Page 61 of Mistletoe

“Look at me. Hal,” she said gently, “please look at me.”

Slowly, he turned to face her.

“Your appearance does not alarm me. I was concerned that the scars might be painful, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

No one had ever cared if they hurt him. The world that created him certainly did not care for his comfort or his existence. His brother claimed to care but subjected him to painful and useless treatments. He struggled to remember a friend or a kind stranger. Charlotte, in the dungeon before he escaped. She was the only one, and even then, she had not inquired about his pain.

“They always hurt,” he said. The stitches did not want to heal. He was unsure how long he had them, a month or a century. The grafted flesh was red and swollen where it met the rest of him. It did not improve, but it did not get worse. He suspected that it was the status quo. “It hurts more when you are scared to touch me.”

“Never.” She traced her fingers along the scar on his arm, then across his torso. His face. The one along his hip peeked above the waistband of his pants. Her hand settled there. “You have no idea how much I wanted to touch you that night when you took a bath in the kitchen, and I brushed your hair.”

“Did you?” That baffled him. He had been gaunt and filthy.

“That first night in the barn, too.”

“You weren’t scared?”

“Surprised.” Her hand dipped below the waistband, finding him. Caressing.

He stiffened, in all senses, under her touch. She was everything. Soft and warm. Electric. He tingled and buzzed where she stroked him.

She paused, ran her thumb over him, and made a curious sound. He sucked in a breath as she caressed him once more. “I really want these to come off.”

He complied, removing his trousers with lightning speed.

Her gaze landed on his groin. He knew he was unusual. He’d been an average man once, and what he had now was not average. The size was larger, but he also had a bony growth sitting above his penis.

“Am I acceptable?” he asked.

“Yes, never doubt that. Can I ask you about it?”

“My extra bits?”

She nodded. “I knew I saw it earlier, but I didn’t want to be unseemly and stare.”

He nearly laughed at the absurd notion, as if decorum mattered now. “Would you believe me if I said I woke up with this extra appendage above my dick?” That was exactly how it happened. After his transformation, Hal discovered he had a bit more of himself.

“May I touch you there?” she asked.

“Always.”

Lightly with her index finger, she circled both his cock and the extra. He sucked in a breath and released it slowly. He’d spill embarrassingly soon.

“Does it have sensation?”

“Yes.”

“And this is nice?” Her touch grew bolder, gripping him and stroking.

“Yes,” he hissed.

“What do you call it?”

“My thorn.” It was the oddest appendage with no obvious purpose, about the size of his thumb and growing an inch above what had previously been a singular dick.

“That’s very poetic.”

“Do you like this?”

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