#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4)

by Cambria Hebert

  Leaving my hand in his hair, I slipped the other around his waist, fingered the dip in the small of his back, and stepped up to him. My fingers were trembling. Fuck, my entire body shuddered with mini quakes, but I ignored it.

  Against his spine, my hand moved up and down as I inched closer and closer.

  Eventually, I was so close our chests were touching. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if my shirt was gone and it was just our skin pressed together.

  I didn’t pull back, though. I wasn’t about to give this up. Instead, I dropped my chin, resting it on his shoulder as I continued to stroke his back.

  My eyes slipped closed. The hand in his hair kneaded his scalp, and his breathing hitched.

  I felt his hand flexing at his side. I pulled back and searched his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he ground out. “I just want to touch you, too.”

  But he held back. He promised he wouldn’t unless I told him he could.

  “You can,” I whispered.

  The pale blue in his gaze warmed and bounced between my eyes. “You sure?”

  I nodded.

  The next thing I knew, I was pressed back against him, both his arms were around me, and he held me close. I shifted so one of my legs was between his, and both my hands pressed against his bare back.

  He smelled good. He felt good. Even the sound of his silence was good.

  I pulled back, dragged my hands around to his waist, and then traveled up his chest again. His hands settled on my sides and didn’t move. I kissed him, tilting my head, licking over his lips, and kissing deep.

  He kissed me back with the same amount of pressure and want. We made out until I was gripping his back and my lungs burned from the lack of air.

  He pulled back first, sucking in a lungful of air. “Damn, A,” he growled. “C’mon. Pizza.”

  I was still in a daze from his body. Down in my jeans, my dick was hard and throbbing. Need stronger than I think I’d ever felt hammered in me.

  He wanted pizza? Now?

  Hopper’s fingers threaded through mine, and he tugged me toward the other room. When his free hand went for the shirt, I shook my head, and he abandoned it. I followed along after him, mostly looking at where we were connected.

  Using one hand, he threw open the top box and handed me the first slice his hand closed around. When I reached for it with the hand he was holding, he made a sound and tightened his grip. So I held it with the other hand instead.

  On the couch, we sat with the food, right beside each other, our clasped hands between our legs.

  After a few quiet minutes of eating, Hopper glanced at me, lifting our tangled hands. “You’re not shaking anymore.”

  I glanced down at our hands.

  He was right.

  A true lesson in patience = Arrow touching me.

  It had been a while, a long while, since someone touched me like that. In a lot of ways, it might have been a first. He touched me like he was afraid of me but couldn’t help himself. He explored my body like he never had with anyone before but wanted to over and over again.

  Matt always had confidence; he was never afraid. When Matt and I were together, it was passion and lust. He knew where to touch to get the most pleasure, and he never hesitated to give it.

  Arrow was different, which I was suddenly so grateful for. Different made me feel like I couldn’t compare the two men, even when my mind tried to go there. Different didn’t make me feel like I was trying to replace Matt, because that couldn’t be done.

  With Arrow, it felt like both of us were committed to learning each other completely, and though it was an odd thought, I felt I more naked with him than I’d ever been with anyone else. He was getting a part of me no one else had ever seen. I wanted him to have it. I wanted his physical experience to be with my body. And yes, there was passion between us, but it was so much more emotional.

  Arrow didn’t touch me to satisfy an urge. Or because he thought I was hot.

  He did it to connect. To feel something he wouldn’t otherwise feel.

  I wasn’t used to being touched without touching back, without allowing my own fuse to ignite. I couldn’t, at least not yet.

  Pulling back in the bedroom was hard, even with the guilt I felt about Matt still swirling inside me. My body just took over. The need to feel Arrow overruled all—something else that made me feel like a traitor.

  My own needs came second right now, at least in the physical sense. If he wanted to touch me, he would. If he wanted to kiss me, I’d let him.

  I wouldn’t act on any of the urges I had until I knew he understood nothing I did would be to harm him.

  I wanted to kill the guys who hurt him. I wished Lorhaven had.

  Rationally, I knew it was good he didn’t, because Arrow needed him and he couldn’t have been there if he were in jail.

  It felt like a small victory when the trembling in Arrow’s hand stopped. I knew it didn’t mean everything between us was magically better, but it was a sign things were going to be.

  Once again, he ate like his stomach was ten times the size of everyone else’s—almost an entire pizza by himself. I actually found it kind of endearing.

  He held my hand the entire time, too. I got the distinct feeling holding hands was going to become something very common for us.

  All or nothing, right?

  Bringing him here tonight was my concession that nothing with Arrow was just not possible.

  And so it would be all.

  I still wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but I knew now that I absolutely had to try.

  “Hey,” he said from right beside me. “Would it be okay if I took a shower?”

  The thought of him naked in the next room sort of made me crazy. The thought of all his tattoos exposed, beneath the spray, and his skin slippery with soap…

  Damn.

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t get a chance to this morning, you know, with everything.” He glanced away.

  “There’s extra towels in there on the rack. Soap and shit is in there.”

  Arrow pushed up off the couch but still held my hand. He stepped until both our arms were fully extended and our fingers slipped apart.

  He grabbed up the duffle he’d dropped by the door and disappeared into the bathroom.

  “Shirts optional!” I called after him. Then I wondered if he’d take it the wrong way.

  His laugh floated through the wall, and I smiled.

  To keep myself busy while he was wet and naked in my bathroom, I went downstairs for extra sheets and a blanket. Back in the room, I tossed the shit on the couch, then grabbed a pillow off the bed and added it to my makeshift bed.

  It was going to be a long fucking night. I knew I’d lie here and stare at the ceiling while he lay not very far away. I wasn’t going to be out roaming the streets tonight, trying to walk off the memories and pain. I was going to be here. With him.

  I just hoped when all the lights were out and he wasn’t holding my hand, the guilt I’d been sort of holding off wouldn’t take a huge bite of me.

  Arrow appeared a short while later, stepping into the room with no shirt, tattoos on full display, and the emoji pajama pants I’d tossed in his bag before we left the hangar.

  His long, lean body excited me and sent the butterflies inside my stomach into overdrive. He seemed a little wary about not wearing a shirt, but the look disappeared when he saw the made-up couch.

  His dark eyes snapped up to mine, but I couldn’t read the look, and I didn’t like that. I was use to reading him.

  I motioned for him to come in. “I wasn’t sure what time you go to bed,” I rambled, suddenly nervous and awkward. “Figured I’d just make this up now.”

  “I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” he deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest.

  It was sexy.

  “I’ll take the couch.” He went on.

  “No,” I said simply. I wasn’t givin
g in to him.

  He lifted an eyebrow, a gesture that brought out his resemblance to his brother. “No?”

  “No.”

  Arrow walked across the room to where I sat and lowered himself onto the coffee table directly in front of me.

  It was quite the close-up of all those tattoos.

  “I’ll take the bed…” He began, and I smiled winningly. “If you’re in it with me.”

  It felt like a fist just punched my gut. I sat forward a little. “What?”

  He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the television. “You watching that?”

  I shook my head. Of course I wasn’t. Who could pay attention to anything else when he was around?

  Arrow extended his hand between us.

  I wanted to take it—oh, how I wanted to. I wasn’t sure, though.

  In the end, there was no way I would leave him hanging. My hand practically leapt into his. He smiled, something I wanted to see so much more of, and stood. We walked together into the bedroom, where there was no light except for the flickering of the TV I hadn’t bothered to turn off in the other room.

  When we got beside the bed, he hesitated. I was going to make up some excuse to back away so he didn’t have to say he wasn’t ready, but still holding my hand, he turned to look at me.

  “I’m not… I…”

  “No sex,” I told him. “I know you aren’t ready.”

  “I wish I was.” He confided.

  I squeezed his hand. “Someday you will be.”

  “What if I’m not?” He worried with genuine fear.

  It made me smile slightly. Anyone who was that afraid of never having sex was someone who was already working toward it.

  “I’ll wait longer.” I assured him. I meant it, too. Even if we never got to that point, it wouldn’t matter. It seemed to me there was more intimacy between us already, and all we’d done was kiss. It said a lot about the way we related to one another.

  His shoulders moved like a weight just lifted, and he stepped up to me. “It’s okay if you touch me.”

  I made a sound. “Yeah?”

  He nodded.

  I stepped around him and pulled back the blankets and sheets. The pillows fell around, but I didn’t bother to mess with them.

  “Which side you want?” I asked.

  “The one closest to you.”

  I wondered how many more ways he was going to slay me tonight.

  I slipped in first, holding up the blankets in invitation.

  His forehead wrinkled. “You sleep in jeans?”

  “Actually, I sleep naked. Figured that might be a little forward.” I winked.

  A small fire ignited in the air around us, and I suppressed a groan.

  “Boxers?” he asked.

  “Jeans are fine.”

  “It’s like ninety million degrees in here.” He scoffed. “You turned the heat up like we’re a bunch of old grannies with no body heat.”

  I laughed out loud. “It is kinda hot in here.”

  “Kinda?” Arrow guffawed. “It’s like the fucking Sahara.”

  “Hint taken,” I muttered, got out of bed, and turned down the thermostat. I just wanted him to be warm. Warm and safe. It had somehow become the most important thing to me.

  I walked around the mattress and stared at him from the other side. My hand went to the button on my jeans.

  Arrow slipped into the bed and watched me.

  I pulled down the jeans, hoping it wasn’t a mistake, and then climbed into the bed wearing nothing but blue boxer briefs. He was sitting up, the covers at his waist, like he wasn’t sure what to do.

  I lay down, pulled a pillow beneath my head, and then extended my arm toward him. “Come here.”

  Arrow came across the bed. I felt his stare even in the dark lighting. He was shaking again. I felt the mattress beneath us vibrate. I didn’t acknowledge it because it wasn’t necessary.

  I wrapped my arm around him, pulling him against my body. His cheek hit my shoulder and his pajama-clad leg pushed between my bare ones.

  Keeping in mind he told me to touch him, my hand began lazily stroking up and down his back. Arrow settled a little farther along me, his arm draped over my middle, his fingers tucked between my side and the mattress.

  Tenderness bloomed in my heart and burned my stomach. Such small things… just a single touch from him created so much feeling.

  “I’ve never slept with someone before.” He confided. “I’ve never shared a bed.”

  I pressed my lips to the top of his forehead and continued to stroke his back. After a few minutes, I said, “Do you like it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I think I might,” I whispered. Then because it was all or nothing, I told him what was on my mind. “I feel like I’m betraying him.”

  I felt his intake of breath. The muscles in his body tightened. I was prepared to pull him back if he tried to get up, but to my surprise, he didn’t.

  “I wish I could slay your demons,” he said, quiet. “But some days, I can’t even slay mine.”

  “You understand the fight, though.”

  “All too well.” He agreed.

  His understanding was all I really needed.

  My hand moved away from his back, up to the damp strands of hair on his head. Since it was long on the side, I was able to pull my fingers through it.

  “What was he like?” Arrow asked.

  Remembering Matt was easy, but thinking of him always generated a twinge of pain. “Laidback, fun, a really good Ducati racer.”

  “Better than you?” As he spoke, he tapped my side with his finger.

  I smiled in the dark. “No.”

  He chuckled. “You loved him, so that tells me all I need to know.”

  “I honestly thought I wouldn’t love anyone again.”

  I heard him swallow. “And now?”

  “Now I’m not so sure.”

  Arrow pulled his hand from beneath me, laid his fingers against my ribs, and began to lightly drag the tips over my side and chest.

  I sighed. The thoughts in my head took a backseat to the way he made me feel.

  “Do you think I’m damaged?” Arrow’s voice cut through the quiet comfort of the room.

  “No more damaged than I am.”

  His hand stopped caressing me, a simple touch I missed immediately. “Does…?” He fell silent.

  “You can ask me anything.” I promised.

  “Does knowing what happened to me make me any less, uh, attractive to you?”

  The back of my head lifted off the pillow so my chin could angle down. Arrow looked up, and I moved in, pressing my lips fully against his.

  My lips were slow and languid, soft in pressure, but every inch of our mouths made contact. I tugged his lower lip into my mouth and sucked it. His small moan of pleasure tightened my balls.

  I broke the kiss and shifted my body. Still keeping him against me, I rolled onto my side so we could face each other.

  “I’m so attracted to you, and nothing is ever gonna change that,” I whispered. “Even if you do look like Justin Bieber.” I cracked.

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Not you, too.”

  I grinned. “Confession?”

  His eyes came back to my face, his head bobbing.

  “After I saw you the first few times at Gamble Speedway, I went out and bought his CD.”

  Arrow burst out laughing. It was real and genuine. His smile was wide and his teeth flashed white.

  “Every time I listen to that CD, I think of you,” I admitted while running a finger up the center of his chest. “I probably know about ninety percent of those songs word for word now.”

  His heart filled his eyes. Honestly, it was the most beautiful heart I’d ever seen. What was it about the broken and damaged? The ones that rise from the wreckage to walk or sometimes even stumble away?

  Being a survivor made every moment, every kind word a little more meaningful, because they were the ones who knew w
hat almost never was.

  Arrow’s palm flattened on my shoulder and pushed. I rolled onto my back, and he leaned over and swept his tongue in my mouth. The weight of his chest lying across mine, his arms wrapped around my naked torso, and the way his lips coerced mine into some kind of magic dance made me feel drunk and tingly.

  Eventually, his lips released mine, and I sucked in a deep breath before he continued kissing. I let my head fall to the side so his teeth could scrape across my jaw and latch onto my earlobe. Little shivers of delight raced up my spine and my nipples tightened as he sucked and tugged at the delicate flesh.

  Next, he slid down over my neck and suckled the skin there with enough pressure to make me moan. My hand pressed against his back and urged him closer. Urged him to suck deeper.

  He did but pulled back too soon, drifting his lips over the top of my shoulder before laying his head back where it had been.

  I felt his erection pressed against my hip. It took everything in me not to wiggle against it. I, too, rocked a massive boner, but I did my best to ignore it. I wasn’t about to rush things with Arrow. Our hearts were moving fast enough all on their own.

  Arrow’s fingers flirted over my abs, and my muscles constricted. “I like touching you.”

  I made a sound. “I like being touched.”

  He continued the sweet torture with a feather-light hand, so I added some of my own by rubbing his back with long, slow strokes.

  Surprisingly enough, my eyes grew heavy.

  Having him in my arms and the consistent thud of his heart against my side made me the most comfortable I’d been in a very long time.

  Five years, to be exact.

  It also marked the first time in five years I’d slept the entire night.

  Everything I owned fit in the back of my Camaro.

  There wasn’t much. Most of it was shoes. I liked sneakers. Especially high-tops. I didn’t need much, but the idea of driving toward more excited me.

  The contract for NASCAR was in the passenger seat, but it was unsigned. After I woke up in Hopper’s bed, still plastered against his body, and after we ordered room service (waffles and French toast), we made out again.

  Kissing him was my most favorite thing I’d ever done. I lost myself every single time. It was a rush, yet it was more.