Page 132 of Stolen Kiss

I rubbed my left thigh. “Fuck,” I muttered when a single tear slipped out and hit my jeans, leaving a dark spot on the fabric

I couldn’t even take care of myself. How in the world was I supposed to take care of the most precious two-year-old?

I realized now how badly I wanted to be in her life, but whether I should was another thing entirely.

Suddenly my chair was pulled back and Jensen was crouching in front of me. It took me a moment to register that he was actually here and not as some figment of my imagination.

“Emilia? What’s wrong?”

I blinked at him, causing more tears to fall. “Jensen? What are you doing here?”

I hadn’t even heard the office door opening.

“Baby, tell me what’s wrong.”

My lips trembled. “My leg hurts.”

He frowned and moved his hand down my right leg. I shook my head. “No. It’s my left leg.”

He frowned. “You mean your thigh?”

I shook my head, frustration and pain making my voice come out sharper than I intended. “No. I mean my left leg. The one that’s not there anymore!”

His frown smoothed out. “Phantom pain? Oh, baby girl.”

He lifted me up in his arms and brought me over to the couch, sitting down with me on his lap. I was tense at first, but sitting this close to him felt so good. I didn’t know how to deny myself this one little pleasure.

I curled my body around him and buried my head in his chest, closing my eyes.

He wrapped those big powerful arms around me, rubbing the small of my back with his palm in soothing circles.

“Tell me what we can do to make you feel better.”

I looked down, blushing a little. Did we even have that kind of relationship anymore? He wasn’t anything to me. He shouldn’t be here, trying to make me feel better.

Jensen placed two fingers under my chin and lifted it until I met his eyes. He took in my face before saying, with a note of sternness in his voice, “Emilia. Tell me.”

“If you take off the prosthesis and elevate it on the pillow so I could see it, it would help.”

He nodded. “What else?”

I looked away. “Massaging the residual limb would help.”

“Got it.”

He rolled my jeans up. I watched quietly as he did as I asked, taking off my prosthetic leg, before placing a pillow underneath my thigh.

Then he massaged the nub.

Although he had done this for me before, I still checked his face for any sign of disgust.

The stump wasn’t a pretty sight.

The skin around had grown a bit flabby, and there were lines of scars from where the stitches had been.

But Jensen didn’t look at it with disgust.

Honestly, he didn’t look at it like anything.

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