by Tamara Lush
Almost, but not quite.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” I whisper against his mouth.
“That’s my line.”
He grins and sits up, his big hands fumbling at the minuscule buttons of my blouse. I consider asking if he wants help, but the view of his hands against those delicate buttons does something to me. He’s trembling ever so slightly, as if he can barely control himself.
After the third button, he shakes his head. “Can you do it? I’m worried I’m going to rip this off you because you’re so sexy, and I can’t wait to get my hands on you. If you brought another shirt, I will rip it.”
I giggle, wishing I had brought another shirt, and slowly undo the rest, pausing for kisses in between.
“You’re fucking teasing me.” He takes my blouse and pulls it open with those big hands. The final two buttons pop off, and a thrill surges through me. Shoving my blouse apart, he sucks in a breath when he sees my breasts in the lacy white bra.
“Front clasp?”
I nod, and he undoes that without trouble. Thank God, because it’s my nicest bra. I wriggle out of the straps, and he pushes me back, his mouth on my left nipple. He sucks gently, then harder, and finally his tongue torments me with the most sublime flicks.
“I want you, Kate. So much. More than you’ll ever know.”
Happiness spreads through my body. Hearing that from someone I adore is a drug. A really powerful, addictive drug.
“You can have me. Any way you want.”
He sits up, still staring at my peaked nipples. The look in his eyes is wild, almost unfocused, and the idea that I’m making this beautiful, huge, gruff man come undone is so satisfying, so arousing, that I start to unbutton my shorts.
But he stops me.
“No. Let me.”
And I do. I let him undress me entirely. I let him part my legs and kiss down my stomach. I let him lick me and stroke me, and I moan when he kisses me, the taste of my own juices on his tongue.
“I need to make sure you’re nice and wet. You’re so delicate down here.” He cups my pussy. “I don’t want to hurt you when I fuck you. I’m on the bigger side, and you’re so small.”
It’s my intent to respond but because he’s circling my clit with the perfect rhythm, I can’t. All I can do is mewl and gasp, and when he strokes just so, I come.
Hard.
So hard I see little flashing white lights against my closed lids, so hard that I barely notice that he’s sheathed himself with a condom and is sliding slowly into me.
“I need to fuck you, Kate. Now.”
“I know. Want. I want to fuck you, too. Or…yeah. Like that.” I groan, knowing I sound like an imbecile, but I can’t form full sentences. Not while he’s filling me with his cock.
He’d said he was on the bigger side, but in reality, he’s the biggest I’ve ever had. Some men would probably be brutal with a weapon like that between their legs.
Not Damien. He’s slow and gentle, and he knows how to move his hips with a swivel and a thrust that gives my clit the right amount of friction.
“So fucking tight. Your pussy’s like heaven. Need to be real careful with you. Because I could lose control at any second and hurt you.”
I’d like to see him try, and I suspect that it might actually cause a bit of pain. Hurt so damned good. But maybe another time, because what he’s doing right now is wickedly sweet and sinful all at the same time. I wrap my legs higher around his hips so he can go deeper.
“Damien.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to come again.” I scrunch my eyes shut.
“Good. You feel so good. Perfect.”
I open my eyes. His gaze is incendiary. When he grinds against me, I succumb.
And so does he.
“Kate, Kate, Kate. My beautiful Kate.” He collapses onto me, wrapping me in his weight, his sweat, his heartbeat. I press my nose into the hollow between his collarbone and neck, both of us gasping in tandem.
I’ve never felt so close to another person, and it’s a little scary.
“Hell, it’s late. I need to be on the mainland for my treatment. I’d love to stay for breakfast, but I need to run. Now.” I throw on my bra and underwear and my shirt that’s short two buttons. Fortunately, it’s the bottom two buttons, and I tie the shirttails into a knot.
I glance around the suite, looking for the buttons. The sliding glass doors to the balcony are open, and the sunshine is pouring into the room. Damien’s still in bed, the white sheet covering only his legs and hips. He stretches, and the sheet shifts lower on his muscular stomach.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
A memory of kissing down that stomach last night comes to mind. I almost groan out loud because I don’t want to leave.
My muscles are achy from all the sex we had last night, but it feels so damned incredible. All the tension’s left my body, although as I think about heading to my blood appointment, a familiar worry seeps under my skin.
I reach to pluck one of my buttons off the nightstand. “Treatment,” I mutter, remembering that I have to take my pills. I’m terrible at remembering pills when I’m not in my routine. I’d missed last night’s pills because of all the sex.
Spending the night having hot sex in a swanky hotel suite is definitely not my routine.
“Treatment?” He sits up, and a frown crosses his gorgeous face.
I wave my hand. “It’s a blood thing. A genetic thing.”
“Wait, what? Are you sick? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I grab my backpack and take out the medicine, shaking a pill into my palm. I’m too frantic, and it bounces off my palm and onto the carpet.
“Dammit,” I whisper.
I don’t have many left, and they’re expensive. I don’t want to throw it away, but I also don’t want Damien to see me taking a pill that rolled over a hotel floor.
Plucking it from the floor, I stuff it in my shorts pocket and plop down on the edge of the bed. These pills cost thousands a month — two grand, to be exact, although I’m trying to negotiate a lower rate direct from the pharmaceutical company. They’re worth more than gold.
“Kate? Don’t you want to throw that away? And what’s the treatment for?”
I sigh and still. “Don’t worry. I’m not contagious or anything. I have genetically high cholesterol. The medical term is familial hypercholesterolemia, and I was unlucky enough to have inherited it from both my mom and dad. It’s controlled with medicine and apheresis.”
He looks confused, like most people are when I mention my condition.
“Apheresis is like dialysis for the blood; it removes the bad LDL cholesterol from my body. I’m supposed to get treatment twice a month, but…” I carefully shake another pill out of the container and pop it into my mouth.
Damien reaches for the bottled water on the nightstand, cracks it open, and hands it to me. I swallow the pill.
“But what?”
“But I don’t have health insurance, so the treatments and pills are expensive. I had decent insurance in Illinois, but the situation’s different here in Florida because of my income. Or lack of. I’m trying to work it out. I’d hoped to go overseas with Lauren and get treatment there where it’s cheaper. I can get it done for half the cost in Prague or Greece. Everything’s a mess here in the U.S. So I can only get treatment every two months. Or three. Or fewer.” My shoulders sag.
Damien’s frown deepens, and he slides to sit next to me on the edge of the bed. His massive body and sheer nakedness are distracting.
“What happens if you don’t get treatment or medicine?”
“I have an almost 50 percent chance of having a heart attack before the age of 50.”
His eyes widen. “Do you have enough to pay for today?” He sweeps my hair behind my shoulder.
I nod, and for the first time since I saw Damien in the bar, I have a feeling of being lesser-than. Of being the poor girl on a rich island. Of being not good enough for the ha
ndsome military hero of the Hastings family. Of being sick and defective.
“I can help, you know,” he says quietly.
There’s a lump in my throat, and I swallow. Then I stand up and wave my hand in the air. I’d never accept financial help from him on this—I’m too proud. Probably I shouldn’t have said anything to him.
“I’ll be totally fine. I’ll figure something out, and I’ve still got some savings. The pharmaceutical company is talking about coupons and discounts for me. I’ve applied. And I’m sure I’ll work out the insurance piece sooner or later.” Once I get a real person from the government health care site on the phone.
I lean in to kiss his mouth, wishing our idyllic night of hot sex wasn’t ending. And especially not like this, talking about my cholesterol, for God’s sake.
“Talk later,” I murmur.
“We’d better.” He kisses me again. “Kate?”
“Yeah?” I ruffle his hair.
“I had an incredible time. Really incredible. The best I’ve had in years. Ever, even.”
Finally, I grin. “Me, too, babe. Me, too.”
Over the next week, Damien and I spend five more nights together at the resort. Apparently, the floor’s under renovation, and although Room 510—“our” room, I’ve come to think of it—is already redone, it’s in a construction zone so his family won’t open it to guests.
But there’s no construction on the nights we’re there, only the sounds of us. The sex gets better and hotter each night, and I adore sleeping in his arms.
Being with him takes my mind off all the other problems: my dying graphic design career, whether Mom’s cancer’s in remission, my lack of insurance, and the pharmaceutical company’s frustrating lack of communication.
I dream of Damien at night when we’re not together. I daydream of him when I get my blood treatments, zoning out as I sit in a chair squeezing a little sponge heart so my blood will flow out a tube and into a machine, then back into my body, fresh and new.
Damien’s affection is like that machine that washes my blood—it’s as if he magically turns all the sadness and difficulty of the last few months into something perfect. Somehow, he makes me think of life in a different way. And maybe I do the same for him, because he’s laughing more when we’re together. Talking more, too.
When I snuggle against his warm, broad chest and drift off to sleep, I thank the universe for the blessing that is him. Even if what we have is only temporary, it’s okay. That’s how I console myself, anyway.
If I can soak up all his lust and adoration—and give him all the pleasure he deserves—we’ll part as close friends. Better people. Ones who might have a shot at a real relationship in the distant future, when we’re both not transient.
This is perfect for now.
I think.
One morning, two days before Thanksgiving, I wake to his kisses. He’s pressing his lips to my neck, and I let out a little purr. His skin is warm and inviting, so I snuggle closer.
“I love when you want to fuck in the morning,” I whisper.
“Girlie, I wish we could. Actually, I have to go soon. Mom just texted. She needs help with something for the holiday, getting some decorations out of storage. I wanted to wake you to say goodbye and to ask you something.”
I stroke his beard with my finger. It’s nice and full now. I make a mmmm noise.
He kisses me softly, and the butterflies alight in my stomach. Surely, we have time for a quickie. I probably can talk him into it. I wrap one leg around his and sigh contentedly.
“What did you want to ask?” I reach to squeeze his bare butt. God, I adore his tight ass muscles.
He takes a deep breath and little frowny lines form between his brows. I shift so I’m propped on my elbow.
“What?” The butterflies in my stomach have been replaced with moths of dread.
“I’ve been thinking about your health condition. I did some reading on it this week online. And ah—” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You know that my job as a contractor is to find solutions. Solve problems.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
“I think I’ve found a solution to your problem.”
Considering the amount of research I’ve done on my high cholesterol, including the cost of apheresis treatments and medicine in other countries, I highly doubt he’s found a way to help me out of an impossible situation.
“The solution is to blow up the American health care system and do away with money-hungry insurance companies,” I mumble.
Fat chance of that.
But Damien, being so caring and kind, is trying to help. What a sweetie. I smile at him.
“What did you find?” I trail my finger over his sharp cheekbone.
“I was thinking that we should get married, Kate. That way you can be on my health insurance as my wife and get all the treatments and medicine you need. I want you to be healthy.”
Twelve
Damien
Kate sits up. The sheet slips from her chest, exposing her gorgeous tits. My gaze falters because I can’t ever tear my eyes from her naked body.
Whenever I’m around her, I’m distracted by her beauty. Because of this, I probably should have made my proposal after she put on clothes, so there would be less of a chance I’d make a fool of myself.
Too late for that.
“Hey.” There’s an edge to her voice.
“Sorry.” I raise my eyes. “What did you ask?”
I lick my lips. This isn’t going the way I thought it would. The idea of marriage was a solid one, I believed. It would solve so many problems for her. It would prove how much I care for her, instantly. And it would leave her set for life in case anything happens while I’m on assignment in Syria.
But the way she’s staring at me, with eyes that are huge and hard, catches me off guard. It’s jarring me out of the safe cocoon I’m normally in when I’m with Kate. Usually, the hours with her are wrapped in a hazy, happiness-tinged hue, and I can forget about all the awful shit I’ve seen in Mosul and Baghdad and all the shit I’m about to see in Syria. But her glare is bringing me back to reality, and it’s not pleasant.
Suddenly, the room seems too bright. Kate likes to open the curtains at dawn, and I climb out of bed and walk to the window. With a yank of the cord, I draw the drapes half-shut.
“I thought I’d try to help you.” I climb back in bed.
“Help me or pity me?” she snaps.
“Help you.” My voice is sharper than I intend.
God, women are so confusing. Kate is so confusing.
Then it dawns on me: perhaps I shouldn’t have sprung this on her first thing in the morning, right before I’m about to leave. I should’ve said something last night, but Kate and I practically devoured each other the moment she stepped into the room (as always).
Then we got to watching a Marvel movie, and we had sex a second time. That left me satisfied and exhausted, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
This proposal was too abrupt this morning. That’s it.
“You told me you were denied for prescription help coverage. You said you were having a difficult time finding an affordable insurance plan. Your treatment is expensive and necessary. Your pills are expensive and critical. I don’t see the problem with getting married. Hang on, let me tell Mom I’ll be late.”
I reach for my phone on the nightstand and tap out a quick text to Mom. When I look up, Kate’s put on her tank top and underwear. She leans back against the gold-quilted headboard and crosses her arms over her delicious breasts. I have to move back a couple of feet so I don’t try to hug her close.
I don’t think she wants to be hugged right now, and I need to respect that. I pull the sheet over my hips.
“Damien, I know you think you’re coming from a place of caring. And thank you for that. But we can’t get married so I can have health insurance.”
“Why?”
“Because…because…” she sputters. “It’s fraud.”
I shrug. “I think people do this more than you know. I read a story in the paper about marriage for insurance a while back. I have amazing health insurance. It’s like the Lamborghini of health care. The guys who are married have full coverage for their families.” I smile, hoping to put her at ease.
She rolls her eyes. “Marriage should be for, you know…”
“What?”
“Love.”
I chew on my bottom lip. I could tell her I love her, and it would be the truth. But I’m not sure she wants to hear that, considering how pissed she looks. And does she feel the same? I’m not certain and definitely am not sure I can handle being rejected by her right this second. She certainly doesn’t look like she loves me right now.
Kate’s the whole package for me: she loves superhero movies, is a night owl like me, laughs a lot, reads sci-fi, has an incredible body that makes me hard practically every time I look at her…and has a face like an angel.
Of course, I’m in love with her. How could I not be? I’d crushed on her in high school and now after three weeks, I’m in deep, in some perfect, sugar-coated fantasyland. Like I’ve been hit by a lightning bolt thrown by a rainbow-colored unicorn. Jesus. If Remy could hear that thought, I’d never live it down.
But no other woman has made me feel this way. There have been a few other women, all excellent people. No one’s made me feel like this—hopeful and, yeah, happy. For a guy as brooding as I am, this is huge.
I’m also leaving for a year to a war zone. Shit. Now that I think about everything, my proposal is insane. Poorly timed. Ridiculous. How the hell do I recover from this? Where is my goddamned common sense?
I’m an idiot.
“People marry for lotsa reasons.” I soften my voice and lean over, rubbing her bare shin and staring at her small knee.
“Isn’t it unethical to marry for insurance?”
I look up from her leg and the sheet over my dick, because it’s coming to life with the small contact with her skin. “It’s unethical that you have a serious, chronic medical condition, and you can’t afford what should be a basic human right. That’s unethical, Kate. Insurance companies are unethical. Our getting married so you get the care you need isn’t unethical. It’s one guy helping a good friend. It’s not pity. It’s friendship. It’s the opposite of unethical.”