Chapter One: Broken Ground
The cafeteria of the Pinecrest Rehabilitation Center was a cavernous space, filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of cutlery against plastic trays. Sunlight streamed through large windows, casting long, golden rectangles across the linoleum floor. The scent of overcooked green beans and roasted chicken lingered in the air, mingling with the faint antiseptic tang that seemed to cling to every surface in the facility. Lana Willis sat alone at a table near the back, her prosthetic legs stretched out in front of her, fingers idly tracing the rim of her untouched coffee cup. The steam had long since dissipated, leaving behind a lukewarm, bitter residue that mirrored her mood.
She had chosen the corner table deliberately—far enough from the chatter of the other patients to avoid small talk, but close enough to the window to watch the world outside. The trees beyond the glass swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling in a rhythm that felt mockingly carefree. Lana exhaled sharply through her nose, her brown eyes flickering with frustration. Another day, another session of physical therapy that had left her muscles burning and her pride bruised. The doctors kept telling her progress was progress, no matter how small, but some days, it was hard to see it that way. She flexed her fingers against the table, the faint scar on her left cheek twitching as she clenched her jaw.
The sound of a wheelchair rolling unevenly across the floor pulled her from her thoughts. She didn’t look up immediately, but the rhythmic thud-thud of the wheels—one slightly off-kilter—was distinct. When she finally glanced over, her gaze landed on a man navigating toward the food station. He moved with controlled precision, his broad shoulders straining slightly against the fabric of his gray hoodie. His dark hair was cropped short, military-style, and a thin scar traced the edge of his left cheekbone, mirroring her own. Something about the way he carried himself—the set of his jaw, the tension in his arms—told her he was as uncomfortable in that chair as she was with her new legs.
Lana watched as he grabbed a tray and began loading it with food, his movements efficient but lacking enthusiasm. He didn’t look at anyone, didn’t engage in the idle chatter floating around the room. There was a solitude about him that felt familiar, like a reflection of her own isolation. She found herself studying the way his track pants hung loosely over his prosthetics, the fabric bunching slightly at the knees. He was muscular, his physique still honed from years of service, but there was a tightness in his posture that betrayed the effort it took to appear so composed.
Before she could stop herself, she cleared her throat—just enough to be heard over the ambient noise. The man’s head snapped up, his brown eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse jump. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, he turned his wheelchair and made his way toward her table, the off-kilter wheel clicking with each rotation.
“Mind if I sit?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, like he hadn’t used it much lately.
Lana gestured to the empty chair across from her, trying to ignore the way her stomach tightened. “Be my guest. Not like I own the place.”
He maneuvered his wheelchair into position with practiced ease, setting his tray down before extending a hand. “Luis Gomez.”
She took it, her fingers brushing against his calloused palm. His grip was firm, warm. “Lana Willis.”
“Army?” he asked, nodding toward her adaptive pants, the fabric designed to accommodate her prosthetics.
She raised an eyebrow. “Marines.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Figures. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I could still kick your ass even without legs’ look.”
Lana bark out a laugh, sharp and unexpected. It felt foreign, like something she hadn’t done in months. “You’re not wrong.”
Luis leaned back slightly, his gaze flickering over her face before settling on the scar along her cheek. She knew he was noticing it—the way everyone did—but unlike most, he didn’t avert his eyes. Instead, his expression softened, just for a second. “How long you been here?”
“Six weeks.” She exhaled, rubbing her thumb along the edge of her coffee cup. “Feels like six years.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, picking at the food on his tray without much interest. “It’s the little things that get you. Like realizing you can’t just stand up when you want to. Or how much you took for granted just… walking to the damn fridge at midnight.”
Lana’s chest tightened. No one had put it quite like that before—no one had understood it like that. She swallowed hard, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Or how everyone treats you like you’re made of glass. Like one wrong word and you’ll shatter.”
Luis’s jaw clenched. “Like they’re waiting for you to break.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came from shared weight, from knowing someone else carried the same burden. Lana found herself studying his hands—strong, capable, the knuckles slightly scarred. She wondered what they’d been through, what they’d held onto.
“You ever just…” Luis hesitated, his fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest of his wheelchair. “You ever just want to scream?”
Lana’s breath hitched. The raw honesty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Every damn day.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something unspoken passed between them. A recognition. A relief. She saw the way his shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, like he’d been holding his breath and only now remembered to exhale.
“What do you do?” she asked, nodding toward his tray. “When it gets like that.”
Luis reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small, worn chess piece—a black knight. He rolled it between his fingers, the movement absentmindedly soothing. “I play chess. Badly. But it’s something to focus on.”
Lana smiled faintly. “I read. Or I try to. Mostly I just stare at the pages and think about how much I hate green beans.”
That earned her a real laugh, deep and rich. The sound of it sent a warmth spreading through her chest, something dangerously close to hope. “Green beans are the devil’s vegetable.”
“Agreed.” She grinned, and for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel forced.
They fell into an easy rhythm after that, the conversation flowing without the usual stiffness of small talk. Luis told her about his family—his abuela who sent him care packages filled with too many empanadas, his little sister who called every Sunday without fail. Lana talked about her time in the Marines, the way the desert sun had felt on her skin, the camaraderie that had made the hardship worth it. They didn’t shy away from the harder things, either—the frustration of relearning basic tasks, the way their bodies felt foreign now, the nights when the phantom pain kept them awake.
At one point, Luis reached across the table to tap her tray, his fingers brushing against hers. “You’re not eating.”
Lana glanced down at her plate, the chicken congealing in its own grease. “Not hungry.”
“Bullshit.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “You gotta eat. Even if it’s just to prove to yourself you can.”
She met his gaze, and something in his expression—the quiet insistence, the understanding—made her pick up her fork. She took a bite, the chicken tasteless on her tongue, but the act itself felt like a small victory.
As the cafeteria began to empty, the two of them lingered, neither in a hurry to leave. The sunlight had shifted, now casting long shadows across the floor, and the hum of conversation had faded to a quiet murmur. Luis tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You ever think about what comes next? After this place?”
Lana traced the rim of her coffee cup again, the ceramic smooth beneath her fingertips. “I try not to. Feels like jinxing it.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his thumb rubbing absently over the chess piece. “But sometimes I think… maybe it’s not about getting back to how things were. Maybe it’s about figuring out how to be okay with how they are now.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the same struggle in his eyes that she felt in her own chest. The fear. The determination. The quiet, stubborn hope.
“Maybe,” she said softly.
Luis held her gaze for a long moment, and then, slowly, he reached out. His hand hovered just above hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin. “We’ll figure it out. Both of us.”
Lana didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, her palm meeting his. His fingers curled around hers, warm and solid, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and the world kept moving. But in that moment, in the quiet corner of the cafeteria, everything felt still. Like they were the only two people who understood what it meant to stand on broken ground—and how to build something new from the pieces.
Chapter Two: Physical Therapy
The cafeteria’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the empty tables as Lana’s fingers lingered in Luis’s grip. His hand was warm, calloused—proof of a life still lived with purpose, even if the path had shifted. She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve made some joke about getting back to her room before the nurses started gossiping. But the weight of his palm against hers felt like an anchor, steadying her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
Luis exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the back of her knuckles before he finally loosened his hold. “We should probably get to PT before they send out a search party.”
Lana flexed her fingers, missing the contact already. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want them thinking we’ve gone rogue.” She reached for her chair, the metal frame cool beneath her palms as she pushed herself up. The prosthetic legs responded with mechanical precision, but the ghost of phantom pain still flickered in her calves—a reminder of what she’d lost, what she was still fighting to reclaim.
Luis wheeled back to give her space, though his eyes never left hers. There was something unspoken hanging between them now, a current that hummed louder than the overhead lights. He didn’t offer to help her stand. Didn’t treat her like she was fragile. And that, more than anything, made her chest tighten.
The physical therapy room was a symphony of grunts, clanking weights, and the rhythmic thud of prosthetics hitting mats. The air smelled of antiseptic and sweat, the kind of scent that usually set Lana’s teeth on edge. But today, it just smelled like progress.
Therapist Reyes clapped his hands, drawing the group’s attention. “Alright, listen up. We’re mixing it up today—partner drills. Balance and trust exercises.” He gestured to the mats laid out in pairs. “You’ll be spotting each other, so pay attention. No ego, no shortcuts.”
Lana’s stomach dropped. She hated partner work. Hated the idea of relying on someone else’s strength, someone else’s timing. But when Reyes called out, “Gomez and Willis—you’re together,” she didn’t protest.
Luis rolled to her side, his expression unreadable. “Guess we’re stuck with each other.”
“Try not to drop me,” she shot back, but there was no real bite to it.
Reyes demonstrated the exercise first: one partner would stand on a balance pad, arms outstretched, while the other knelt behind them, hands hovering just above their hips—ready to catch, not to hold. “The goal isn’t to stay upright forever,” Reyes said. “It’s to learn how to fall together.”
Lana swallowed hard. Falling wasn’t the problem. It was the together part.
She stepped onto the pad first, her prosthetics sinking slightly into the foam. The instability was immediate, her ankles—what was left of them—protesting the shift. She stretched her arms out, fingers splayed, and fixed her gaze on the far wall. Don’t think about him behind you. Don’t think about his hands, his breath, the way his knee is probably pressing into the mat right now.
Luis’s voice was low, steady. “I’ve got you.”
She wanted to snap I don’t need you to, but the words died in her throat. Because the truth was, she did. Not in the way the therapists or her family meant—pitying, cautious—but in this raw, unspoken way. Like he was the only one who understood that strength wasn’t about never faltering. It was about choosing to stand back up.
The first wobble came fast. Her left foot slipped, and her body lurched sideways. Luis’s hands didn’t grab her. They guided, a firm but gentle pressure at her hips, correcting her balance without taking control. She righted herself, pulse hammering.
“Again,” Reyes called.
She wobbled again. This time, she let herself fall farther, testing the limits—testing him. Luis’s grip tightened just enough to keep her from hitting the mat, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. She could feel the heat of his body behind hers, the way his breath hitched when she leaned back into his space.
“You’re doing it on purpose,” he murmured.
She smirked. “Maybe.”
His laugh was a rough, quiet thing. “You’re gonna make me work for this, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of making it easy.”
They switched positions.
Luis transferred from his chair to the mat with practiced ease, his prosthetics clicking against the foam. When he stood, he was taller than she expected—broad-shouldered, solid. She knelt behind him, her hands hovering just above the dip of his waist. The fabric of his hoodie was soft beneath her fingertips, but the muscle underneath was anything but.
“Alright, hotshot,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He didn’t answer. Just took a deep breath and lifted his arms.
The first sway was subtle. She mirrored his movements, her palms shadowing his hips, ready. But when he really leaned—letting his weight tip backward, trusting her to catch him—her breath stalled. His body was heavy, real, and for a second, she faltered. Not because she couldn’t hold him, but because the trust in that motion was intoxicating. Dangerous.
She steadied him, her fingers pressing into the firmness of his waist. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Nah,” he said, voice rough. “I’m just giving you a chance to prove you can handle it.”
Her throat went dry.
By the third round, they were both sweating, their movements syncing in a way that felt too natural, too right. Reyes had moved on to other pairs, but Lana barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way Luis’s shoulder blades shifted beneath his shirt when he reached for balance, the way his breath hitched when she guided him back from a near-fall.
“You ever think about how weird this is?” she asked suddenly, her hands still hovering at his waist. “That we can trust each other with this”—she nudged him lightly, demonstrating—“but we barely know each other’s last names?”
Luis was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered his arms and turned to face her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “I know you take your coffee black,” he said. “I know you hate when people call your prosthetics ‘legs’ like they’re the same as what you lost. I know you read those cheesy motivational books but pretend you don’t.” His voice dropped. “I know you don’t sleep through the night.”
Her chest tightened. Because he was right. And because she knew just as much about him—the way his jaw clenched when he was in pain, how he hummed old Spanish lullabies under his breath when he was concentrating, the fact that he kept a photo of his little sister in his wallet but never talked about her.
She should’ve stepped back. Should’ve made a joke, deflected. But the air between them was thick with something neither of them had named yet, and she was so tired of pretending she didn’t feel it.
“Luis—” she started.
The door to the PT room swung open, cutting her off. A nurse called Reyes’s name, her voice sharp with urgency. The moment shattered.
Luis exhaled, running a hand over his face before reaching for his chair. “We should—”
“Yeah.” She nodded, stepping back. “Go.”
But as she watched him wheel away, his shoulders tense, she realized something worse than the interruption: she didn’t want to go back to how things were before. And that terrified her more than any fall.
Chapter Three: Underwater Encounter
The morning sun spilled through the high windows of the rehab facility’s pool area, casting shifting patterns of light across the water’s surface. The air smelled of chlorine and something faintly metallic, the scent of the facility’s antiseptic undercurrent always lingering. Lana floated on her back, her arms spread wide, the water cradling her like a weightless embrace. For the first time in months, the phantom pains in her legs were silent, drowned out by the gentle resistance of the pool. She exhaled slowly, watching the ripples distort the ceiling above her.
Luis was already in the water when she arrived, his prosthetic legs discarded beside his wheelchair, his broad shoulders slicing through the surface as he swam lazy laps. He paused when he saw her, treading water with an ease that made her envious. “Took you long enough,” he teased, flicking water at her. She splashed back, grinning despite herself. The tension from yesterday—the way his words had unsettled her, the way his hand had lingered on hers—still hummed beneath her skin, but here, in the water, it felt lighter. Manageable.
Therapist Reyes clapped his hands from the poolside, his voice booming over the echoey space. “Alright, you two. Today’s session is all about resistance and mobility. No prosthetics, no excuses. Use the water, use each other.” He tossed them each a pool noodle before striding off, leaving them alone. Lana caught hers with a smirk. “Guess we’re stuck with each other again.”
Luis chuckled, low and warm, as he drifted closer. “Worst luck.” His fingers brushed hers as he took the noodle, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with the cool water. They floated side by side for a moment, the silence comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then Lana kicked lightly, sending a spray of water at his chest. “Race you to the other side?”
He lunged for her before she could react, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled her under. She gasped as the water closed over her head, her instincts screaming to fight back—but then his lips found hers, brief and playful, before he released her. She surfaced sputtering, wiping water from her eyes. “Oh, it’s on,” she laughed, shoving at his shoulder. He grinned, unrepentant, and she realized how long it had been since she’d heard herself laugh like this. Since she’d felt this unburdened.
They chased each other through the water, splashing, ducking, their movements unencumbered by the limbs they’d left behind on the pool deck. The game turned breathless, their bodies colliding, hands slipping over slick skin. Lana wrapped her legs around Luis’s waist when he caught her again, her back to his chest, his arms banded around her middle. His breath was hot against her ear. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he murmured, but his voice was rough, the threat hollow.
She tilted her head back, her lips brushing his jaw. “Promises, promises.”
Something shifted. The laughter faded, not into awkwardness, but into something heavier, something that pulled at the air between them. His hands tightened on her hips, thumbs tracing the curve of her waist beneath the water. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her spine, the way his heartbeat had kicked up. The pool noodles bobbed forgotten beside them.
Luis turned her in his arms, his dark eyes searching hers. There was no teasing now, no deflection. Just the raw, unspoken thing that had been building since the cafeteria, since the moment his fingers had laced through hers and refused to let go. Lana’s breath hitched. She should’ve looked away. Should’ve made a joke. But she didn’t.
His mouth found hers, slow at first, then deeper, his tongue parting her lips with a hunger that stole her breath. The water lapped around them, cool against her heated skin. His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him, and she moaned into the kiss, her nails digging into his shoulders. The buoyancy of the water made it easy to press closer, to wrap her legs around his hips, the friction of their bodies sending sparks through her.
Luis groaned, his hands gripping her ass to grind her against him. Even through the fabric of their swimsuits, she could feel how hard he was, the thick length of him pressing against her. “Fuck, Lana,” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough. “We shouldn’t—”
“Then stop,” she challenged, but her fingers were already tangling in his hair, pulling him back for another kiss. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His mouth trailed down her neck, teeth grazing her collarbone as his hands explored her, one slipping beneath the hem of her swim top to palm her breast. She arched into his touch, a whimper escaping her when his thumb flicked over her nipple.
The pool’s edge was just a few feet away. Luis guided them toward it, never breaking the kiss, his hands never still. When her back hit the cool tiles, she gasped, the contrast of temperatures sending a shiver through her. Luis pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his chest heaving. “Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t. She reached for the drawstring of his swim trunks instead, her fingers fumbling in her haste. He helped her, shoving the fabric down his hips, his cock springing free, thick and flushed. Lana bit her lip at the sight, her pulse pounding between her thighs. She wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to drown in the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Luis didn’t wait for more permission. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her swim bottoms and tugged, the wet fabric clinging before giving way. She lifted her hips, letting him strip her bare, the water dripping from her skin. His breath hitched as he took her in, his gaze dark with desire. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his hand sliding between her legs. His fingers found her already slick, her body ready for him. She moaned, her head falling back against the tile as he teased her, circling her clit before dipping two fingers inside her.
“Luis,” she gasped, her hips rocking against his hand. “Please—”
He didn’t make her beg. Not this time. He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, and pushed inside with a slow, deliberate thrust. Lana cried out, her nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretching her in a way that bordered on pain but felt so good. The water sloshed around them, the cool air kissing her damp skin as he began to move.
Every thrust was deep, measured, his hips rolling against hers in a rhythm that made her see stars. The pool’s edge dug into her back, but she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the way he felt inside her, the way his breath came in ragged gasps against her ear, the way his hands gripped her like she was something precious. “You feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned, his voice rough. “Like you were made for me.”
Lana clung to him, her legs locked around his waist, her body tightening with each slow, deliberate stroke. The water lapped at their skin, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat building between them. She could feel her orgasm coiling tight, her muscles clenching around him. “Harder,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “I need—”
He gave her what she asked for, his thrusts growing sharper, deeper, his body pinning hers against the tile as he fucked her with a desperation that matched her own. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the empty pool area, their breaths mingling, their bodies moving as one. Lana’s vision blurred, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders as she came with a broken cry, her body shuddering around him. Luis followed with a groan, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled deep, his forehead pressed to hers.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The water rippled around them, their chests heaving in sync. Luis pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering. “We’re gonna be in so much trouble,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound sorry. Not even a little.
Lana laughed breathlessly, her fingers tracing the damp skin of his back. “Worth it.”
Chapter Four: What the War Left Behind
The water still clung to their skin as Lana pulled herself up the pool ladder, her muscles trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the aftershocks of what had just happened. Luis followed, his prosthetic legs waiting on the deck where they’d left them, a silent reminder of the world outside the water’s weightless freedom. She didn’t look at him as she grabbed her towel, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders, but she could feel his gaze burning into her back. The air was cooler here, away from the pool’s humid embrace, and it raised goosebumps along her arms.
“We shouldn’t stay here,” she muttered, voice rough. The words felt like a lie even as she said them. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to stand there forever, suspended in the raw, electric silence between them.
Luis exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” But neither of them made a move toward the door. Instead, his fingers brushed against hers—just once, like an accident—before he pulled away. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and unwanted and perfect.
Lana swallowed hard. “There’s a supply closet down the hall. No one uses it this time of day.” The words spilled out before she could stop them. She didn’t know why she was offering this, why she was prolonging whatever the hell this was. Maybe because the alternative—walking away, pretending nothing had changed—felt impossible.
Luis’s dark eyes flicked to hers, searching. For what, she didn’t know. Permission? Reassurance? A sign that she wasn’t about to bolt? “You sure?” he asked, voice low.
No. She wasn’t. But she nodded anyway.
The supply closet smelled like antiseptic and old bandages, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead casting a sterile glow over the shelves of gauze and tape. Lana leaned against the door the second it clicked shut, her breath coming too fast. The space was tight, forcing them closer together, their towels the only barrier between them now. Luis stood just inches away, his chest rising and falling in time with hers, the air thick with the scent of chlorine and something darker, something them.
“Fuck,” he breathed, dragging a hand down his face. “Lana, what the hell was that?”
She barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You’re asking me? You’re the one who—” She gestured vaguely between them, heat flooding her cheeks. “Who fucked me against the pool wall like—”
“Like I’ve been thinking about it for weeks?” His voice was rough, almost accusatory. “Yeah. I did.” He stepped forward, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. “But that’s not what I meant.”
Her pulse spiked. “Then what?”
Luis’s jaw tightened. “I meant… why did that feel like more than just—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Shit. I don’t even know what I’m asking.”
Lana’s fingers curled into the towel around her shoulders. She knew. She knew exactly what he was asking, because she’d been asking herself the same thing since the second his mouth had crashed into hers underwater. This wasn’t just physical. It hadn’t been for a while. But admitting that out loud? That was the terrifying part.
“Because it was more,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. The words hung between them, heavy and irreversible. “And that’s the problem.”
Luis let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back up. “Why is it a problem?”
“You know why.” She pushed off the door, suddenly unable to stand still. The closet was too small, the air too thick. “We’re here to recover, Luis. Not to—” She waved a hand between them again, frustration bubbling up. “Not to distract each other with whatever this is.”
“Distract?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “You think that’s all this is?”
She didn’t answer. Because if she did, she’d have to admit that no, she didn’t think that at all. And that was the scariest fucking thing of all.
Luis reached out, his fingers hooking around her wrist, pulling her to a stop. “Look at me.” When she didn’t, he tightened his grip just enough to make her glare at him. “I’m not here because I have to be, Lana. I’m here because I choose to be. Every damn day.” His thumb brushed over her pulse point, slow and deliberate. “And I choose this. Whatever this is. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s complicated.”
Her breath hitched. “What if it breaks us?”
The raw honesty in her voice seemed to crack something open in him. His expression softened, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek. “What if it saves us?”
The question hung there, brutal and beautiful. Lana’s eyes burned. She’d spent so long pretending she didn’t need saving—that she was strong enough to handle everything alone. But standing there, with Luis’s calloused fingers against her skin, his breath warm on her face, she realized how exhausted she was from the pretense.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice breaking.
Luis’s thumb swiped at the wetness on her cheek before she even realized she was crying. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”
And then his mouth was on hers, slow this time, gentle, like he was memorizing the shape of her. Lana melted into him, her hands fisting in his towel, pulling him closer. There was no urgency now, no desperate need to prove anything. Just the quiet, terrifying promise of something real.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. “We’re gonna get in so much trouble,” she murmured.
Luis huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Worth it.”
And for the first time in a long time, Lana believed him.
Chapter Five: Naked Desire
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the cramped supply closet. Lana’s breath hitched as Luis’s fingers lingered against hers, the damp towel clinging to her skin doing little to hide the way her body reacted to his touch. The air between them was thick, charged with something neither could name—something that had been building since the moment their lips met in the pool.
Luis exhaled slowly, his thumb tracing circles over the back of her hand. “Let me help you with these,” he murmured, his voice rough. He didn’t wait for an answer, just shifted closer, his bare chest brushing against her arm as he reached for the straps of her prosthetic legs. Lana swallowed hard, her pulse jumping beneath his touch. She should’ve stopped him. Should’ve told him this was too much, too fast. But the words died in her throat as his fingers worked deftly, unbuckling the harness with practiced ease.
Every brush of his skin against hers sent a jolt through her, her nipples tightening beneath the thin towel. She could feel his breath warm against her neck, the way his muscles tensed with restraint. When the last strap fell away, Lana let out a shaky exhale, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed she was—how vulnerable. The prosthetics thudded softly against the floor, leaving her standing on the cool linoleum, balanced only by the heat of Luis’s body so close to hers.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid up her arms, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the shape of her. “Fuck,” he breathed, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” Lana’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the damp towel at her chest. She should’ve laughed it off. Should’ve made a joke. But the way he was looking at her—like she was something precious, something wanted—stole the sarcasm right out of her.
His palms found her waist, pulling her flush against him, and Lana gasped as the hard ridge of his cock pressed against her stomach. The towel between them was a flimsy barrier, one that did nothing to hide how badly he wanted her. “Luis—” she started, but the protest died as his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. His lips were hot, his teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted, his voice a rough growl against her throat. His hands roamed lower, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass, squeezing just enough to make her arch into him. Lana’s nails dug into his shoulders, her body trembling. “Me too,” she whispered, the confession torn from her. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. Not now. Not when she finally had him like this.
Luis didn’t give her time to overthink it. He backed her up until her legs hit the edge of the narrow cot against the wall, then guided her down onto it. The mattress creaked under their weight, the sound swallowed by the rush of blood in Lana’s ears as Luis loomed over her, his dark eyes burning with hunger. He didn’t kiss her—not yet. Instead, his hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing away the traitorous wetness on her cheeks. “Hey,” he murmured, his forehead pressing to hers. “No hiding. Not from me.”
Lana nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as his fingers trailed down her neck, over her collarbone, then lower. The towel parted under his touch, falling open to reveal her dark, glistening skin. Luis groaned, his gaze raking over her—her full breasts, the tight peaks of her nipples, the way her stomach fluttered under his stare. “Perfect,” he rasped, his calloused palms cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she gasped. “So fucking perfect.”
She should’ve been self-conscious. Should’ve tried to cover herself. But the way he was looking at her—like she was the only thing in the world—made her bold. Lana reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the knot of his towel. It pooled at his hips, and then he was naked too, his cock thick and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Her mouth watered.
Luis didn’t let her think about it for long. He guided her back until she was lying beneath him, then braced himself over her, his muscles flexing with restraint. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice rough. His cock dragged through her folds, the friction making her hips jerk up, chasing the contact.
“You,” she gasped, her hands gripping his biceps. “I want you.”
He didn’t make her beg. With a groan, he shifted, his cock notching at her entrance. Lana’s breath stuttered as he pushed inside, slow and relentless, stretching her open inch by inch. The burn of it was delicious, her body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. “Fuck,” Luis hissed, his forehead dropping to hers. “You feel—god—”
Lana couldn’t form words. She could only whimper as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, his cock throbbing inside her. For a moment, they just breathed, their chests rising and falling in sync, their hearts pounding against each other. Then Luis started to move.
It wasn’t fast. wasn’t rough. It was slow—each thrust deliberate, each withdrawal a tease that had her nails digging into his back. His mouth found hers, kissing her deep and dirty, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. Lana moaned into it, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back. She could feel every ridge of him, the way he swelled inside her, the way his breath hitched when she clenched around him.
“Like that,” he growled, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth scraping over her pulse. “Fuck, just like that.” His hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles. Lana’s back arched, a broken cry tearing from her throat as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.
“Luis—I can’t—” she gasped, her body trembling on the edge.
“Yes, you can,” he murmured against her skin, his hips snapping just a little harder, just a little faster. “Come on, mi amor. Let go for me.”
The endearment was her undoing. Lana shattered with a sob, her pussy clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Luis groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck, Lana—fuck—” His cock pulsed inside her, hot and thick as he came, his body shuddering above hers.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the way their skin stuck together with sweat. Luis pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another to her collarbone, his cock still twitching inside her. “We’re not done,” he murmured, his voice rough with promise. And Lana, still trembling from the aftershocks, believed him.
Chapter Six: Hidden Unravelling
The cot creaked under their weight as Lana exhaled, her fingers curling into the damp fabric of Luis’s sweatpants. She didn’t let him pull away—not yet. Instead, she shifted, her thighs slick with sweat and something thicker, her residual limbs pressing against the warm muscle of his lap as she guided him down with her. The metal of her prosthetics, still discarded on the floor, glinted dully under the fluorescent lights, a silent testament to what she’d let herself surrender. For now, she didn’t need them.
Luis followed her lead, his breath hitching as she settled him against the thin mattress, her body straddling his. The position left her exposed in a way that wasn’t just physical—her weight resting on him, her chest rising and falling against his, her hands braced on his shoulders. The towel she’d been clinging to had long since given up the fight, pooled somewhere behind her, and the air in the closet was thick with the scent of them—salt, chlorine, the musk of sex. His hands found her hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground her, to let her know he was there, steady beneath her.
“Like this,” she murmured, her voice rough, almost a command. Her thighs flexed, the muscles above her knees tensing as she rolled her hips forward, slow and deliberate. The angle was different now, deeper, the drag of him inside her sending a shudder through her spine. She could feel the way his cock twitched in response, the way his breath stuttered against her collarbone. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in the tight curls at the nape of her neck, the other pressing between her shoulder blades, urging her closer. Their foreheads touched, their noses brushing, breaths mingling.
“Fuck, mi amor,” Luis groaned, his voice a dark velvet rasp. His hips lifted to meet hers, a slow, grinding rhythm that made her inner walls clench around him. “Just like that. Take what you need.”
She did. There was no rush, no frantic chase toward release—just the slow, wet slide of him filling her, the way his thumb found her clit and circled lazily, like he had all the time in the world. Like they weren’t in a supply closet where anyone could walk in. Like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Lana’s nails bit into his shoulders, her head tipping back as a low, needy sound escaped her. The scar on her cheek pulled taut with the stretch of her skin, but she didn’t care. Let him see her. Let him see all of her.
His mouth found the pulse point beneath her jaw, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the sting. “Eyes on me,” he demanded, his voice rough. “I want to see you when you come.”
She obeyed, her lids heavy but her gaze locking onto his. The brown of his irises was nearly black in the dim light, his pupils blown wide with desire, with something else—something that made her chest ache. His free hand slid up to cup her breast, his calloused palm rough against her nipple, pinching just enough to make her gasp. The sensation arrowed straight to her core, her hips stuttering in their rhythm.
“Luis—” His name broke on her lips, half plea, half prayer.
“Shhh.” His thumb pressed harder against her clit, his hips rolling up to meet her descent, the friction maddening. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
And she did. Not just her body, though her orgasm crashed over her in a slow, devastating wave, her pussy fluttering around him, milking him as she rode it out. But something deeper, something she’d been holding onto for months—years, maybe. The fear that she was too broken. The terror that no one would ever want her like this. It unraveled with every slow, deliberate thrust, every whispered word against her skin.
Luis followed her over, his own release tearing through him with a guttural groan, his body jerking beneath hers. She felt the pulse of him inside her, the heat of his cum filling her, and it was good. It was right. His arms banded around her, holding her close as their breaths sawed in and out, their skin slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in sync.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the rasp of their breathing, the occasional drip of water from the pipes overhead. Lana’s fingers traced idle patterns on the back of his neck, her forehead still pressed to his. She could feel the way his heart raced beneath her palm, the way his muscles slowly relaxed under her touch.
“We’re gonna get caught,” she murmured eventually, though she made no move to pull away.
Luis huffed a laugh, his breath warm against her lips. “Let them.”
She should’ve argued. Should’ve pointed out the risks, the stupidity of it all. But the words died in her throat because, for the first time in forever, she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay right here, like this, where the world outside didn’t matter. Where the only thing that existed was the way his hands moved over her skin, the way his voice rumbled through her bones when he spoke.
His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up until their mouths were a breath apart. “No hiding,” he reminded her, his voice soft but firm. “Not from me. Not anymore.”
Lana swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to tell him she was scared. That this—him—terrified her more than any battlefield ever had. But the words wouldn’t come. So instead, she kissed him. Slow and deep, her tongue sliding against his, her body still cradling his inside her. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, like she was something precious. Something worth protecting.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath unsteady. “What now?” she whispered.
Luis’s smile was slow, lazy, like he had all the answers. Like he had her. “Now?” His hips shifted beneath her, a subtle reminder that they were still connected, still there. “Now we do it again. Slower this time.”
A shiver ran through her, her body already responding to the promise in his voice. But before she could answer, before she could even think, the distant sound of a door slamming somewhere down the hall jolted them both back to reality.
Luis’s grip on her tightened for a heartbeat, his jaw clenching. Then, with a reluctance she felt echoing in her own chest, he pressed a final, lingering kiss to her shoulder. “Later,” he murmured against her skin. “We’ll find a way.”
Lana nodded, though the thought of waiting, of stopping, made her want to scream. But she let him help her ease off him, hissing at the loss, at the way his cum slipped out of her, warm and sticky against her thighs. He reached for her towel, wiping gently between her legs before pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. The tenderness of it nearly undid her.
She watched as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants, his movements efficient but his eyes never leaving hers. There was a promise there. A vow. And for the first time, she believed it.
Believed him.
Chapter Seven: Unbroken Armor
The supply closet door creaked open just enough for the harsh fluorescent light to spill in, cutting across their tangled limbs like a blade. Lana’s breath hitched as reality crashed back in—cold air against her sweat-slicked skin, the distant hum of voices in the hallway, the dull ache between her thighs where Luis still pulsed faintly inside her. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her prosthetics, as if he could will time to stop. But the moment was already slipping.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her forehead dropping against his shoulder. The word was raw, half frustration, half desperation. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to breathe if it meant breaking this.
Luis exhaled sharply through his nose, his chest rising beneath her. “Yeah.” His voice was rough, scraped from groans and bitten-back curses. One hand slid up her spine, slow, possessive, before gripping the back of her neck. He tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils still blown wide with want. “But we’re not done.”
A shiver ran through her. Not from the chill—from the promise in his tone, the way his thumb brushed over her bottom lip like he was memorizing the shape. The taste of him was still on her tongue, salt and something deeper, something his. She wanted to bite down, mark him the way he’d marked her. Instead, she swallowed hard and pulled back just enough to see the damp sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his prosthetic legs gleamed dully under the harsh lights.
“We can’t just—” She gestured vaguely toward the door, where the sounds of the rehab center intruded: a wheelchair squeaking past, a therapist’s clipped instructions, the ever-present drip-drip of the leaky pipe above them.
Luis smirked, but it was all teeth, no humor. “Watch me.” His free hand dropped between them, fingers tracing the place where their bodies were still joined. Lana’s breath stuttered. He knew exactly what that did to her—the way her inner walls clenched around him, the way her nails dug into his shoulders. “Later,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “After dinner. Meet me by the pool. The one in the east wing—they never lock it at night.”
She should’ve argued. Should’ve reminded him of the rules, the risks, the fact that they were both still healing, still broken in ways that went deeper than missing limbs. But the way he said later made her thighs tremble, and when his thumb grazed her clit—just once, just enough—she gasped, her hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“You’re a fucking menace,” she hissed, but her voice lacked heat. Her body was already betraying her, wet and aching and hungry for more.
His chuckle was low, dark. “And you love it.” He finally, reluctantly, pulled out, and the loss of him made her whimper. Before she could protest, he caught her wrist and pressed her fingers to his mouth, tongue swiping over her knuckles. “Taste.” His eyes never left hers.
She did. Salt. Chlorine. Him. Her own arousal, musky and thick. A groan tore from her throat, and she had to clamp her lips shut to keep from begging right then and there.
Luis grinned, slow and satisfied, before reaching for her prosthetics. He handled them with surprising care, aligning the sockets with her residual limbs. The moment the carbon fiber locked into place, she felt the shift—not just physical, but mental. The armor slipping back on. The walls rebuilding.
But not all the way. Not anymore.
He stood first, adjusting his damp sweatpants with a wince. The fabric clung to him obscenely, the outline of his half-hard cock impossible to miss. Lana’s mouth watered. Later, she reminded herself. Later, you’ll have him again.
Luis offered her a hand. She took it, letting him pull her up, their fingers lingering a second too long. The moment she was steady, he cupped her face, his calloused palm rough against her cheek. “No hiding,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a growl. “Not in the way you walk. Not in the way you look at me. You hear me, soldado?”
Her pulse spiked. That word—soldier—it landed like a challenge. Like a claim. She lifted her chin. “Yes, sargento.”
His breath hitched. The military titles between them weren’t just roleplay; they were a language, a shorthand for trust and respect and all the things they’d lost—and were maybe, just maybe, finding again in each other. His thumb brushed her scar, the one that cut through her eyebrow, a relic from the same blast that took her legs. “Good girl.”
The praise sent a jolt straight to her clit. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.
Luis stepped back, but his gaze burned over her, lingering on the way her nipples pebbled under her thin tank top, the way her thighs still trembled. “Now go,” he ordered, nodding toward the door. “Before I decide fucking you against this wall is worth the court-martial.”
She should’ve laughed. Should’ve rolled her eyes. But the image he painted—her pressed between the cold cinderblock and his hard body, his hands gripping her thighs, his cock pounding—made her knees weak. “You’re insufferable,” she managed, but her voice was thick, her body already thrumming with anticipation.
“And you’re mine,” he shot back, low and fierce.
The words hit her like a bullet. She didn’t have time to process them before he turned, grabbing his crutches and swinging toward the door with practiced ease. But not before she caught the way his prosthetic knees locked, just for a second—the way his breath hitched when he thought she wasn’t looking.
He wasn’t as steady as he pretended. Neither was she.
Lana followed, her own prosthetics clicking against the linoleum. The hallway was empty, thank fuck, but the air still felt charged, like the whole world knew what they’d just done. What they would do again. She could feel Luis behind her, his presence a live wire against her skin even though they weren’t touching.
“See you at dinner, Willis,” he called, just loud enough for her to hear. Just loud enough to make her spine stiffen.
She didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. If she looked at him now, she’d drag him into the nearest empty room and ride him until neither of them could walk. “Don’t count on it, Gomez,” she tossed over her shoulder, but the smirk in her voice gave her away.
His laughter followed her down the hall, rich and knowing. “Liar.”
The rest of the day was torture.
Every step she took, she felt him—the ghost of his hands on her hips, his breath hot against her ear, the way his cock had stretched her so perfectly. She sat through physical therapy with her legs jiggling, her mind wandering to the way his thighs had flexed beneath her, the way his abs had tensed when she’d ground down on him. The resistance bands snapped in her grip when she imagined his fingers twisting in her hair, pulling just hard enough to make her gasp.
“You okay, Willis?” her therapist asked, eyebrow raised.
Lana wiped sweat from her brow and forced a grin. “Never better.”
Lunch was worse. She picked at her food, her fork clinking against the plate too loudly. Across the cafeteria, Luis sat with a group of guys from his unit, laughing at some joke, his bicep flexing as he lifted a water bottle to his lips. She watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed, remembered the way he’d groaned her name when she’d—
“Earth to Lana.”
She blinked, realizing her friend Mia was waving a hand in front of her face. “Huh?”
Mia smirked. “You’ve been staring at Gomez like he’s a steak and you’re a starving woman.”
Lana’s face burned. “Shut up.”
“Uh-huh.” Mia’s grin turned knowing. “Just be careful. That man’s got danger written all over him.”
Lana’s gaze flickered back to Luis. He chose that exact moment to look up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. Heat pooled low in her belly. Danger didn’t even begin to cover it.
By the time dinner rolled around, Lana was a live wire, every nerve ending alight. She showered quickly, the water pounding over her skin, her fingers drifting between her legs just to take the edge off. But the moment she touched herself, imagining it was Luis’s hand, his mouth, his cock, she had to bite her lip to keep from coming right then and there.
No. Later. Him.
She dressed in loose sweatpants and a cropped hoodie, no bra. The thought of Luis peeling the fabric off her, his mouth wrapping around her nipples, made her shiver.
The east wing was quiet, the pool dark and still. The chlorine scent was stronger here, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the prosthetics she’d left by the door. She didn’t need them for this.
Luis was already there, sitting on the edge of the pool, his prosthetic legs dangling over the water. The moonlight cut across his back, highlighting the way his shoulder muscles shifted as he turned to look at her.
“Took you long enough,” he murmured.
Lana stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the tile. “Had to make sure you’d suffer a little.”
He laughed, low and rough, before crooking a finger. “Come here.”
She did.
The moment she was close enough, he grabbed her, yanking her between his thighs. His hands slid under her hoodie, palms hot against her bare waist. “Missed you,” he growled, before sealing his mouth over hers.
The kiss was filthy—tongues tangling, teeth clashing, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to bruise. Lana moaned into him, her fingers twisting in his hair. She could feel him hardening beneath her, the ridge of his cock pressing against her stomach.
“Fuck, I need you,” she gasped, breaking away just long enough to breathe.
Luis’s hands slid up, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the thin fabric. “Then take me.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
Chapter Eight: Pool of Passion
Luis’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of Lana’s hips, his grip unyielding as he spun her around with a rough jerk. The breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp, her palms slapping against the cold, slick tiles of the pool area wall. The shock of the temperature against her overheated skin made her shiver, but before she could react, Luis was already there—his chest pressing flush against her back, his cock thick and insistent against the curve of her ass. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a dark, possessive growl.
“You’ve been teasing me all fucking day,” he murmured, his hips rolling forward just enough to let her feel the heavy weight of him, the way his length pulsed against her. “Staring at me like you wanted me to bend you over the first flat surface I could find.” His free hand slid up her stomach, fingers splaying over her ribs before gripping her throat—not tight enough to cut off air, but enough to tilt her head back against his shoulder, forcing her to arch into him. “Didn’t you?”
Lana’s pulse hammered beneath his fingertips, her body already responding before her mind could catch up. The damp fabric of her sweatpants did nothing to hide how wet she was, the seam pressing against her clit with every shift of her thighs. She swallowed hard, her voice rough with need. “Yes—fuck, yes, I did.” Her hips rolled back instinctively, grinding against him, and the sound he made—a low, guttural groan—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her legs.
Luis didn’t waste another second. His hand left her throat only to yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, dragging them down just enough to bare her ass to the cool night air. The contrast made her skin pebble, but the heat of his body behind her erased any chill. His cock, freed from the confines of his own damp pants, slapped against her thigh, thick and veined, the tip already glistening. Lana barely had time to brace herself before he was guiding himself to her entrance, the broad head pressing against her slick folds.
“Luis—” His name came out as a broken whimper, her fingers scrambling against the wall for purchase as he pushed inside her in one deep, claiming thrust.
“Fuck!” The word tore from his throat, his hips snapping forward until he was seated to the hilt, his balls heavy against her. Lana’s body stretched around him, the burn of his size almost too much, but god, she wanted it. Wanted the way he filled her, the way his breath hitched against her ear as he pulled back just to slam into her again, his thighs slapping against hers. The sound was obscene—wet, skin-on-skin impacts echoing off the tiled walls, mingling with their ragged breathing.
“You take me so fucking well,” Luis growled, his fingers bruising into her hips as he set a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drove her forward, her breasts pressing against the wall, her nipples hard and aching beneath the thin fabric of her hoodie. “Like you were made for this—for me.” His teeth grazed the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder, a sharp nip that had her crying out, her pussy clenching around him.
Lana could barely form words, her mind reduced to the slick drag of his cock inside her, the way his body caged hers, the scent of chlorine and sweat and him wrapping around her. “Harder,” she managed, her voice trembling. “Fuck me harder, I can take it—” The challenge was barely out of her mouth before Luis snarled, his grip on her hip tightening as he snapped his hips forward with enough force to lift her onto her toes.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his breath hot against her ear. “Take every fucking inch like a good girl.” His other hand slid around her front, fingers finding her clit with unerring precision. The first circle of his thumb sent a jolt through her, her legs shaking beneath her. “You’re mine, Lana. Say it.”
The command, the way his voice darkened on the words, sent a shiver down her spine. She was his—she wanted to be his, even if the thought should’ve terrified her. “Yours,” she gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers worked her in tight, relentless circles. “Only yours—ah!” His thrusts grew erratic, his cock swelling inside her as her walls fluttered around him, her orgasm coiling tight and inevitable.
“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name,” Luis promised, his voice rough with effort. His fingers moved faster, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chased his own release. “Then I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy up until you’re dripping with me.” The filthy words pushed her right to the edge, her nails scraping against the tiles as her body locked up, her breath stuttering.
“Luis—I’m—” She didn’t get to finish. Her orgasm crashed over her, her vision whiting out as her pussy clenched around his cock, milking him. Luis groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and came with a shudder, his cum pulsing inside her in thick, hot spurts. Lana could feel it, could feel the way he twitched with each release, his breath ragged against her skin.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, their bodies still locked together, the only sound their harsh breathing and the distant hum of the facility’s ventilation. Luis’s forehead dropped to the back of her shoulder, his lips pressing a kiss to her skin before he finally, reluctantly, pulled out. The loss of him made her whimper, a fresh gush of their combined release trickling down her thighs.
Luis didn’t let her go far. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as he nuzzled into her neck. “Still think you can walk away from me?” he murmured, his voice rough but edged with something softer now, something almost vulnerable.
Lana turned her head just enough to catch his mouth in a slow, deep kiss, her tongue sliding against his. She could taste herself on him, could feel the way his cock twitched against her ass, already stirring back to life. “No,” she admitted against his lips, her hand covering his where it rested against her stomach. “Not a chance in hell.”
Chapter Nine: Newfound Intimacy
The cool air of the pool area brushed against Lana’s damp skin, raising goosebumps along her arms as she leaned back into Luis’s solid chest. His breath was still uneven, warm against the curve of her neck, his fingers idly tracing the edge of her hip where her sweatpants had been yanked down in haste. The scent of chlorine and sex hung thick between them, a heady reminder of how roughly he’d taken her—how thoroughly she’d let him. But now, in the quiet aftermath, her touch softened, her fingertips gliding over the sleek carbon fiber of his prosthetic leg. The ridges and contours were familiar to her now, just like the way his muscles tensed beneath her palm when she pressed in just right.
“Tell me about the first time you felt whole again,” she murmured, her voice low but steady, cutting through the hum of the ventilation system. The words weren’t a demand, but they weren’t a request either—just a quiet insistence, the kind that came from someone who knew exactly how much weight the question carried.
Luis stilled. His hand, which had been lazily stroking the dip of her waist, paused mid-motion. The shift was subtle, but she felt it—the way his body tensed, the way his exhale hitched just slightly. “That’s not the kind of thing you ask a man when his dick’s still half-hard inside you,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Just deflection, the kind he used when something cut too close.
Lana didn’t let him retreat. She turned her head just enough to press her lips to the pulse point beneath his jaw, feeling the way his heartbeat kicked against her mouth. “Exactly when I should ask,” she countered, her breath warm against his skin. “When there’s nothing left to hide behind.” Her fingers traced the seam where his prosthetic met flesh, the boundary between what he’d lost and what he’d rebuilt. “I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve been there. But this?” She pressed harder, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it. “This is the part you don’t let anyone touch.”
A rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half something raw. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” But his hand found hers, not to pull it away, but to hold it there, as if anchoring himself to the moment. The pool lights flickered faintly above them, casting long shadows that stretched and bent like the memories he was trying to outrun.
For a long second, the only sound was the distant drip of water from the pool’s edge, the echo of their ragged breathing. Then, finally, he spoke. “It was in the hospital. Three months after the blast.” His voice was rough, the words pulled from somewhere deep. “They’d just fitted me with the first pair of prosthetics—clunky as hell, nothing like these.” He tapped the sleek carbon fiber with his free hand, the sound sharp in the quiet. “I could barely stand without wanting to puke from the phantom pain. But my brother…” His throat worked. “That stubborn cabrón dragged me out to the courtyard. Said if I didn’t walk to the fucking bench and back, he’d wheel me into the nurse’s station and tell them I’d been jerking off in the supply closet.”
Lana snorted, the sound muffled against his skin. “He sounds like an asshole.”
“He’s a marine,” Luis said, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did. “So there I am, sweating like a pig, legs feeling like they’re made of lead and fire, and every step’s a goddamn battle. But I make it. And when I turn around—” His grip on her hand tightened, just for a second. “There’s this kid. Maybe ten years old, missing an arm. Just standing there, watching me like I’m some kind of… I don’t know. Hero.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue. “And he smiles. Just this big, gap-toothed grin, and he gives me a thumbs-up with his one hand. Like I’d done something worth praising.”
The image hung between them, vivid and aching. Lana could see it—the way Luis would’ve stood taller despite the pain, the way his pride would’ve warred with the humiliation of being seen like that. Vulnerable. Broken. Human.
“That’s when you felt whole?” she asked softly.
Luis was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, “No.” His voice was rough, almost angry. “That’s when I wanted to be. But I didn’t feel it. Not really.” His thumb traced idle circles on her wrist, the touch absent, lost in the past. “That didn’t happen until the first time I ran again.”
Lana’s breath caught. She twisted in his arms, needing to see his face, to watch the way his eyes darkened with the memory. “You ran?”
A humorless laugh escaped him. “More like stumbled like a drunk giraffe. But yeah.” His gaze was distant now, seeing something she wasn’t. “Six months of PT. Six months of wanting to punch every fucking ‘you’re so inspiring’ out of every well-meaning idiot’s mouth. And then one day, my therapist—this ex-ranger with a bionic arm and zero patience for my shit—tells me to get on the treadmill. Says if I don’t at least try, he’s gonna start charging me double for being a whiny bitch.” His lips quirked, just barely. “So I try. And I fall. And I hate it. But the next day, I try again. And again. And then—” His voice dropped, the words coming faster now, like he couldn’t hold them back. “Then there’s this one morning. I’m on the track outside, and the sun’s just coming up, and my legs burn, and my lungs are screaming, but I’m moving. Not walking. Not limping. Running.” His hand found her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing over the scar there, as if grounding himself in the present. “And for the first time since the explosion, I don’t feel like a fucking ghost in my own body. I feel like me.”
The raw edge in his voice sent a shiver down Lana’s spine. She knew that feeling—the first time you did something you thought was lost forever. The first time you dared to believe you could still be who you were before. For her, it had been the first time she’d stood on her prosthetics without the harness, her body trembling but hers. The first time she’d fired a gun at the range, the recoil familiar and right in her hands.
She didn’t realize she was crying until Luis’s thumb brushed away a tear, his expression softening. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. “What’s this for?”
Lana shook her head, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him. “I just—” Her voice cracked. “I get it. That moment when you realize you’re not just surviving anymore. You’re living.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think anyone else would understand what that’s like.”
Luis’s breath hitched. His hands framed her face, his forehead pressing to hers, their breaths mingling. “I do,” he said, low and fierce. “I do, Lana.” And then his mouth was on hers, not hungry like before, but slow. Deep. Knowing. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing her open, and when she moaned into him, he groaned back, the sound vibrating through her chest.
The kiss was different this time—no domination, no game. Just two people who’d been broken and put themselves back together, recognizing the shape of each other’s scars. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel him hardening again, the ridge of his cock pressing against her stomach. But neither of them moved to rush it. Not yet.
“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” Luis murmured against her lips, his voice rough with something that wasn’t just desire. It was awe. It was respect.
Lana smiled, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck. “So are you, soldado,” she whispered back. And when she kissed him again, it wasn’t just her body surrendering. It was her heart.
Chapter Ten: A Deepening Connection
The cool night air clung to their damp skin, the faint hum of the ventilation system blending with their uneven breaths. Lana’s fingers still traced the sleek carbon fiber of Luis’s prosthetic, her touch light but deliberate, as if memorizing the contours of his strength. His hoodie was half-unzipped, the fabric clinging to the ridges of his chest, and when she glanced up, his brown eyes held hers—dark, unguarded. There was something in the way he looked at her now, something beyond the heat of their earlier passion. It was quieter. Deeper.
Luis exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the scar along her cheekbone before his hand slid down to the hem of his hoodie. Without a word, he tugged the fabric up, peeling it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the pool deck with a damp thud. The dim glow of the pool lights cast shifting shadows over his torso, highlighting the defined planes of his chest—and the ink etched just over his heart.
Lana’s breath hitched.
It was a tattoo, faded slightly with time but still sharp—a stylized eagle clutching a banner between its talons, the words Semel et Semper arched beneath in bold script. The Latin phrase was familiar, a motto she’d heard whispered in barracks and shouted in training: Once and Always. The insignia of the 75th Ranger Regiment.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out, hovering just above his skin. “You never told me you were a Ranger.”
Luis watched her, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. “Not something I advertise.”
“Why this?” Her fingertip finally grazed the ink, tracing the eagle’s outstretched wings. “Why here?”
His jaw tightened, just for a second. “Because it’s the one thing they couldn’t take from me.” His voice was rough, low. “No matter what happened out there, no matter what I lost… this” —he pressed her hand flat against the tattoo— “this was always mine.”
The weight of it settled between them. She understood. Oh, God, did she understand.
Lana’s throat burned. She’d never shown anyone the scar on her thigh—the one that wasn’t from the explosion, the one she’d gotten at eighteen, drunk and reckless and so damn sure she was invincible. A jagged, stupid reminder of a girl who didn’t exist anymore. But Luis had just laid his soul bare in ink and Latin, and something in her cracked open.
Her hand slipped from his chest, fingers curling into the waistband of her sweatpants. She didn’t look at him as she shifted, pulling the fabric down just enough to expose the pale, puckered line high on her left thigh. “I got this jumping off a fucking roof,” she admitted, voice thick. “Tried to impress some guy. Broke my femur in three places.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Ironically, it’s the one part of me that didn’t get blown to hell.”
Luis didn’t laugh. His gaze darkened as he took in the scar, his calloused fingers replacing hers, tracing the raised tissue with a reverence that made her shudder. “You were always reckless,” he murmured. “Even before the army.”
“Yeah, well.” She swallowed. “Guess some things don’t change.”
His hand slid higher, palm warm against the inside of her thigh. “You’re still here,” he said, voice rough. “That’s what matters.”
The words undid her. Lana surged forward, her mouth crashing against his. It wasn’t desperate like before—it was slower, deeper, their lips moving in a rhythm that mirrored the steady pulse of the pool’s filtered water. Luis groaned into her, his hands framing her face before sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her flush against him. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against her stomach, but neither of them rushed. Not this time.
They sank to the pool deck together, Lana straddling his lap, her prosthetic legs discarded beside his. His hands mapped her body like he was memorizing her—thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips. Every touch was worship. Every breath between them was a confession.
“Luis,” she whispered against his mouth, her hips rolling instinctively, the friction maddening and not enough. “I need—”
“I know.” His voice was a growl, his lips trailing down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. “We’ve got time.”
And they did.
He laid her back against the cool tiles, his body covering hers, the weight of him grounding and intoxicating. When his mouth closed over her nipple through the thin fabric of her sports bra, Lana arched with a gasp, her fingers tangling in his short hair. He took his time—licking, sucking, until the material was damp and clinging, her nipple a tight, aching peak. Only then did he pull the bra aside, his tongue swirling over her bare skin, drawing a broken moan from her throat.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, switching to her other breast, his free hand sliding down to cup her through her panties. The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric, his fingers pressing just right against her clit. “So fucking perfect for me.”
Lana whimpered, her back arching off the tiles. “Luis, please—”
“Shhh.” He kissed his way down her stomach, his breath hot against the waistband of her panties. “Let me take care of you.”
The first slow drag of his tongue through her folds had her crying out, her hands flying to his shoulders. He didn’t tease—not this time. He feasted, his mouth sealing over her clit, his tongue working in deep, deliberate strokes that had her thighs trembling. When he slid two fingers inside her, curling them just so, she came with a choked sob, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her nails digging into his skin.
Luis didn’t stop. He kept licking, kept fucking her with his fingers, drawing out every last shudder until she was boneless and gasping, her hands slipping from his shoulders to cover her face.
“Too much,” she panted. “It’s too—”
“No such thing.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, his stubble rough against her sensitive skin. Then he was moving up her body again, his cock free from his track pants, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening.
Lana reached for him, her hand wrapping around his length, stroking him once, twice—his breath hissed between his teeth. “Condom,” he ground out. “Back pocket.”
She fumbled for his discarded pants, tearing the foil packet open with her teeth. Rolling the latex down his cock was its own kind of torture, his hips jerking when her fingers brushed his balls. Then he was there, poised at her entrance, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice raw.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yours.”
He pushed inside her in one slow, relentless thrust, filling her completely. They both groaned, the stretch burning in the best way, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this. For each other.
Luis set a rhythm that was agonizingly slow—deep, rolling strokes that had her whimpering with every withdrawal, her nails scoring his back as she tried to pull him closer, harder. But he refused to rush. His mouth found hers again, their kisses messy and desperate, their breaths mingling as he fucked her with a reverence that bordered on devotion.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice a rough whisper. “I want to see you when you come.”
Lana forced her eyes open, her gaze locking with his. The connection was too much—his cock dragging against that spot inside her, his thumb circling her clit, the way his tattooed chest heaved above her. She could feel the second orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, and when it hit, it was him she saw. His name tore from her lips as her body clenched around him, her vision whiting out at the edges.
Luis followed with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing inside her. She could feel him through the condom, the heat of his release, the way his entire body tensed before collapsing against her, his weight a delicious pressure.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the facility’s machinery. Then Luis pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering against her scar.
“Stay with me,” he murmured.
Lana turned her head, catching his mouth in a slow, lingering kiss. “Always,” she whispered against his lips.
And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.