The sound that comes out of him is a laugh. Low and surprised, rumbling up from his chest. Every laugh I’ve gotten from Mickey has been careful, controlled. This one isn’t.
That laugh is new. I want to hear it again.
He puts both hands on the wheel rims. He pushes once. Slow. Controlled. Then again, stronger. The chair rolls forward, and he adjusts at the last second, turning just enough to block the space between the wall and the bed.
I’m trapped. His bare chest is at my stomach height, his arms are flexed on the wheel rims and he’s looking up at me with eyes that are burning.
“What are you going to do now, Benji?” He challenges. “Climb over a man in a wheelchair?”
The heat in my face is spreading down my neck. He’s close. His knees are inches from my legs. The wheelchair isangled to block the gap and there is no way around him without going through him and he knows it.
“I might climb over you. I might climb all kinds of things. You have no idea of what I’m capable of.”
I step over the leg rest, my sneakers careful between his shins, my hip brushing the armrest, when his arm moves so fast I don’t see it coming.
His right arm wraps around my waist, his hand flat against the small of my back, and he pulls me in, holding me there. Not aggressive, but firm. His left hand stays planted on the armrest, anchoring both of us.
“Oh fuck,” I say, grabbing onto his arm for balance. “You’re strong. Turn me loose, you big caveman.”
He’s laughing out loud now. His bare chest is shaking with it and his arm is locked around me, his face tilted up toward mine. The laughter rumbles through his body into mine through the point of contact at my hip.
“What are you going to do now?” he asks.
I do the only thing I can think of. I pull my arm back and hurl the blue T-shirt across the room. It sails over the bed, clips the lamp on the nightstand, and lands in a heap on the floor by the bathroom door.
Mickey watches it fly. His arm loosens for a fraction of a second and his mouth drops open. “Did you just throw my shirt across the room?”
“Damn right I did. That shirt is dead to me now. You’ll remain bare-chested for the remainder of the evening andyou’re going to like it. I’m in charge here. There’s a new sheriff in town and his name is Benji.”
His arm is still around me, his fingers resting against the small of my back. The laughter has faded and the expression on his face makes me blush. His breath is warm against my stomach through the thin fabric of my shirt.
He could pull me closer if he wanted to. It’s there in the way his grip holds just short of it. But he doesn’t have to. Because I’m already getting hard.
It happens fast and obvious, the way it always does with me. His arm is right there, his forearm pressed against my dick, and there is no version of anatomy where he doesn’t feel it.
His arm goes still. Yeah, he noticed.
“Oh shit,” I say, grinning at him. “Whoops.”
I don’t move away or try to cover it. I sure as hell don’t apologize. I stand there with my hip against his armrest and his arm around my waist.
Mickey stares at me, glances at his own forearm. Then back up at me.
“Is that—” He stops and swallows. “Is that because of me?”
Damn, how he asks it. Like he genuinely doesn’t know.
I roll my eyes so hard at him. “No, Mickey, it’s for the lamp post I almost knocked over. It’s a very sexy lamp. Great wattage.” I wave a hand at his bare chest. “Of course it’s because of you. What do you expect? Taking your shirt off andsitting there in the light looking sexy as fuck? What did you think was going to happen when you touched me?”
“Benji. I’m in a wheelchair,” he says as if that explains anything.
“Yes, Mickey. I can see that. I’m standing right next to it. And your point is?”
“My point is—”
“What? That the wheelchair changes this? That I’m not very turned on by you right now?” I look down at my own erection, at the situation that is not resolving itself and is in fact getting worse because his arm is pressed against me. “Because I’ve got news for you, Officer Weaver. The wheelchair is not a factor. It has never been a factor. You could be in a chair, on a bed, on the floor. You took your shirt off and your body did this to me. My body took one look at you and said, ‘oh yeah, baby. That’s what I want. Right fucking now.’ And the fact that you’re sitting down while it happened instead of walking around changes exactly nothing about what my dick is doing right now.”
“You’re crazy,” he says.
