I palmed the wall even harder.
One hand slipped lower, his finger gliding through my slit, his touch evoking another tremor and a set of goose bumps down my spine as he stroked my sensitive flesh in a seductive slide that had me grinding my body over his, already chasing the beginning of my second orgasm of the night.
His fingers pulled away, the head of his cock replacing his hand, brushing against my clit, rubbing back and forth, the friction so good that I couldn’t resist the urge to push back onto him, rubbing myself over him, my body already turning greedy again as I gave in to the slippery slide of heat between my legs. He held me in place, one of his hands coming to rest at the small of my back, just over my ass, and then the head of his cock nudged my entrance, teasing my swollen flesh, a hiss escaping my lips as I braced myself against the wall, my hand curling into a fist.
He moved slowly, sinking into me inch by inch as I stretched to accommodate him—so fucking big—a thin line of sweat forming along my body. He groaned, his hand coming up to join mine, our fingers linking, and then he pushed all the way inside in one smooth thrust, bringing me up to my toes, his other arm coming around my waist, holding me against his body as he filled me completely.
I’d forgotten how big he was, forgotten that sex between us had always been so much more, that it wasn’t just his cock inside of me as much as the feeling that we’d bared everything before each other, shared the crevices of ourselves that we hid away from the rest of the world. It felt right. Like the time apart had never existed, like no matter what came our way, or who we grew to be, we’d always find our way back to each other.
For a moment we just stayed like that, his body seated to the hilt in mine, our sweat mingling, his heart beating against my back, the steady thumps music to my ears. I squeezed his fingers, holding on tight, an unspoken conversation passing between our bodies, and then he began moving, his powerful hips rocking as he thrust in and out, angling his body until he found the right spot, giving it to me harder, deeper, my toes curling into the worn carpet.
His hand slipped down from my waist to finger me once more, and between his strokes and the way he hit my g-spot, I felt the orgasm building within me once again. I fought it back, wanting to come with him, wanting to impale myself on his cock when I came.
Matt fucked me slow and hard, and then his pace quickened, his breaths growing harsher, his fingers squeezing mine, adding a thin thread of pain to all that pleasure, so I danced on a knife’s edge. And then he was coming, his body shuddering and quaking against mine, his cock throbbing inside me, and I let myself go for the second time, my body clenching down over his as I gave him everything I had—my heart, my body, my present, my past, my future.
Chapter Eleven
Rumors continue to swirl regarding a potential presidential bid for Senator Edward Reynolds …
—Capital Confessions blog
Matt
I lay on my back in Kate’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, her arm draped around my waist, pressed into my side, her hand lazily stroking my skin. All of the tension from the past few weeks had drained out of me, an unfamiliar sense of peace taking its place instead.
Kate stroked down my abs, her movements lazy, each one waking my tired body up.
“I need five minutes of recovery time,” I murmured, the remnants of my last orgasm hollowing me out.
Kate shifted, tilting her head up to face me, her brown eyes searching. Some of the edge to her seemed to have mellowed, a sleepy, hazy sort of contentment filtering into her gaze.
“So you’re planning on this happening again?”
And there was that flash of challenge, the part of her that was lovably tenacious.
I grinned. “I think you’re planning on this happening again, and I think we both know that I want you too much to resist. Especially after tonight.”
“It was pretty amazing, wasn’t it?”
A lump formed in my throat. It was always like that with us, so much more than good sex.
“Yeah, it was.”
She was quiet for a beat. “Are you going to stay here? I mean, at my place?”
I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d dumped my stuff when I’d rented a shitty room in an even shittier hotel in a dodgy part of the city—appealing to the kind of management who rented rooms by the hour and didn’t bat an eye at someone paying cash without ID.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then I will.”
I tightened my grasp around her, feeling like I was exactly where I belonged for the first time in nearly four years.
Kate
I woke to Matt thrashing in bed, his arms and legs jerking as he rolled over onto his side.
“No!” he shouted, his hands forming fists as he twisted and bucked, pummeling the bed.
Oh my god.
This one was so much worse than the nightmare I’d seen him having on the couch. He looked like he was fighting for his life, his entire body tense, braced for hell.
I slipped out of the bed, his arm connecting with my hip. I uttered an oath as a sharp pain hit me.
Fuck.
“Matt.” I reached out, my hand grazing his chest as he shouted and moaned. I tried to shake him, not sure if waking him like this was better or worse. “Matt, it’s just a dream. It’s Kate. You’re here in my apartment. You’re safe. You need to wake up.”
He moaned again, a faint sheen of sweat covering his skin, his body rocking.
My heart hammering, I got back on the bed, kneeling over him, trying to stay outside of the line of fire but close enough to put my hands on him, struggling to jar him awake.
“It’s Kate,” I repeated. “You’re safe. I need you to wake up. Everything’s okay.” I didn’t know if I was even getting through to him, but I had to try. “It’s just a bad dream.” I shook him gently, my hands on his pec, his heart pounding in a mad beat against my fingers.
He jolted upright, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. Our gazes connected. My fingers curled over his heart as though I could hold it close and protect him from the memories that haunted him.
“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling back a bit, his fingers trembling. “How long was that one?”
“I don’t know. I just woke up a minute or two ago. You were jerking around and I thought I should try to wake you up. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
His jaw clenched, his mouth tight, his gaze running over me. “Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head.
“I know how bad these dreams are. Did I hurt you? Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m fine. You caught my hip, but it wasn’t bad. I got out of the way before anything could happen. I’m fine.”
“Fuck.”
Matt lurched out of bed, his feet hitting the floor, his body crumpled over at the waist as he leaned against his knees, his hands pressed against his forehead.
I knew he wanted to push me away, that this had somehow confirmed his fears that he was bad for me, that he was fucked up, et cetera, et cetera.
I wasn’t having any of it.
If he had nightmares, then I would be here with him in the middle of the night to make them go away. He needed help, needed someone to talk to, needed counseling, and if he thought I didn’t have it in me to stand by him while he went through this, then he didn’t know me at all.
I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t going to fall apart or shy away from the fact that the man who had come back to me had some broken pieces inside of him. Who didn’t? I was going to be everything he needed me to be, and if he couldn’t be strong right now, then I would be his strength.
“Do you want a glass of water?”
Matt jerked his head in a nod, his breath hitching as he dragged in air.
I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, taking the moment to get my head together, to figure out how I was going to convince him that he needed to get help for his PTSD, especially when he couldn’t
exactly go through official channels for veterans’ counseling.
When we’d been together, Matt had always been easygoing and confident; he’d never been the kind of guy who was afraid to admit when he struggled or to ask for help. He’d been self-deprecating and affable, easy to handle.
I didn’t know about this guy.
He seemed reluctant to admit when he needed help, embarrassed by his fear, like the only way he could hold everything together was to act as if he was impervious to the world around him, as though exposing one chink in his armor would bring everything else crashing down. I understood why he felt that way, but I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t let me in.
I walked back into the bedroom and handed him the glass of water. His face had regained some color, his breathing normalizing a bit.
“Thanks.” He put the glass to his lips, draining the water in a series of gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Was it the same dream?” I asked, trying to keep my tone gentle, figuring this was one of those situations that required more finesse than I usually possessed. “From Afghanistan?”
He didn’t meet my gaze. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He set the glass on the nightstand, ducking his head, rubbing his jaw. “Not really.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay, I get that, and given what your dreams are about, I wouldn’t want to talk about them, either. But I really think you need to talk to someone. I’m no expert, but it seems like you have a lot of the symptoms of PTSD.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I know it’s hard with your situation,” I continued, keeping my tone measured and calm. “I know you can’t just go get the kind of support you need through the VA or something, but you shouldn’t go through this alone. You need someone to talk to. You can’t keep carrying all of this around inside you, not wanting to let someone in. It’s eating at you; let me help you.”
“I don’t want this to drag you down.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be like that. You know me. We’ve been best friends our entire lives, at least let me be your friend. I can handle whatever you throw my way. I want to be there for you, and if you don’t let me in, it’s just going to make this worse. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
He sighed, running another hand through his hair, his voice ragged. “I dreamed that I was in Afghanistan. In the pit again. But this time, it wasn’t my friends’ bodies dropping around me, the sky raining death. It was yours. Over and over again.” Matt reached out and squeezed my hand. “I saw your face. Your hair. Your eyes. Dead.”
I pushed back the fear. Given everything that had happened recently, it wasn’t exactly a stretch to imagine me ending up in a grave somewhere.
“I’m not going to die.”
The second I said the words, they ignited some kind of fury within me. We’d already had enough of our lives taken away from us, already paid a price we didn’t owe. I was done. Done being afraid. Done feeling helpless or powerless. I didn’t care what it took; I was going to take them down, each and every person involved in this.
Matt gripped my hand even tighter.
“I’m going to research some support groups, see if there are some informal channels that you can go through to get the help you need and still stay off the grid. Blair’s boyfriend goes to N.A. and A.A. meetings, maybe there are support groups or something like that—ones that are anonymous and not run through the VA system.”
For a moment I didn’t think he would answer me, and then I heard his voice, gravelly and low—
“Okay.”
It was just one word, but it felt like a building block that could form the foundation for our future.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “What about you?” he asked, changing the focus. “What’s your next move here?”
“I’m going to dinner at my parents’,” I answered. “I need to get into my father’s office, and you’re just going to have to trust me. I can do this. I know you’re worried and scared, and I know the stakes are a lot higher than anything we’ve ever dealt with, but don’t try to shield me from this because I’m a girl and you think I’m weak. You never did that before and I sure as hell don’t want to be treated like that now. Maybe I don’t have tree-trunk biceps and thighs, but you know I’m smart and tough. I have this.”
Matt shook his head. “You don’t get it. I don’t think you’re weak. And it’s not because you’re a girl, either. But these guys are no joke. They’re professionals. They’re better at this than you are; hell, they’re better at this than I am. We need to be smart about it. You’re right, you are smart. So if we’re going to win this, we have to be smarter than they are. They might have the advantage of force, but we’re going to have to outmaneuver them.”
He was right. And just as he’d been trying to protect me, I realized that shielding my sisters wasn’t the answer, either. Jackie and Blair would be affected by all of this, and hell, Jackie had pretty much inspired this vendetta against my father. I needed to tell them all of it. Jackie had been gathering information on our father for years; maybe she had something that could help us.
We couldn’t do this alone. We were going up against the kind of power that didn’t play fair and always won. We needed every tool at our disposal.
“I need to tell my sisters.”
“Are you sure?”
“We need the help. I don’t like lying to them, figure they should know to be on the lookout if things get uglier than they already are. They’re his daughters, too. They deserve to know.”
“What about keeping them safe?” he countered.
“I think I can tell them without them getting involved.” I hesitated. “Are you okay with me telling Blair that you’re alive? I trust her. She won’t say anything, won’t give anything away. She loved you, too. She deserves to know that you’re alive.”
He didn’t answer me for a while, his gaze trained down at his hands. I worried that I’d pushed too hard and asked for more than he was willing or able to give. And then he took away my fears.
“Okay.”
Relief filled me.
“I think we should wait until we have a little more evidence before we tell them about my father, though. Right now we have suspicions and pieces of the puzzle, but we don’t have all of it. I don’t want to mention this to them until we know what we’re dealing with. Besides, I’m supposed to go wedding dress shopping with Jackie and Blair tomorrow. Jackie’s not close to her mom, so it’s really important to her that we’re there. I don’t want anything to take away from her big day.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Matt answered, his voice tight as though I’d coerced him into something he didn’t exactly agree with, but couldn’t see a way out of. “When is your dinner with your parents?”
“On Wednesday.”
Not a lot of time for me to figure out my strategy for getting into my father’s office, but hopefully I could come up with something.
Matt’s expression hardened. “I’m going to be close by for backup.”
“Agreed.”
“And if he seems suspicious at all, or if anything comes up, you have to promise you’ll get the hell out of there.”
“Agreed.”
“And if you’re going into that house, you’re going in armed.”
I laughed. “How am I supposed to manage that? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think a gun is going to fit into the bodice of my cocktail dress.” In all fairness, though, considering how not-well-endowed I was, there’d probably be plenty of room.
“We’ll figure something out. And I want to take you to a shooting range first.”
“Am I going to war or going to dinner?”
“Is there a difference with your parents?”
Valid point.
“So do you have any secret Special Forces tricks that will get me ready to break in by Wednesday?”
He grinned. “I can show you a thing or
two.”
I figured our talk and the glass of water had helped, because the next thing I knew, my back hit the mattress and Matt loomed over me, his mouth on mine, his body hard.
We didn’t go back to sleep for hours.
Chapter Twelve
Jackie Gardner was spotted shopping for wedding dresses for her upcoming nuptials to Virginia State Senator William Clayton. Her sisters and reported bridesmaids, Kate and Blair Reynolds, were in attendance.
—Capital Confessions blog
Kate
I sat next to Blair on the stuffed sofa in the bridal shop, waiting for Jackie to come out of the dressing room. Considering Will’s position as a state senator and the fact that his family included a former vice president of the United States and parents who were constantly mentioned in the society column, her wedding was beginning to resemble a mini royal wedding.
Jackie wasn’t the type of girl who spent a lot of time worrying about things like seating charts and floral arrangements—she wasn’t Blair—so I figured she was pretty overwhelmed by it all. I knew she was excited to marry Will, but I doubted that she’d anticipated all of the bridal craziness that would accompany marrying a Clayton. She’d called Blair and me last week in a panic and asked us to help her pick out a dress.
We sipped glasses of champagne, Blair looking perfectly at home in the elegant salon filled with tiny, breakable furniture, the soft strands of classical music, and a ridiculous amount of flowers. Me? Not so much.
“Okay, I need you guys to give me your honest opinion,” Jackie called out from behind the dressing room door. “It’s not necessarily what I would have picked if this were a normal wedding, but given Will’s career and the fact that these pictures will probably show up somewhere, I wanted to look like a politician’s wife. Just, you know, not boring.”
My lips twitched. Demure, she definitely wasn’t. Not that Will seemed to mind, though. He absolutely adored my sister.
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