Tough Enough

by M. Leighton

  As his story goes on, I feel the surge of satisfaction to come. Like watching a movie, knowing the climax is coming, I find myself anxious for Rogan to get to the part where he stands up to his dad, to get to the part where he finally gains his freedom.

  But that’s not how his story goes.

  “My time eventually came. I’d been looking forward to it for so long. I was practically swimming in satisfaction the first time I ever hit Dad back. He just looked at me and then turned around and walked off. I felt pretty damn good about it until the next day when he beat the shit out of Kurt with a phone book. My poor brother was bruised from head to toe. Bloody lip, busted nose, black eye, blue splotches all over his chest and stomach and back. Even his legs. Dad came into his room when Kurt was curled up on his bed and I was looking him over. He just stood in the doorway, staring at me. That’s when I knew. I knew I’d caused it. I’d caused him to hurt my little brother. That’s when I realized that I was stuck. That I’d have to suck it up and take it until I could find a way out. Or until Kurt could. And then we’d both be free.”

  Behind my hand, I bite my lip. I don’t want to make a sound as the tears slip between my lashes and roll down my cheek to soak the pillowcase. I hurt for Rogan, for the little boy who lost so much, who had to endure so much. Within a few months, his entire life fell apart, yet here he is today—healthy and whole. And charming as the day is long. It’s obvious that his strength is much more than just physical. This man is a survivor. Down to his soul, he’s a survivor. And a winner.

  “I’m so sorry, Rogan,” I offer in as steady a voice as I’m capable of, but even to my own ears it sounds watery and weak. I feel him stiffen behind me, so I roll my shoulders back and turn to meet his eyes. They’re dark in the low light and the set of his jaw is like steel. “What is it?”

  “I told you I don’t want your pity.” I can hear that his teeth are gritted.

  “I know you did. And you’re not getting pity. My heart hurts for the little boy who lost so much, but I feel nothing but admiration for the man, Rogan. The man you’ve become is . . . he’s amazing. I only wish I was as tough as you were. As you are.”

  His expression softens and he leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. When he relaxes behind me again, I melt into him, something I’m finding is surprisingly easy to do.

  It’s nearly a full minute later when Rogan rises over me, his lips descending to cover mine. And when they do, I know the sad memories are over. He’s put them back where they need to be, where they can’t hurt him anymore.

  Despite the heartbreaking conversation of moments before, a fire is kindled within seconds of his large palm skating down my stomach. He finds me unerringly. His fingers know the way to my core just like his words do. He touches me. Always he touches me, it seems.

  I reach behind me to drive my fingers into Rogan’s hair, fisting them when his tongue slides between my lips. Gently, he tugs my top thigh up onto his legs and guides his tip to my entrance from behind. He hovers there, his mouth devouring mine, his fingertip back to tease between my folds. When he stills and lifts his head, I open my eyes to find him staring at me. We stay like this for endless seconds until, with his gaze locked onto mine, he eases into me, slow and deep.

  He covers my mouth again, my gasp perfectly timed with the breath he exhales. I breathe him in, take as much of him as I can into my body. And it’s in these sweet, quiet moments that I realize I’ve never felt more myself than when Rogan is inside me.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Rogan

  I don’t know what I expected when I woke up, but to be in bed alone at nearly noon wasn’t it. I can’t believe it’s so late! I haven’t slept that well in years. Maybe ever.

  I roll over to face the sun streaming in around the shutters that cover the windows. The other side of the bed is cold. I guess Katie has been up for some time.

  For several minutes, I stare at the dent in her pillow, considering the woman who made it. I’m not surprised that once I unraveled the mystery of the shy girl with the haunted eyes that I’m still interested. Something told me right from the start that this one was special. And I wasn’t wrong. She’s different and special in the best possible way.

  I finally drag my pathetic ass out of bed and find the bathroom directly across the hall. I pause in the doorway to listen. All I hear are sounds of battle coming from the living room. I smile to myself, shaking my head as I walk naked to the toilet. It’s hard to tell what other surprises this woman might hold.

  I borrow Katie’s toothbrush and brush my teeth. I figure since we’ve licked each other from head to toe, she surely won’t mind if I use it. In the mirror, I catch sight of my stiff dick, so I go back to the bedroom for last night’s clothes. I figure it might be prudent to wear something other than a hard-on when I go out to greet her this morning. I’m ready for some more of the untamed Katie from last night, of course, but it’s hard to tell where she might be in the bright light of day. Women and their mood swings!

  When I’m dressed, I run my fingers through my hair and head for the living room. I smile when I see her. Like I do most of the time.

  Katie is curled up on the sofa, covered with a blanket, munching from an enormous bowl of popcorn, watching what looks like The Walking Dead.

  “Popcorn for breakfast?” I ask from the doorway so as not to startle her by walking up behind her and kissing her, which is actually what I want to do.

  She cranes her neck to look back at me, eyes bright, lips curved. “Yep.”

  “And The Walking Dead before noon?”

  “Yep.”

  “Another layer to your awesomeness? Jesus, woman! You’re killing me!”

  “I’m pretty sure you uncovered all my layers last night. And if all that sex didn’t kill you, I think you’re good.”

  Thank God! She’s not all moody and shit.

  She just gets more perfect by the day, and my cock twitches like it’s in total agreement.

  Down, boy!

  I walk around the back of the couch to Katie’s end, scooping her up as I pass and then turning to sit down with her in my lap, much like I did last night. “You fit like you were made to sit here, did you know that?” I ask, taking in her fresh skin, her pink cheeks and the little smile that’s gracing her luscious mouth.

  She gets all shy, laying her head on my shoulder and playing with some of her popcorn. It’s not the painfully . . . pained shy look that I’m used to, though. The one that she usually wears. This one is different. In a good way.

  “Well, you’ve got all sorts of nice places for me to sit,” she finally mutters.

  Through with pretending I’m not dying to kiss her, I tip her chin up and take her lips. Gently, even though I’d much rather ravage her. But I’m not stupid. I know there’s still a chance I could scare her away, so I have to take it slow.

  Slow. Damn it.

  It’ll be worth it, though. God forbid I screw it up now.

  I rub my nose against hers. “Your nose is cold.”

  “It’s chilly in here,” she states, burrowing under her blanket.

  I tuck the edges around her more securely, reaching under one end to grab her foot. Her toes are freezing. I rub them until they warm, treating her right side to the same as she returns her attention to the television.

  “This is my favorite show,” she says by way of explanation, not taking her eyes off the flat screen. “They’re having a marathon today and tomorrow.”

  “Well, don’t let me interrupt,” I warn, moving my massaging hand up her bare leg.

  I watch Katie watch the show. Her eyes are wide and fixed on the screen. She tosses a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth every few seconds and chews slowly, like she’s trying to keep the noise down. I swallow a laugh. God, this is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

  Every now and again, she reaches back to blindly offer me a few pieces. I take them from her fingers, resisting the urge to suck salt from the tips.

  As the minutes t
ick by, I work my way up to her knee, concentrating on her other leg, heating her flesh as I go. She pays me zero attention, so focused is she on her show. It is a great show, but I want to be more distracting than a bunch of zombies.

  I ease my fingers up onto her thigh, taking turns gently squeezing her supple muscles and softly stroking her silky skin. Still, she doesn’t take her eyes off the TV.

  It’s when I reach her hip that I realize something that has my cock filling with blood again, pressing up toward Katie’s plump ass. She’s not wearing any panties. Hell, she may not be wearing any clothes at all under that blanket. The thought has me gritting my teeth and mentally kicking myself for only having two condoms on me.

  I rub my palm in circles over her hip and then back down her leg, making a wide path that travels from the outside of her hip to her knee and then back up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of my goal. With each pass, I draw closer and closer to her center. I’m watching her closely, but she doesn’t seem to even notice. So I go bold.

  Starting at her knee, I run my fingertips up her leg, not stopping this time. I feel the narrow patch of short hair tickle my knuckles as I push my hand down between her thighs. They fall open just enough to give me access. I slide a finger into her crease, only to find that her pussy is hot and wet. Like really wet. ShitDamnHell.

  I pause, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back as I find the satiny bump of her moist clit. Every kind of curse is running through my head on a string, followed closely by reprimands for not bringing a damn box of condoms.

  I straighten and open my eyes to look at Katie. She’s still facing the television, but her fingers, full of popcorn, are poised right in front of her mouth, which is partially open. I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, much faster than it was a minute ago. She might not be watching me, but she’s sure as hell paying attention.

  Her eyes slide to mine when I start to move my finger, so I stop. “Don’t mind me. Just watch your show.”

  I clamp my lips together to keep from grinning as I watch her try to eat those few kernels of popcorn as though nothing is happening inside her body. She chews and then pauses, chews and then pauses. Finally, she gives up the act of eating, her hand falling limply into the big bowl. Her lips are still parted and I can see that her brow is wrinkled.

  I move my finger a little faster, periodically sliding it down to tease her entrance and then back up again to resume my torture. Katie’s other hand is fisted in the material of the blanket, her knuckles white as she tries to act casual.

  I feel the subtle movement of her hips as she starts to gyrate against my hand. I don’t increase my pace. I just continue to wind her up, fascinated by the play of emotions she’s trying to hide.

  She glances my way again and I nod toward the television. “Better watch. It’s almost time for a commercial.”

  Reluctantly, she turns her head away from me again, little mewling sounds beginning to rumble in her throat. I don’t even try to hold back my smile this time. I’ve never had so much fun watching zombies.

  I tease and rub, pinch and flick until Katie is stiff as a board on my lap. I hold her right at the edge until the moment the next commercial comes on. The instant that it does, I whisper in her ear, “I’m gonna make you come in my mouth.”

  Before she can respond, I fling Katie’s blanket off, spin her around to face me and then urge her to her feet. I palm one knee and set it on the back of the couch by my ear, spreading her wide. Then I lean in and bury my mouth against her slick folds.

  She moans so loud and the taste of her is so sweet I think for a second that I might lose my shit right inside my jeans, like some horny teenage boy. Every little sound, every harsh pant is like a cattle prod to my balls, spurring me on. She threads her fingers into my hair for support and I dig my fingers into her ass, holding her pussy right against my face.

  With determination, I lick and suck her all the way over the edge. She rides my face, my lips, my tongue like my cock is deep inside her. And when she comes, I have to support her ass so she doesn’t fall backward.

  She pours into my mouth and I lap it up. Honey. Pure, sweet honey. And when she’s done, I hold her tight and thrust my tongue as far as I can into her, greedy for more. “God, your body . . .” I mutter, my lips moving over hers until she goes completely limp in my arms and slithers back down into my lap like a limp noodle.

  Her head hits my shoulder with an audible thump and I cuddle her close, covering with the discarded blanket what I see now is her totally naked body. When she regains her breath, she tips her beautiful face up to mine, big blue eyes pulling me in like a life preserver to a drowning man.

  I expect her to say something, something . . . profound maybe. What I get is not profound. It’s even better.

  “That’s the best episode I think I’ve ever seen.” I throw my head back and laugh. “Even though I have no idea what happened after you came into the living room.”

  Her grin is sheepish. My ego is happy. This time, I don’t even try to resist the urge to kiss her.

  This might be the best morning I’ve had so far.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Katie

  Rogan suggested a picnic in the park with Dozer. He said I had promised to help him with his lines and he was holding me to it. As he spreads out a plaid wool blanket, I smile thinking of it, stroking Dozer’s head as I watch Rogan’s lithe body move this way and that until the little oasis in the shade is perfectly smooth.

  When he straightens and brushes grass off his hands, he grins up at me. “How’s this for a place to rehearse?”

  I sigh loudly. “I guess it’ll do. I mean, if I have to rough it,” I add, sniffing theatrically.

  “Well, if this isn’t to your liking, I feel sure I can think of something more . . . comfortable for you to sit on later.”

  I feel heat sting my cheeks and all the play drains right out of me, flushed away by the surge of desire.

  “What, no smart-ass retort?” he teases, stretching out on his side and patting the blanket next to him.

  “I’m sure I’d have one if I could think,” I reply honestly.

  Rogan laughs, a sound that I’m quickly falling in love with. It’s a rich rumble that seems to come from his soul. It always makes me want to smile, like I can’t help enjoying what he’s enjoying. “I like your style, Ms. Rydale.”

  I know he doesn’t mean that kind of style, but his comment brings to mind my wardrobe, which in turn brings to mind the concealing blouse I chose and the comforting swath of hair that resides where it does every day—covering my scars.

  I kneel on the spread and set Dozer down. He walks all of four feet, to the edge of the blanket, and flops down, falling almost immediately to sleep. Rogan, watching him, shakes his head in amazement.

  “A narcoleptic cat. Who knew?”

  I giggle as I slide in beside Rogan, pulling my feet up under me. “So, what feast did you bring us?” I ask, inclining my head toward the huge basket resting behind Dozer.

  “Ah-ah-ah. Work first, play later.”

  I’m surprised. “We’re really going to run lines?” I thought it was just his way of teasing me.

  “Yep. Sure are. I want to get this right the first time tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you will. You’re quite good.”

  Rogan looks genuinely pleased. “Thank you. I noticed that you’ve got mad skills at all this. Have you ever acted? Or considered acting?”

  I feel myself tense. I know Rogan’s question was innocent enough, but it still stirs memories that I never like reflecting upon.

  I could hedge. Make up something to put him off, but since he’s been so honest with me, told me such painful things, I feel that I owe him the truth.

  I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “Actually, that’s what I originally went to school for.”

  “What? Acting?” Now he seems surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you pursue it
? Is it because of your burns? Because—”

  “No, no. Not really,” I interrupt, not wanting to discuss them again. I would still much rather pretend that they aren’t there, or that he can’t see them. “Since I was a little girl, I always dreamed about being an actress. I tried out for every school play that I could, watched as many movies as I was allowed, studied the greats. You know how kids are. But my parents were very, very strict. They didn’t want me in the spotlight like that. They wouldn’t even consider letting me attend The Julliard. But I applied anyway and was accepted with a full scholarship.”

  Rogan sits up from where he was resting back on his elbow. “You got a scholarship to The Julliard?”

  I smile, but it’s no longer a proud smile. It’s just sad. “I did. But they still refused to let me pursue it. They wanted me to be a pharmacist.”

  “Well, it’s not too late, you know,” he says, his expression rife with resentful determination. “You should chase your dreams, damn it.”

  I wave him off. “No, I actually did that. Only it didn’t work out so well.” I clear my throat, twirling a stray piece of grass between my fingers, anything to give my hands something to do and my eyes something to focus on other than Rogan. “It was what I wanted, and even though my parents were against it and very upset with me for applying anyway, I packed up and left. I did what I wanted to do. At the time it didn’t matter what they wanted.”

  “But it didn’t work out?” Rogan asks, his warm palm covering my bare foot nearest him.

  “Not in the end. At first it was great. I accepted the scholarship and moved to New York. Within a couple of months of being at The Julliard, I was getting a lot of attention. Instructors, directors, local theater. They keep an eye on all the productions put on at the arts center and I guess for a while, I was the apple of their eye. The up-and-comer to watch.” My laugh is bitter. I can’t help it. It wells within me when I think back on my life, on my decisions. On fate. “I was in the paper a few times the summer after my freshman year. It was surreal. And that got me the notice of a guy.”