“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he said, angry now. “You should have standards. You should—”
Then his voice strangled as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
Her sports bra was barely fabric at all, showing her tight nipples. Her abs sloped into wide hips, encased in tight black pants. His mouth went dry.
Warning bells clanged in his head. He’d said he wasn’t going to do this, wasn’t going to touch her, that he didn’t get to have her. But then she pulled off the bra, too, and his brain blissfully shut off.
He couldn’t help it. With a groan of resignation, of appreciation, he pulled her into his arms for a slow, languorous kiss. This was happening. Whatever came after would be on his head, but for now he had to taste her, to feel her beneath him, to pretend.
Beautiful, beautiful. He wanted to touch her in all those beautiful places, but that was everywhere. Her full lips, but no, that was for his mouth to explore. And those breasts, plump and tipped with bronze—they were for his mouth.
But lower was the soft, feminine curve of her stomach, all sleek lines and sloping shadows. And even lower, the satiny softness of her sex, but he couldn’t touch them all. Not at once, and that’s what his mind was consumed with, now, now. Touch her now, take her now.
She’s mine now.
Too late, he noticed her hand pressing against his chest, stopping him. She wanted him to stop.
Yes, he would. Of course he would. He would never force himself on anyone, and especially not her. Not his ugly face or his too-old body.
But she wasn’t really stopping him, he saw. She took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. Kicking off her pants, she crawled up onto the bed. Her legs were parted in that haphazard way of a woman. Sprawling in invitation but tilted closed with modesty.
Before he could process any reasons why he shouldn’t, he was naked on top of her. A crazed man. He licked and sucked and
bit
. She should stop him, the small rational part of his brain cried. But that was doused by her heat and his.
She gave it all back to him. Touching him, tasting him.
Her mouth worked its way down and he wanted that—God, did he. But he also didn’t think he could last. He knew he couldn’t, so he stopped her.
“Baby,” he said, and she stopped and looked at him. He nudged her shoulder, not able to get out more words than just that.
Baby
. She was his.
* * *
At his urging,
Erin rolled to her hands and knees. Yes. This way, that way. The position didn’t matter, so long as he got inside her, in her mouth or
somewhere.
She was frantic with it, with the need to hold him in her body.
The sharp tear of the wrapper, a short pause and then he was in. His cock thrust into her from behind. His thick body covered her back while his mouth whispered in her ear.
“Baby, you’re so hot. Do you know how much I want you? All I can think about. You make me stupid. Mine, mine.”
It felt good. It did. But…she thought back to the first time and what he had said.
You don’t have to look.
Is that what he was doing? Making it so she didn’t have to see him?
And she wanted to see him. More than that, she didn’t want him to think she didn’t.
She started to turn, but he put a strong hand on her back.
“Not good?” he panted.
She could feel him changing the angle and—ahh!—yes, that
was
better. That wasn’t the point though. That wasn’t the problem.
She jerked away so he had no choice but to let her go or restrain her. He let her go. He always would, she knew that. He would always be gentle with her. Without giving him a chance to think, to pull away, she flipped over, spread her legs and guided his cock inside her. His eyes widened, as if he might protest, but then they slid shut.
He moaned, long and low. “So good. Mine.”
She wanted to smile at that—she loved when he said that. She never wanted him to stop saying it, but she couldn’t smile at all. Not when the pressure, the tension, the joy of it was building, higher and higher. She could hardly breathe, much less smile, and then she’d reached the top. She came with a strangled cry and he followed after, pumping into her and carrying her orgasm until she was wrung out.
“Erin,” he mumbled into her hair, “Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave… love you.”
He froze. She could almost hear him thinking—first replaying what he’d just said and then searching for something to say.
She cupped his cheek in her hand. It was the one that fit her free hand, but it happened to be the damaged one, the scarred one, and she stroked her thumb over the too-smooth, discolored skin.
“Love you, too,” she whispered.
He groaned and shut his eyes, turning his face into her touch.
When Blake receives an offer to return to his alma mater as an associate professor, he knows this is his chance to reenter the world—and to be worthy of the woman he loves. Erin wants this chance for him to heal…even if it means leaving her behind.
E
rin woke up
in slow degrees. Awareness tugged at her like a gentle tide. Arousal lapped at her skin. She had been in a deep slumber, both sated and sore, but she came alive again under his touch.
Blake.
Sighing, she might have said his name aloud. Or maybe just in her mind. They were attuned now, so soon after sex. Wrapped up in each other, cocooned in sleep. Past the point of discussions, negotiations, they’d been stripped to the core. Just him, her, and the pleasure they could invoke together.
Calloused fingers roamed over her hips and lower, lower, to where her curls were still damp from their earlier sex. She peeked at the windows. A faint, eerie light glowed against the curtains, heralding late twilight, the onslaught of night. He was insatiable really. Earlier this evening, then now. They’d do it again in the morning most likely. She loved it.
When his fingers slipped inside the wetness pooling at her sex, she moaned.
“Shh. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Liar.
A lazy smile curved her lips. “Is that right?”
He found her clit and pinched. His breath was hot at the back of her neck, his erection pressing urgently against her from behind. “But now that you’re up…”
“You have plans for me.” Delicious plans. They always were.
“You don’t have to do a thing,” he murmured, rolling her onto her back. He nuzzled his way through the valley of her breasts, across her belly, and settled in between her legs. Her knees splayed wide, her whole body spread open to him, encouraged by anticipation and the laxity of sleep. Her hips canted up, an instinctual invitation.
She’d been given oral sex before, but never by someone as dedicated as Blake. He enjoyed himself there as much as he enjoyed regular sex—maybe more. He could make her come endless times, until she was throbbing and restless, until she had to beg him to come inside her.
God, she loved it.
Two weeks wasn’t a long time, but she felt incredibly close to Blake. She trusted him with her body—and hell, with her heart. She had dated her last boyfriend for eight months without feeling this level of intimacy. He certainly had never done
this
to her, lapping from the bottom to the top, lingering in a lazy circle around her clit, pressing in an instinctual rhythm until her hips took up the beat.
Before she could climax, he licked and sucked his way lower. His tongue slipped between her lips, sparking tendrils of need through her core.
“Oh, Blake,” she moaned, lost to the sensations, shuddering on the edge.
“What is it, baby?” he murmured against her flesh. “Tell me what you want. Take what you need.”
She fisted his hair and guided his mouth to her clit. He eagerly sucked her there, using his lips and tongue to drive her higher and further until she was taut, stretched out, and ready to burst.
It was the touch of his fingers to her inner lips that pushed her over, a tickle of a caress combined with the harsh pleasure at her clit, and she came in a sunburst that belied the heavy shadows surrounding them.
Slowly coming down, she blinked up at the ceiling, feeling energized. “Now I’m well and truly awake.”
“Shit,” he said, sounding dismayed.
“It’s not a complaint, mister. That was amazing.”
“Don’t worry.” He lowered his mouth to her sex. “I think we can wear you out all over again.”
She would have smiled then, but his tongue curled wickedly and his fingers delved deeper. Her thighs drew up tight, and she came again, smaller this time, in tense, rolling waves. He didn’t give her a reprieve, just set the flat of his tongue against her clit, which was at once too sensitive and exactly what she needed. She grew louder, her body writhing without her control, but each new orgasm sent her farther into the sex-drugged space.
When her body shuddered in one final orgasm, he knelt between her legs. She noticed distantly that his hands were shaking as he put on the condom, as he angled his cock at her slippery cunt and pushed inside. It was all wonderful but never more than that moment, when she felt so full and watched an expression of bliss soothe his tortured face.
On the one side, his skin was smooth, aside from the ruggedness and bristle of an active, healthy man. The flesh on the other side had once been burned, ravaged by fire and war, now covered with scar tissue. It hurt to see, but only because she ached for him, for the pain he must have felt in that moment, for the pain that kept him locked up in his immaculate house instead of out in the world.
To her he was beautiful. In the moonlight, the jagged landscape of his scars was more pronounced. But it was his slack jaw that she admired, his glazed eyes. The signs of his ecstasy brought on by her body. As if he were a god, she offered herself up to him, but it wasn’t a sacrifice to feel the heavy weight of his muscles, the thick pulse of his cock, the tender press of his lips against her when he bent to drop a kiss. He thrust inside her, faster and harder, pushing them onward in a sea of molten pleasure.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I can’t—I can’t—”
“Don’t hold back.” Then she repeated his earlier words. “Take what you need.”
They seemed to release him. He picked up speed, slamming inside her so hard it took her breath away. He pressed his lips to hers, moving his tongue to the same rhythm as his hips. He invaded her at both places, her mouth and her sex, and held her down in all the rest, but she wouldn’t have moved for the world. She longed for him to take her, to use her. Anything she could do to bring him pleasure. Anything to bring him peace.
His hips lost their steady motion, jerking up against her like waves on a cliff, crashing until he let out a hoarse shout and held still for his climax.
Gingerly, he pulled out. She whimpered slightly at the loss.
He stroked her thigh. “I’ll be right back. Have to take care of this.”
He disappeared into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. The water ran in a quiet rush. She stared at the glowing yellow edges of the door, resolved to wait until he got back into bed. But his clever tongue and determination had done their job, and she was too exhausted to last. With a sigh of defeat, she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Blake returned to
stand beside the bed, admiring the smooth cheek and dark eyelashes of his lover. Her dark blonde hair looked like spun gold in the night, her skin pale as the moon. His gaze roamed lower, to the sweep of her neck and below. The sheet bared one breast—gorgeous and round, topped with a dusky nipple. He hadn’t paid enough attention to her breasts this time, but then he always felt like that. He wanted to lick and suck every part of her body and then do it again.
He didn’t fool himself about the ever-present tinge of desperation, as if he needed to hurry, as if she’d slip through his fingers like sand in the wind. He had realistic expectations. He was ugly as sin. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It was only a matter of time before she never came back.
Though it wasn’t just his looks. They were a symptom of the root problem. Regular people could lock away their wounds and their weaknesses. Blake’s hung like a sign on a storefront. A label on a map.
Here Be Dragons.
Wisely, no one had ventured near him—until Erin.
He was fundamentally changed after his tour. Not just the explosion, although that had messed him up but good. For those long months overseas, he’d turned into something subhuman. Something with instincts, with power—something animal.
And the things he’d seen still haunted him. He didn’t much feel like being around people at all, and when they jerked away from him in fear it didn’t help matters.
Maybe they
should
be afraid of him. Maybe the explosion had truly changed him, honed and sharpened him into something only useful for fighting—not living.
He’d existed in a world of darkness and palpable hellfire since the explosion and his return. So much for a life in the public spotlight. The well-planned career on a political stage was ruined. His parents were disappointed. His fiancée had been disappointed too, until she’d left.
Hell, he was getting depressing. He tried not to do that, especially when Erin was around. She had changed all that. He wasn’t fixed—not even close. Hope was a small blade of green poking up from the hard, cracked earth.
As she’d said, he was well and truly awake. If he stayed in bed with her, he’d only end up waking her again with his restlessness. Despite his pensive mood, his dick was ready for round two—or was it three or four? A steady state around her. He couldn’t keep badgering her like this. He may live like a hermit these days, working at odd hours and all through the night, but she had to leave early in the morning.
Treading quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom to his study across the hall. The answering machine blinked red like it had all afternoon, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Instead he flipped the screen up on his laptop, suffusing the room with a dim blue light that comforted him. Here he was in his element. Here he was treated as an equal.