Page 46 of Embattled Return

And he hadn’t even fucking been inside her. His head dropped back to the couch cushion as the aftershocks rippled through him.

* * *

Marigold was verycareful of the skin on Logan’s penis. As delicate as it was on a normal man, it seemed even more delicate on him, even with the addition of the scars. And they seemed to impede his pleasure, a little. She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together, feeling his release and wondering if he had the energy to join her in the bed.

Maybe this had been enough for tonight. They’d each gotten off and though her body still hummed with need, it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. It could either be fanned or banked. Logan looked like he needed to chill for a little bit. She had a feeling this had been exceptionally emotional for him, because he hadn’t let anyone else see him this way. She felt honored that he had trusted her enough.

“Come lay down,” she offered impulsively. Reaching for her discarded t-shirt, she wiped her breasts clean, then his penis.

Logan looked at her bed and she could see the indecision. “I don’t know...”

“No commitment stated, inferred or requested.”

He barked out a laugh. “Oh, really.” He rubbed at his face. “Fine. Just for a little while.”

When he got to his feet and tucked himself away, she decided it was a good thing she’d asked him to stay. He was obviously in pain. “Are you okay? Did I break you?”

He winced, straightening his hips and back. “No. It’s just...a little more exercise than I’m used to. And the fall earlier. It might be good to lay down.”

Marigold swept ahead, swinging the comforter, blanket and sheet back for him to climb in, but he detoured toward the bathroom. “Back in a minute.”

Marigold stared at the closed door, wondering what the hell she was doing, inviting him to stay. Logan could probably make it to his own apartment, but it might be nice just sleeping in the bed with him. What a great ice breaker before sex.

Oh, hey, yeah, you snore like a freight train. What was that? My feet are ice blocks? Yeah, I could have told you that.

Actually, the thought of just wrapping her arm over his chest and nestling in was very appealing to her. Realizing she was still naked from the waist up she crossed to her dresser, looking for a clean t-shirt to sleep in. Then, moving through the space, she picked up a few things as she waited for him to return.

Marigold picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. It was in a black, heavy duty case and the screen lit when she moved it. Nineteen percent. She set it on the bedside table and plugged it in since it took the same charger her phone did.

When she didn’t hear anything from the bathroom for a while, she snapped off most of the lights and climbed into bed. Her apartment was warm, but it was still cold outside, so it was nice to snuggle into her flannel sheets.

The bathroom door opened and Logan stepped out, leaning heavily on his crutches. When he saw her in bed, he paused, glancing toward the apartment door. Marigold didn’t want him to leave, but she wouldn’t force him to stay. He seemed to weigh her with his gaze. Eventually, he swung to the side of the bed and leaned his crutches against the wall.

Thinking she would give him some privacy, Marigold rolled over in the bed to face the dark living room area.

“If you don’t want to look, that’s fine, but if you’re turning over on my account, you don’t need to.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “I know you’ve had a lot going on today, so I didn’t know if you were up for a reveal, or whatever.”

He shrugged as he unfastened his jeans and pushed them down his legs. “I’m kind of numb, right now, so I don’t think I really care what you see. It is what it is.”

She hated the defeatist tone in his voice. It reminded her too much of her mother.

As his jeans were pushed away, though, dismay swept through her. She tried to control her face before he looked up, and it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. His legs were a canvas of pain. She couldn’t even imagine the trauma that had caused all of the scars running the length of his legs. Some appeared to be man-made, with straight lines and an odd pattern, like scales. Those must be skin grafts or something. The rest of his skin looked okay in patches, and thin and painful in others. His right leg...

“My God,” she murmured, “How are you even standing on that?”

She crawled across the bed, incredibly curious, and reached out to run light fingers along the heavy divots into his muscle. One, in his lower calf, was almost down to the bone.

“Luck and bitter determination, as well as a lot of pain pills. Might be a few plates and screws in there as well. A wheelchair would be easier, but I’m going to stay on my feet as long as I possibly can.”

Marigold looked up at him, feeling proud of him when it really wasn’t her place. She gave him a nod. “I would as well. What did that? Do you know?”

He drew in a deep breath. “When we hit the IED, it blew up right underneath us, completely blowing apart the bottom of the MRAP. They build the machines super heavy to withstand the blast, generally, but this was a huge IED. It obliterated the truck, as well as the one in front of us. I was in the far corner, farthest from the blast, but I got hit by shrapnel. A lot of it.”

She ran her hand down his right leg again. He was missing two toes on this foot. If his legs had matched the rest of his big body, he would have had good, strong thighs. His left leg seemed to have escaped structural damage, just had burn marks running the length, from the thigh to the foot. The skin looked paper thin. Marigold couldn’t even imagine the pain he’d gone through. One of her greatest fears was burning to death, and in that moment in time he probably thought he was going to.

“I assume you were knocked out,” she said, hoping.

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