My Kind of Love: a Military Romance (Finding Love Book 1)

by Nikki Ash

  She moves from me and I frown, wanting her back. I assume she’s getting up to get dressed so we can head over to her family’s house, but instead, she scoots down, so she’s eye level with my dick.

  “I think I’ll just have one more taste. And then we’ll go.” Wrapping her delicate fingers around my shaft, she guides my dick into her open mouth, only stopping when the head hits the back of her throat. The sight of her swallowing me almost has me coming down her throat. I groan in pleasure, and it spurs her on. She backs up slightly, exposing my wet shaft, then takes me all the way in again.

  “Fuck,” I grunt. I’m going to come like a goddamn pubescent teenage boy if she keeps doing that. She rolls us over so she’s lying between my legs and her head begins to bob up and down, sucking my dick like she needs it to survive. I reach down and move her hair from her face so I can watch. Then I reach farther to pinch her pink nipples that are hanging like perfect teardrops, swaying back and forth as she fucks me with her mouth. She takes my ballsac in her palm, squeezing slightly, and I’m a goner.

  Unable to form the words to warn her, I grasp her mane, trying to pull her off me, but she doesn’t let up, taking every last drop of my orgasm.

  Her mouth pops off my dick and she runs her tongue along the seam of her lips before she smiles sweetly. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not.” Sitting up, I grip the curves of her hips and lay her down. “Now, it’s my turn.”

  I’m quiet on the walk over to Micaela’s family’s place, and thankfully, she doesn’t question it, just holding my hand and walking next to me. After I ate her pussy—twice—we showered again and then got dressed. I called my parents to let them know I’m okay, and they made me promise, once I’m settled in, to bring Micaela and RJ over. Micaela and I haven’t talked about what happened during my last few days of deployment, why I was several days late. I know she knows we were ambushed, but she doesn’t know anything else. It will be in the news soon, so I’m planning to tell her, but right now I just want to focus on her and RJ and being home with them. When I tell her what happened, I’m almost positive she’s going to freak out. But right now she’s pretending to be blissfully ignorant, like I was away on an extended trip and not almost killed by some crazy as fuck terrorists who had bombs strapped to their bodies to prove whatever point they were trying to make.

  When we get to the door, I take a deep breath and she glances over at me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Then why are you squeezing the life out of my hand?” She raises our joined hands. “I lost all feeling of my fingers three houses back.”

  “Sorry.” I loosen my grip but don’t let go. “I know RJ isn’t going to know who I am, but what if he’s scared of me?”

  “Why would he be scared of you?”

  “Before I was adopted, I was sent to foster care. I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember all the strange faces. I was passed around to different homes and not knowing who anyone was scared me. He knows you and your family. He knows my family…but he doesn’t know me. So he might be scared.”

  “Were you scared when Bentley and Kayla took you home?”

  I think about it for a second, remembering the day they saved me. At first, I was scared. Bentley was this huge, muscular, scary-looking man, but then he knelt down next to me and, with the softest voice, said, ‘We’d like to take you home if that’s okay.’ He extended his hand, and in that moment, I had never felt so safe.

  “No, I felt safe.”

  “That’s because they loved you. Just like you love RJ. He might not know you, but he’ll know you love him.”

  She takes my hand and walks us through the door. The second her mom spots us, she rushes over and envelops me in a motherly hug. “Oh, thank God. When Marco told me he heard from you, I was so relieved. You’ve spoken to your mom, right?” she asks, stepping back and assessing me to make sure I really am okay.

  “Yeah, we’ll probably visit her tomorrow so she can see me for herself.”

  “Oh, good.” She gives me another hug. “RJ is in the backyard with Marco and Liam. They’re grilling dinner. You guys will stay, yes?”

  “Of course,” I tell her, already following Micaela through the house to the backyard.

  We step outside and the smell of grilled meat wafts in the air. It’s been a long ass time since I smelled food that good. Marco is standing in front of the grill, and Liam is sitting at the table, drawing or writing on a piece of paper.

  Marco tilts his chin toward me with a grin. “There he is, and in one piece.”

  “Dad,” Micaela chides, walking over to Liam. She gives the top of his head a kiss before she bends down. “There’s my little guy,” she coos, lifting RJ into the air. His smiling, pudgy face comes into view, and tears burn behind my lids. She blows raspberries on his belly and his eyes light up, the most beautiful fucking giggle ringing through the air. I’ve seen him in pictures and a couple times in video, but none of that did him justice. With my brown hair and bright blue eyes, he already looks like me. But when he laughs, his dimples, which are identical to mine, pop out, and if I had any baby pictures, I’m almost positive that’s what they would look like.

  Micaela lowers him, so he’s vertical again. Unlike the last time I saw him, he’s able to hold his head up, and his eyes meet mine curiously. His fingers go to his mouth, but Micaela removes them, popping a pacifier into his mouth.

  “Want to hold him?” she asks, stepping closer to me. When she turns slightly, I can see the onesie he’s wearing is camouflage and reads, Some heroes wear capes, mine wears combat boots.

  A lump, the size of a hand grenade, blocks my airway. Micaela has every reason to despise that part of my life, and I know she’s terrified of it, yet, while I was still in Afghanistan, she moved us into the home I bought for her. She dresses our son in outfits like the one he’s wearing now. She’s been kicked down, but she still remains so damn strong.

  “Ryan,” she prompts, shaking me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah,” I choke out, clearing my throat when the word comes out barely audible. “Yes, please.” I extend my arms and she hands RJ over to me.

  “RJ, this is your daddy,” she says softly, as if he understands her.

  His gaze locks with mine, and for a second I worry he’s going to cry. But then his hands come up, rubbing on the short beard I have because I wasn’t able to shave for over a week. He spits out his pacifier, and then his mouth opens like a hungry fish. Before I can figure out what he’s doing, his drool-filled mouth lands on my nose.

  Micaela giggles. “He’s giving you kisses.”

  I stand there, frozen in my place, while my son gums the hell out of my nose—saliva dripping down into my mouth—and thank God that I’m able to be here with my family.

  A minute later, RJ pulls away from my nose, replacing his mouth with his fingers. He squeezes my nostrils, his eyes going slightly cross-eyed as he stares intently at my face. I chuckle at how fucking curious he is.

  “Hey there, little guy,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “I’ve missed you.”

  RJ answers me by moving his hand from my nose to my mouth and pulling on my lower lip. When a laugh bubbles out of me, he grants me the most beautiful smile, and I’m almost positive, right here on the back porch of Micaela’s parents’ house, my heart leaps out of my chest and into my son’s hands.

  “See,” Micaela says softly. “He totally loves you.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Marco calls over. “Get inside, so we can feed you some good ol’ American cuisine.

  We all sit around the table, and Micaela offers to put RJ into his swing, but I’m not ready to let go of him yet, so I opt to eat one-handed. The conversation stays light, everyone getting me caught up on everything going on here, asking me questions like if the food we’re eating is better than over there and if I’ve gotten to take a hot shower yet. I know they’re doing it for Micaela’s benefit, not wanting to bring up what happened, and I appreci
ate it.

  Eventually RJ gets fussy and Micaela excuses herself to grab a bottle. When he was a couple months old, she wasn’t producing enough milk, and he was cranky all the time. She made the decision to switch to formula. She cried on the phone to me that day, feeling like a failure, and I hated that I couldn’t be here to comfort her.

  When she returns, she hands me the bottle, knowing I’m still not ready to give him up. His heart-shaped lips form the cutest O as he dives for the bottle. I watch him as he devours his food, sucking every ounce down like he’s starving. When he’s done, I lift him up to burp him, but he won’t stay still.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Micaela says with a laugh.

  Instead of eating, my attention stays on RJ, shocked and amazed at how much he’s grown. Four months feels like a damn lifetime when it comes to babies growing. The last time I held him he was tiny, his skin soft and saggy. But now he’s got muscles and baby fat filling him out. He’s less like a baby and more like a tiny, living, breathing, little human.

  When dinner’s over, we hang out, bullshitting and catching up for a little while. When RJ gets cranky, Micaela informs me it’s because it’s nearing his bedtime. After saying our goodbyes, we head home. The walk with RJ is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I’m not sure what’s going through her head, but for me, I’m excited to be home and ready to finally start living my life with my family. Because that’s what we are—a family. I’m hoping Micaela and I being intimate wasn’t a one-time thing, and when we get home, we’ll be sharing a room together. I didn’t expect to come home to find my stuff moved into her place. I had planned on wooing the hell out of her and convincing her to be with me. Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t exactly know where we stand and I’m afraid to ask. Call me a coward if you want, but I don’t want to mention it and fuck up my chance of being with my family.

  “I need to give RJ a bath,” Micaela says once we get through the door. “He’s on a good schedule, for the most part. He goes to bed after a bath and a bottle, only waking up once in the middle of the night for a diaper change and to eat. He’s even been sleeping in until six.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Of course.”

  We work together to give RJ a bath, get him into his pajamas, and then give him one last bottle before putting him to bed. His eyelids are hooded over and he’s already halfway to his dreams when Micaela sets him in his crib, splaying a blanket across his little body. She turns off the light and winds up a mobile that’s hanging above his crib. It turns in a circular motion, playing soft music, and RJ’s eyes close before it even makes it around one full time.

  “I’m exhausted,” Micaela says, removing her clothes and putting on her pajamas. “I don’t even know how you’re still standing erect and with your eyes open.” She moves to the bathroom and brushes her teeth.

  “Probably the adrenaline,” I admit, following her lead and getting changed then brushing my teeth. My stuff is still in my truck, but Micaela bought everything new for me.

  Once we’re both ready for bed, she climbs onto one side, so I go to the other. This will be the first time we’ve slept together since our time at the beach house. We did spend a couple nights together when she had RJ before she asked for space, but we were up all night taking care of him, and the last night before I left I pretty much stayed up all night watching her and RJ sleep.

  Micaela fits her body against mine and lays her head on my chest. “This feels good,” she murmurs through a yawn.

  “Being together?”

  “Yeah, that… but also knowing you’re home safe. I won’t have to worry anymore. We can just… be together.” With one last yawn, she cuddles closer to my body, and a few seconds later, her soft snores fill the quiet.

  I should probably go to sleep, but it’s hard coming back to civilian life after a year of being in the desert, sleeping on a hard as fuck bed, constantly having to be alert. It also doesn’t help that while it’s 9:00 p.m. here, it’s 9:00 a.m. in Afghanistan. I will my body to shut down, but when I realize it’s not happening, I instead focus my attention on Micaela and watching her sleep. Aside from the nights we spent together at the beach house, which were mostly spent under the stars or us falling into bed exhausted, I haven’t spent much time in bed with a woman. I was married to Laura for years, but we slept in different rooms. She was going to school and studying late and somehow the office turned into her room. Then when she started working as a nurse and later a nurse practitioner, when I was actually home, we would work opposite hours, so she continued to sleep in the other room. Without realizing it, it became our norm.

  Micaela shifts in her sleep, her head leaving my chest and her body flipping over like a fish out of water, taking the blankets with her. I glance down at my blanketless self and laugh. She did the same shit at the beach house. Fucking adorable blanket hogger.

  Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I nuzzle my face into her neck and let the soft sound of her snoring lull me to sleep.

  Micaela

  The sound of RJ whining through the monitor wakes me from my slumber. When I roll over, I bump into a hard wall that almost has me falling off the bed in shock and confusion. My eyes pop open, and I find Ryan sleeping next to me, snoring… not so softly. I smile, my heart happy that he’s home safely in bed. We haven’t discussed his time in Afghanistan and, if I’m honest, I don’t want to. I’m perfectly content remaining ignorant as long as possible.

  RJ’s whines get louder, so I turn the monitor off and stumble out of bed so I can change and feed him.

  Grabbing the bottle I pre-make every night so I don’t have to do it when he wakes up, I pad into his room. Since he wakes up every night at almost the same time, this has become a routine I can practically do in my sleep—and most nights, like tonight, when I’m beyond exhausted, it feels like I do.

  Like me, RJ is still half-asleep. I quickly change his diaper then feed him his bottle. He hasn’t even finished drinking the entire thing before his eyes shut, his tiny chest steadily rising and falling. I lay him back in his crib, giving him his pacifier, and with a soft kiss to his forehead, quietly exit, more than ready to go back to bed.

  After dropping the bottle into the dishwasher, I head back to the bedroom, turn on the baby monitor, and climb into bed next to Ryan. He groans when the bed jostles him but doesn’t wake up. I pull the cover up and over me, getting comfortable. My eyes are closing when a loud snort has my lids popping open. What the hell was that?

  I glance over to where the noise is coming from. It’s Ryan… snoring. Like he can’t breathe. What the hell… Is something wrong with him? I watch him for a few minutes, but he seems okay. I close my eyes again, snuggling farther into my blanket, when I realize I need to go pee.

  Damn it! Throwing the blankets off me, I pad to the bathroom. So I won’t wake Ryan up, I leave the bathroom light off. There’s enough light coming in from the hallway and outside. I’m not even a foot into the bathroom when something tangles in my foot and I fly forward. Before I hit the ground, my hands catch the side of the sink and I right myself. Grabbing the offending item, I lift it up and squint. It’s Ryan’s shirt. He left his clothes on the floor… two feet away from the hamper.

  Rolling my eyes, I pick up his laundry and drop it into the wicker basket. I back up and, pulling my underwear down, sit to go pee. Only instead of landing on the toilet seat, my body keeps going down.

  “Ahhh!” I shriek, as my ass hits the icy cold toilet water. I cringe, thinking about the amount of germs that are hugging my ass cheeks right now.

  “Micaela!” Ryan yells, running into the bathroom. He switches the light on, taking in his surroundings like he’s searching for an intruder.

  “Help me,” I complain, trying and failing to lift myself out of the damn toilet.

  Ryan’s gaze lands on me and his eyes widen in shock. “Oh, shit.”

  With my butt so far in, my legs are sticking straight out—with my underwear still wrapped ar
ound my ankles—and I probably look like a turtle on its back, struggling to flip over.

  He grabs my hands and pulls me up into a standing position. “Are you okay?”

  “Aside from my ass being drenched in nasty toilet water, I’m fine,” I huff, pulling my pajama shirt off and throwing it into the hamper… which reminds me. “By the way, in case you didn’t know, this is a hamper. Clothes go in it.” I pull my underwear off and drop it into the hamper as a mock demonstration.

  Ryan’s brows furrow in confusion.

  “You left your clothes on the floor,” I explain, my tone annoyed. But Jesus, I’m freaking tired. “I tripped over them.”

  “And landed in the toilet?”

  “No,” I snap. “I landed in the toilet because you left the seat up.” I flick the seat and it hits the porcelain with a loud bang.

  “Shit, sorry.” He winces.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be all neat and organized in the military? Like, people are depending on you to keep America safe…”

  Ryan lets out a laugh, but quickly reins it back in. “I highly doubt me leaving my boxers on the floor will determine whether America remains safe.”

  “Well, it’s going to determine whether you remain safe.”

  “Got it.” He bites his bottom lip, hiding his smirk, and I sigh, suddenly feeling like the biggest bitch.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  His eyes take in my body, as if just now realizing for the first time I’m naked. “Hmm, that sounds like a good idea.” He waggles his brows.

  “Not happening.” I gently push him back. “I’m tired and RJ will be up way too soon. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Ryan pouts playfully. “Fine.” He pecks my lips before exiting the bathroom.

  After I take the quickest shower known to man, I throw on fresh pajamas and underwear. Ryan has already fallen back to sleep—and is snoring—so I climb into bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, I scoot closer to him to check out his snoring. I’ve never heard anything like this before. It literally sounds like he’s struggling to breathe. Could something be wrong? I try to think if I’ve ever heard him do this before, but every time we’ve spent the night together I slept all night.