by Skye Warren
She left the bathroom and paused outside the closed door. All was quiet. She continued on without disturbing him. It was so early. Let him sleep.
The stairs were dark. She trailed her fingertips on the wall to find her way. Downstairs, she grabbed a banana from the bowl in the kitchen to eat on the drive home. In the shadowed foyer, she bent to slip on her shoes.
“Leaving without a goodbye?”
She turned at the low sound of Blake’s voice. He must have followed her downstairs, stealthy like a soldier. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She took a step toward him, hesitant. “No, I’m sorry for waking you.”
They were both lying. He didn’t like it when she slipped away, and she didn’t either. He came forward as she leaned closer. Strong arms pulled her to him. She rested her cheek against his bare chest, her sigh of relief mingling with his.
It was always a strain to leave him, even knowing they would see each other again soon. Perhaps because their relationship had to be secret. Their passion, their love for each other, existed only in the circle of their embrace.
She breathed him in, his sleepy male scent and faint musk of sex. Her body still hummed with remembrance of his touch, his tongue. His cock. Which was currently pressing against her hip.
She hid her smile against his neck. Morning wood was like God’s gift to women. Softened by sleep everywhere, except for there, hard and ready. What a beautiful way to start the day. Even at 6 a.m., he was primed for her, holding her tighter as her sex grew warmer, their bodies communicating in an ancient language. Her pulse, his groan. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. He crowded her back against the wall.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, even while she let her purse drop to the floor. Her wallet fell open on the tile, pens scattered as the contents spilled out, but she didn’t care about anything as long as he held her this way, as long as he surrounded her and ached with her. As long as they were together.
“Stay with me. Never leave.” He turned his words into action, pushing his hands beneath her shirt and tugging it over her head. He groaned at the sight of her bare breasts.
She bit her lip. “I couldn’t find my bra in the dark.”
He cupped one breast reverently. “Beautiful.”
She squirmed against the wall, aching for more. He was too gentle, too soft. He did it on purpose, the bastard. His tender admiration drove her crazy. She wanted more and harder and faster, and all he gave her was reverence.
But she was not without power here. His body awoke whenever she was near, heating up, growing taut. The muscles of his chest rippled beneath her touch. His jaw clenched when her thumb gently scraped his flat nipple.
He unzipped her jeans, and she slid them off with a wriggle of her hips.
“I really do have to go,” she said, more breathless this time and with far less conviction.
“I know. Just saying goodbye.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Her laugh was cut short when he slid two fingers between her legs, testing her—and finding her, she knew, slick and ready.
Her sex still felt swollen and tender, not yet recovered from the pounding he had given her last night. Nothing like now. This was slow and lazy, but somehow just as urgent. Somehow more poignant, as he hitched one of her legs on his hip.
Only a little foreplay this time. His fingers testing her, probing her. Then he pointed his cock to her core. She wound her other leg around him, and he slipped inside. She was supported by her arms around his neck, by his broad hands beneath her ass, by the wall at her back. Held suspended on his cock, writhing and wishing and begging for him to move.
God, she needed him to thrust inside her, but she was completely at his mercy. And sometimes he could be a real bastard. A horrible tease. He nibbled his way down her neck, as if they were going to make out now instead of fuck. She wanted him so badly that she tensed up—she clenched around his cock. He growled and pushed inside her, deep and fast. She gasped from the shock and pinch of pain.
“Sorry,” he murmured, and unlike earlier, she heard true regret in his voice.
“More. Like that.”
“I’ll hurt you.”
Yes, she wanted that too. “Fuck me, Blake.”
He shuddered in her arms. He always loved when she spoke dirty to him.
She rocked her hips, the only movement she could make. “Fuck me like you can’t take it anymore.”
His dark eyes burned. Slowly, achingly, he pulled back—and plunged in to the hilt. They both moaned at the complete and intimate contact. Stuffed full of his cock, impaled on his body, and yet yearning for more. Never enough.
She whispered in his ear. “Fuck me like you’re mad at me.”
With a pained groan, he let go. He shoved her hard against the wall and rammed inside her. Her body was held still, pinned by his, her mouth open on a silent cry of painful pleasure. His cock moved inside her, invading her, hurting her—and God, she never wanted it to stop. Never wanted to feel empty and nothing and unwanted again. This was desire and craving. It was consuming.
Tendrils of ecstasy threaded through the roughness, teasing her orgasm, drawing it out until she sobbed with needing it, until she called his name. Blake, fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me, Blake. It was a chant, a prayer, but he was too far gone to hear her, too far above her to answer.
He froze on a choked cry, pouring his seed into her. The twitch of his cock within the swollen tissue of her sex pushed her over. She let go in a rush of liquid and stuttered moan, tightening around him and wrenching a startled gasp from him. They held each other in the aftermath, their sensitive flesh pulsing against the other, his breath hot on her shoulder.
“Jesus, Erin.” He leaned on her a little, still rocking in a lazy rhythm. “You killed me with that. You fucked the life right out of me.”
Her laugh came out husky. “That’s because you’re not supposed to be awake yet.”
“So come back to bed.”
“I have to go to the bookstore. They’re going to have the textbooks listed today, and the professor assignments. Maybe I’ll see your name up there.”
“Don’t remind me.” He gently lowered her to the floor.
“This will be awesome, I promise. There’s still time for you to practice your lecture for me.”
“You get bored when I lose my shit about Tiberius Gracchus.”
He did get worked up over it. Tiberius Gracchus sounded like a smart and progressive leader, at least the way Blake told it, and it was pretty depressing that he’d been violently murdered for it. But Blake’s anger didn’t seem diluted by the fact that this had happened in the 2nd century BC.
“I don’t mind when you talk about it.” She blushed, remembering when he’d translated some dirty insults from Latin. “Especially if you read me more from Martial’s Epigrams.”
He snorted. “I must admit, U.S. history lacks a certain passion compared to Rome’s.”
“Come on, let me hear your lecture.”
“No way. I can make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers. I don’t have to do it in front of my girlfriend.”
She couldn’t help it. She grinned, sudden and wide.
He cocked his head. “What is it? Morning breath? You should have told me.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you called me your girlfriend.”
“What else should I call you?”
“Hmm. Your fuck buddy?”
He frowned. “My lover.”
“Your maid.” No matter that she didn’t work for him anymore. That was how they met. It would always define their relationship, wouldn’t it? It would always be between them.
His hands clasped hers. He rested his forehead against hers. “My everything.”
She sighed in happiness. Maybe everything would be okay.
Blake
Blake leaned against the doorframe and watched until her red taillights turned onto the main road. It was best that she
leave. He had a lot to take care of, and it would be too tempting to lose himself in her body while she was near. She’d helped drag him out of the pit he’d dug for himself, and he was grateful. But he couldn’t continue to use her as a crutch. Already he felt the stirrings of hope within him, like a breath of spring wind. He’d catch himself thinking of someplace to take her, fitting in travel plans between his terms at the university. Terms, plural. As if he’d stay on, when he swore it was only temporary.
All of that was well and good, but before he could move forward, he needed to look back. To finally handle what he’d been too fucked up to deal with when he’d first returned home.
The drive to the hospital took thirty minutes, during which time he steeled himself. Still, as the wide automatic doors slid open, the chemical smell hit like a physical blow. He gritted his teeth and stepped inside. The muted conversation between the nurses, the fluorescent lighting, the mauve-beige-neutral walls—all too fucking familiar. He broke into a cold sweat, feeling the searing pain of his burns all over again. Months, he’d lain in that bed. He remembered shouting hoarsely for them not to touch him, to just give him more pain medicine and go the fuck away. They hadn’t listened, poking and prodding.
“Sir?”
He blinked. A nurse in pink scrubs was staring at him.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m looking for a friend of mine.”
She led him to the information desk where she looked up Private First Class Joseph Davis. Blake had visited when he’d first been discharged, but as he’d suspected, Joe had been moved to a different room. A different wing altogether, a more permanent one.
Pink and blue balloons in the gift shop window caught his eye. He stopped inside and picked out a small arrangement of colorful flowers. Joe wouldn’t care—or notice—but he suspected Sherry would be there.
The room was much nicer than the old one had been. It was large, with faux cherry-wood paneling, a wide window overlooking the city, and a sofa that probably doubled as a bed. He studiously avoided the bleached white hospital bed in the center of everything, crowded with plastic piping and holding the unconscious body of his friend.
Sherry stood and greeted him with a tired smile and no surprise to mark the months that had passed. “Blake, how are you? Come in, come in.”
He handed the flowers to Sherry and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look great. How’s the kiddo?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you deflecting. But thanks. Matt’s at school.”
“School? Jesus. Last time I saw him he was in diapers.”
She laughed, setting the flowers down by the window. “Preschool. They do colors and shapes and stuff, that’s all. Just twice a week. Gives me some time to breathe.”
“Of course you need a break. In fact, you should let me hire someone. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.”
“Blake, you’ve already done too much for us.”
“I haven’t been here in months.”
She rolled her eyes. “And who paid off the mortgage on our condo?”
“I got your thank-you note. That was sweet.” She’d signed her name at the bottom…and his. Joseph and Sherry Davis. Blake had gotten drunk and surfaced a week later with a mother of a hangover.
“Well, come on. You can talk to him. I’ll run and grab some coffee. You want something?”
“I’m good. Take your time.”
She flashed him a smile as she grabbed her purse. The door closed behind her.
Finally Blake allowed his gaze to find the center of the room. An accordion base and plastic rails. Thin white sheets. A drip from a clear bag to his vein, keeping him alive. Joe hadn’t wanted that. Blake had suggested that to Sherry when he’d visited her then. He thought she would have slapped him then if he hadn’t been wrapped three times around with bandages. So here they were.
He strolled to the side of the bed and sat down. Sherry would give him enough time. She may not always agree with what they wanted, but she understood them. Soldiers. Survivors. She was both as well.
“Hey, man.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “It’s me. Blake.”
His chest felt tight. This was harder than he thought. Which was saying something, because he’d thought it would be pretty fucking hard.
The machinery beeped in the background. Unobtrusive, he supposed. He wondered if Joe could really hear anything. He wondered if the beeping was driving him insane.
Joe’s face was slimmer and clean-shaven. It bore none of the bruises and marks that Blake remembered. No scars. Unlike Blake, his wounds were all inside. Irony had painted their lives with broad, cruel strokes.
Blake wasn’t much older, but he’d already gone through a couple tours. He was the corporal, team leader, and occasional mentor to the new kid. Joe had looked up to him like he was Indiana Jones, and without fully realizing it, Blake had eaten that shit up.
Then they’d gotten blown apart. Well, Blake’s face had gotten blown up mostly. He’d woken in a dank, dark prison, finding both himself and Joe tied down like animals.
Only then, the craziest fucking thing happened. Blake was the team leader. He knew way more valuable shit. He should have taken the brunt of the interrogation. He should have been the one tortured. Except he was out of his mind with pain from the burns, delirious and incoherent. So they’d focused all their attention on Joe. Young, guileless Joe.
They were rescued in two weeks. Just a blip on the radar. Two weeks, fourteen days, 336 hours of torture. On the official forms, it said there were two survivors. But only Blake had woken up, his face so ruined that his fiancée had walked out at the first sight of him. Meanwhile, Sherry had stayed by Joe’s side all this time. She’d never give up, and Joe would never wake up, so yeah. Irony was a bitch.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He swallowed. “I met someone. Her name’s Erin. It’s pretty serious. She makes me…well, she makes me want to be better. That probably sounds strange, because I know I told you all about Melinda back then.”
Deep breath. It got easier, he was finding, if he kept going. Maybe there was a lesson in that. Just keep moving forward.
“It didn’t work out. She left me, really. But she was right about one thing. We couldn’t have gone back to the way things were.” He hadn’t fully understood that at first. Not even when she hadn’t come to pick him up from the hospital after he was released. Instead she’d been waiting at the door to his house. He’d been so overwhelmed and lonely after months in the damn hospital bed. He’d pulled her into his arms. She hadn’t hugged him back.
Then he’d noticed the luggage.
“I know I’m an ass for even talking to you about this. I get to walk around and live my life. A different one. I wish I could give that to you, man. I wished for so long that I could trade places with you.” But he couldn’t, and so for a while he’d stopped living his own life.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Sherry looks great, by the way. Really…” Steadfast. Loyal. Kind. And it was fucking weird feeling any amount of envy for a man in a coma. “Really lovely. Just like you said.”
Through the window, he could see gray clouds weighing down over the city. It would rain later.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I was being a dumbass, but you’ve probably figured that out by now. I’m going to try and be better. Check in on Sherry and the kiddo more often. Everything’s okay out here, so you…you don’t have to worry. Just focus on getting better.”
He reached out and squeezed Joe’s hand before he left. Sherry stood outside the room, chatting with the nurses. He hugged her goodbye and promised to visit in a week.
It had been a type of lie, what he’d said to Joe. Just focus on getting better. The odds were he would never get better. The doctors had said as much. Sherry had refused to believe that. And maybe Blake didn’t quite believe it either. As he walked into the overcast day, he felt a little bit lighter.
Chapte
r Eleven
Erin
Erin had always known she’d go to graduate school, even in high school, even though no one in her family had gone to college at all. She wanted to work in the political sphere, behind the scenes. And though she was prepared to do grunt work at the bottom, she aimed higher. Her master’s degree would be a statement of intent, telling the world—and herself—that she was damn serious.
She returned to her apartment in the prime hours of morning. The tiny kitchen was silent and cheery, sun streaming through the windows. It was starting to look foreign to her. She’d spent the past few nights at Blake’s house.
A hot shower washed away any trace of Blake’s lovemaking from her body. She moved quietly so as not to wake her roommate, granting Courtney a few extra minutes of sleep. Soon enough she could wait no longer.
She rapped on the door lightly, just in case Courtney had already gotten up. When she heard nothing, she went inside.
Her friend was tangled up in the sheets, snoring softly.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get our books.” A few more tries were required before a pillow was launched at her. She caught it and tossed it back to the foot of the bed. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”
Courtney squinted at her. “You’re evil.”
“Hey, if you want to drive to campus by yourself…”
“No, I’m up.”
“Okay, because you’re still not moving.”
“Any second now, I swear.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I wouldn’t do this to you, but you know they’ll run out if we don’t get there early.”
That wasn’t strictly true. The university bookstore never ran out of the required textbooks—just the used copies, which were all Erin could afford.
One semester Erin hadn’t had enough to cover the five-hundred-dollar total. Courtney had offered to charge one of the books to her card, saying her parents would never notice. But even if she paid the money back, it felt too much like charity. So Erin had visited the library every few days to use the in-house copy for her assignments.