’s awake, looking at me with horror.

  His hand goes to his mouth and immediately tears are in his eyes. “Ivan, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m okay, B. Can I give you a hug?”

  He collapses in on himself and nods. “I’d love a hug right now.”

  I slide in alongside him and feel safe as we hug each other. “Honestly, it’s kind of my fault. I tried to wake you up, and I’m not sure I should’ve done that.”

  “Nope, not your fault. But yes, it’s better to let me just make it through the dream, unless it looks like I’m going to hurt either of us. Honestly though, that’s the first time I’ve ever struck out in the middle of a night terror. I think your arm felt like a tree limb, oddly enough.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to go find that fucking tree and tear it down.”

  He smiles and tugs me in closer. “Awww, baby. It’s not the tree’s fault. But thank you for the sentiment.”

  I run my hand up his arm and let the backs of my fingers trail his jawline. “Do you frequently have nightmares?”

  He shrugs, his face still a little sadder than I’d like to see. “Depends. I get them when I’m stressed out.”

  I put my forehead on his chest and run my hand over his skin. “Am I stressing you out?”

  He squeezes me one more time, then pulls me away from his chest and peers into my eyes. “Not in a bad way, no. But sometimes my fucked-up brain can’t really tell the difference between bad stress and good stress. I forget sometimes.”

  That sucks.

  “You talked about how there are days when you don’t get enough sleep and have to use the wheelchair. Is this one of those days?”

  Benning shakes his head. “No, the recovery was actually pretty easy this time. Are you weirded out about this?”

  “Not particularly. I don’t have them anymore, but for the first couple of months I had nightmares about the helicopter going down. That seems to have calmed down. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  He shakes his head. “The dreams are pretty rare now, but I think my brain knows it’s a big deal you’re in my life. I’m not going to lie. This isn’t casual for me, regardless of how quickly it’s moving. That’s going to cause some flareups of my different PTSD triggers, but I’ve got a really good program for that and a great therapy group that’ll help me work through it.”

  I brush his hair out of his eyes, smile down at him, and plant a kiss on his lips. “Do we need to slow down?”

  God, I really don’t want to.

  He shakes his head and kisses me, slow and deep. “Never.”

  I scratch my chin and bump him playfully. “So, when you stop having nightmares, does that mean you’ve gotten used to me? That I’ve become boring and predictable?”

  He rolls me to my back and places his heavy hand on my chest. “Not in the slightest. It means that you make me feel safe.”

  The idea that I could make a man so much older than me feel safe seems far-fetched, and yet, when I look into his sincere eyes, I see the truth and it makes my heart pound.

  “What’re you thinking over there?” he whispers into my ear, tapping my head.

  “Just that I like this, and I like you, and I don’t feel like I have to be coy or play games. A therapist once told me the gift of a traumatic injury is that it makes it easier to figure out what’s important and what isn’t.”

  Benning nods and leans forward, cupping my face and kissing me breathless. “Game playing becomes irrelevant when you find yourself missing body parts and bleeding out on the ground.”

  “Almost like it’s disrespectful to play games if you almost died.”

  We smile and lock eyes for several minutes, drinking each other in. For whatever reason—maybe it's just the shared trauma, maybe it’s chemistry—we fit. We fit in every way. We kiss lightly at first, then deeper, letting the emotions swamp us.

  After several minutes, Benning kisses my eyelashes as he whispers, “Do you want to fuck me?”

  I look at all his muscles and make a promise to map every single one of them with my tongue.

  “Yes. More than you could ever know.”

  He smiles a brilliant, easy smile. “Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  I look between him and the bed and the chair. “Where do you want to be?”

  Benning strokes his chin and pretends to think long and hard about it. “On my back is easiest for me, but if you’re uncomfortable putting your weight on your arm, let me know.”

  He says this as I click my prosthetic into place. “No problem at all.”

  I crawl over him, and we continue kissing for several more minutes.

  “Where are your condoms?” I ask.

  He smiles and reaches under his pillow, pulling out a couple of condoms along with a small bottle of lube. I laugh and pluck one of the condoms from his fingertips and suit up, then reach between his legs and gently prep him. His pleasurable moans turn me on and give me a bit of confidence.

  I line up with him, slowly working my way in as a lazy smile spreads across his face. “I thought you said you weren’t very good at this.”

  I laugh and my breath catches once again at how strong and built he is. “Give me a moment. I’m sure I’ll fuck it up somehow.”

  He laughs and pulls me down for a kiss as I roll my hip
s, sliding farther and farther into him.

  “You look so happy, B. What’s going on in those eyes of yours?”

  He squinches his eyes closed and shakes his head, still grinning from ear to ear.

  I lean on my robo-arm and tickle his ribs. “Tell me.”

  “No, it’ll terrify you.”

  I roll my eyes. “I survived a helicopter crash. I think I’m good.”

  He shakes his head and continues our kiss, pulling me in more closely, as deep as I can go. I respond by picking up the pace, nailing that bundle of nerves, and he’s practically half-off the bed.

  I nip and pull at his nipples. “Answer the question, Benning.”

  “Fuck, that feels amazing.”

  “Stop stalling,” I say, flicking a nipple hard, which only serves to make him thrust up harder.

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he bites out, already trying to stave off his orgasm.

  Panting through the words, he says, “I wasn’t just attracted to you when I first saw you.”

  “No?” I grunt, feeling everything begin to tighten as the pleasure overwhelms me.

  “Are you sure you wanna hear what I thought when I first met you?”

  “Benning!”

  He smiles up at me, gorgeous in the sunlight filtering through the curtains as he jacks off, veins flashing and words distorting as he starts to go over. “I was pretty sure Elijah was about to introduce me to my future husband.”

  I shudder at his words, coming so hard I see spots.

  “Fine, but I’m not wearing white to our wedding.”

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  Benning

  The cool part about having so many prosthetics and so many attachments for said prosthetics is that you can experiment with all kinds of combinations. For instance, the C-clamp works really well in most bondage situations.

  Which is where I find myself now.

  This is not a complaint.

  I am, however, surprised with how my husband has chosen to use his power.

  My arms are clamped to the slatted headboard—a requirement for our Las Vegas Hotel room—and I’m face up. But, instead of nipple clamps, a ball gag, or lace panties, my husband is sliding down on my cock.

  I worry about preparation, but he points to the butt plug he just removed, then begins to ride me like a pro rodeo cowboy.

  “Someone’s been watching porn again.”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  “Absolutely not. Carry on.”

  We’d moved in together almost immediately, just a few weeks after helping Jake and Jean-Pierre with a violent customer at the gym. That incident—which was triggering and led to two weeks of night terrors—brought us closer together, and we spent the better part of the year getting to know each other, that is, after declaring on the first date that we would marry one another.

  We clasp hands, both of us looking at the tattooed rings we got from Everett right before getting on the plane to Vegas. The jokes about the two of us having a complementary set of limbs are still pretty funny, but only because Ivan and I know that it isn’t about our bodies. It’s about what we learned from what we lost.

  And in so doing, we gained each other.

  ❖

  Ivan

  Never once in our year together has Benning ever pushed me to bottom, and the reason is pretty straightforward. He’s a guy who sees only possibilities. He never focused on the fact that he lost limbs. Instead, he focused on what he could do with his prosthetics after he had them fitted.

  It’s a perspective not even my closest friends could have given me. Speaking of my friends… some interesting things are afoot in University Hills. Just sayin’.

  Anyway, back to Benning. The biggest thing I learned from him is that it’s only when you lose everything that you realize how much you actually have.

  I spent my first six months as an amputee going through the necessary grief process, and I don’t judge that at all. But the number of times I’d wished for a better outcome was a lot. As soon as Benning came into my life, I started seeing possibilities everywhere. Now I look at my three fully functioning limbs as a gift and a blessing.

  That doesn’t mean things are easy. Hell no. Lots of things are hard. Lots of things are a complete and utter drag. When his night terrors get bad and he rolls out of the house instead of walking out of it…god, it makes my heart hurt. But seeing him put himself together and pull himself back up, hopefully more quickly with me in his life, is a privilege, and it makes me so damned proud of him every time.

  And yes, when I fumble with buttoning my shirt or cooking a meal or supporting my weight in a sexual position that should be easy, I get good and mad. But I get over it, because I have someone on the other side of it helping me.

  So yeah, I’m riding my man for all he’s worth. Roly, my buddy from the gym, gave me a couple of pointers, and I’ve been preparing for this for the last couple of weeks. And let me tell you…it’s fucking awesome.

  Even though Benning is all trussed up, he can’t stay passive. Once he sees that I have a good rhythm going, he begins to roll his powerful hips, making my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  “Benning, baby, I’m not going to last if you keep on…”

  “Me neither, sweetheart. Let go, Ivan. Just go with it,” he says as he pushes up into me, making my brain short out, just as he has since the beginning. My entire body contracts and releases, and we both laugh when my cum hits his chin.

  “Oh, fuck baby, like that, like that,” he grunts, filling me up while milking me for everything I have.

  Later that night, after I release Benning from his confinements and we clean each other in the hotel’s massive roll-in shower, we stand at the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the Strip. He wraps his strong, beautiful arm around me, and I melt into him, feeling safe and loved.

  “You know, my mom is going to kill us for eloping and not giving her a big, traditional wedding.”

  He kisses the sensitive bit of skin just behind my ear, hoping to rev me up for another round. “Yeah, but when she finds out our surrogate is twelve weeks pregnant, she’ll forgive us.”

  He’s not wrong.

  I turn in his arms and we kiss softly. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t go into the gym that day. I would’ve missed you and then we wouldn’t have all of this.”

  Benning shakes his head and lays soft kisses on my forehead, cheeks, nose, and, finally, mouth.

  “You were always mine, and finding you was only ever a matter of time. I love you.”

  “I love you too, B.”

  ———

  * * *

  Thank you for reading Crashed, a Wrecked novella! Want to get even more Wrecked? Subscribe to my newsletter at www.authorkellyfox.com for shorts and information on upcoming books!

  If you’d like to read about Ivan and Benning’s heroics, pick up Surrender, Wrecked Book Two.

  Acknowledgments

  Susie – Thank you for editing this short story for me!

  Abbie – Thank you for proofing!

  AJ Bixler – Thank you for your beta read!!

  About the Author

  Hi there! I write contemporary gay romance, which is to say that I curse way too much, drink exactly the right amount of red wine, and sleep far too little. I’m also lucky enough to live in Central Texas with my wife and three dogs (and usually a foster dog or two), where the astonishing diversity of humans and landscapes and tattoo shops serve as my muse.

  * * *

  If you enjoy what you’ve read, reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, along with word-of-mouth (er, Facebook) are so appreciated, and are lovely ways to get this book and series noticed.

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  For the latest info on new releases and access to free short stories, sign up for my newsletter here: https://www.authorkellyfox.com

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  Also by Kelly Fox

  Sanctuary, Wrecked Book One

  (Nick and Elijah)

  What's the first rule of running a gym by and for combat vets? Enjoy the scorching hot scenery, but get your kicks somewhere else.

  Never mind that my cousin-slash-business partner ignores that rule every chance he gets. I don't ignore it. Ever. And frankly, between Grindr and living in one of the gayest cities in America, it's not exactly a hardship. Hell, it's so easy, I can do it on one leg.

  That is, until a pair of blue eyes swimming with vulnerability shows up at my door, looking for a job. He's too skinny, too mouthy, and way too young for the likes of me, but he pings that protector instinct in me, hard.

  I want to fix whatever put that lost look in his eyes, but to manage that, I'd have to do the one thing I said I'd never do. Break my own rules.

  * * *

  Sanctuary is an post-military MM romance featuring hurt-comfort, found family, and a gym full of ripped men wearing tight shorts lifting heavy objects.

  Surrender, Wrecked Book Two

  (Jake and Jean-Pierre)

  I’ve got a feeling we’re all going to need a little therapy after this.

  He survived the Rwandan genocide to become an NBA legend.

  I survived a few hours of truly amateur torture to become the guy who falls apart when someone drops a tray of dishes.

  We both volunteer at my brother-in-law’s gym for combat vets, and we’ve been circling each other for a year now.