Rough

by Sybil Bartel

  “Oh.” I stepped into the shower.

  Frustration all over his features, he followed. “Let it out. I know you’ve got something to say.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.” I was processing too many scenarios at once, but at the forefront was one that stood out above all else. How much was I willing to give up for this man? I picked up the shampoo.

  “Goddamn it, tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Water streaming down my back, steam swirling around us, I picked the least inflammatory thought running through my head. “This isn’t how I envisioned what showering with a man would be like.” I’d read romance novels, and this wasn’t even close.

  His hands went to his hips and his head fell back. “Fuck.” He intense gaze cut back to mine. “You never showered with a man before?”

  My gaze traveled below his waist, and I still couldn’t believe he’d fit inside me. Even at rest, he was long and thick. Just looking at him did things to me. I wet my hair single-handed as a now familiar dull ache persisted between my legs. “I’ve never been naked in front of a man in daylight hours before yesterday, let alone showered with one.” I flipped open the cap on the shampoo.

  His arm wrapped around me and he plucked the shampoo out of my hand. “Jesus Christ, woman.” He reached behind me and set the shampoo back on the shelf, then held me in both of his arms. “You need to tell me these things.”

  I couldn’t breathe when his naked body pressed up against mine. “You don’t tell me everything.” Like what a blast wave was. Or why he couldn’t live on the ground floor. Or why sleeping with a bunch of women made him sure he’d never tire of me.

  His hand smoothed over my wet hair. “You’re even more gorgeous like this, naked, wet, no mask.”

  “Mask?”

  “Makeup.”

  “You don’t like me in makeup?”

  “No.”

  To say I was surprised was an understatement. Didn’t men like women all made up? “Why?”

  His thumb dragged across my bottom lip. “I like you like this, innocent and pure.”

  “I’m not innocent.” A twinge of regret hit me about Alex. I’d been so upset over Dan that one of the women in the office had joked that I looked like I needed a night with a willing male with no strings attached. The idea had struck and taken hold. When I’d asked her where you found a guy like that, she said you didn’t, you paid for it. She told me about the “dates” her friend went on with a gorgeous guy. A day later, she handed me a piece of paper with a number. I’d laughed it off and tossed it out in front her, but when she’d walked away, I fished the number out of the trash. A week later, I’d called.

  “When you’re naked in my arms, Red, you don’t get to think about other men.”

  I started. “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “How can you tell what I’m thinking?” I didn’t know how the hell he did that.

  “Body language, facial expression, but mostly I pay attention. I know you’ve been with two men before me, and I know who they are. I said you were innocent and you denied it. It didn’t take a fucking genius to guess you were thinking about Vega.”

  “I don’t regret that.” I dipped my head. “I met you.”

  “I’m not holding it against you.”

  “You just don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Ever.”

  I nodded. “What is a blast wave?”

  He grabbed the shampoo and squirted some into his hand like he needed a distraction. Once he was lathering it into my hair, he started to speak. “When an IED detonates, the aftershock is called a blast wave. It’s fucking loud, and if you’re close enough, the wave itself can kill you. Same principal behind not being close to a rocket launch. Bursting your eardrums is the least of your worries. Blast waves can scramble your fucking brain.” His hands worked through my hair like a professional.

  “The blast wave from the fucking IED worked me over. Now I have trouble with numbers and letters. I’ll see them sideways and upside down. Even though my brain knows it’s wrong, I can’t always focus. I’m shit for reading or dialing a phone.”

  “You texted me. And called.”

  “Not without effort.”

  I didn’t know which emotion was more prevalent, my heart aching for him for his struggles or for the fact that he’d made the effort to text and call me. “Is that why you have so few numbers programmed into your phone?”

  He studied me. “I threw out my work phone. The phone I had you hold on to is my personal cell.”

  “You threw out your work phone?” I should be happy, but I wasn’t ready to trust it.

  “Crushed the SIM and tossed the phone.” He leaned my head back under the hot spray.

  His hands on me and in my hair felt better than good. “So there’s no going back for you?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t.” He said it without irritation.

  I questioned it anyway. “Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Tension eased out of my body as his strong hands ran through my hair. “How long were you…?” I didn’t want to say prostituting.

  He watched what he was doing with the same intense stare he used on me. “Three years.”

  Oh God. “That’s a long time.” A really, really long time.

  “Too fucking long,” he agreed.

  “So….” I hesitated. “It wasn’t just me that made you change your mind?”

  His gaze cut to mine. “You got a problem with being the catalyst?”

  Did I? “No.” I didn’t think so.

  “Good.” He tilted my head back up and amber-brown eyes I could get lost in studied me. “You got his ring?”

  “Yes.” I would be lying if I said I didn’t think what it would be like to belong to Jared, to wear his ring.

  “How come you never gave it back?”

  “I tried.” Several times. “He refused to take it back. But it wasn’t an engagement ring.”

  Reaching for the soap, he paused. “There’s another kind of ring?”

  “It was more of a promise ring.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What the fuck is that?”

  “A promise of an engagement?” I didn’t actually know, now that he’d asked.

  “What a fucking pussy. You either ask a woman to marry you or you don’t.”

  I fought a smile. “You swear a lot.”

  “You denying he’s a pussy?”

  “No.” The next question bled from my subconscious. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

  “Not as much as you.” He lathered the soap in his hands and ran them over my shoulders. “Turn around, gorgeous.”

  It didn’t escape my notice that he hadn’t said he didn’t think about marriage. “Maybe, when I was younger.”

  His hands ran over my back, massaging my tight muscles. “You’re still young.”

  “I’m five years older than my mother was when she had me.” Oh my God, I loved the way he touched me, bold and dominant but also gentle. “How old are you?” I couldn’t believe I’d never asked him.

  “Twenty-eight.” His hands ran over my ass and squeezed, then he turned me back to face him. “Did you stop thinking about getting married after your dad died or after the asshole quarterback?” He picked up the soap again.

  He was incredibly perceptive, shockingly so. “Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity.” He soaped the small patch of curls between my legs that I kept neatly trimmed.

  Something I’d noticed about him, he never shrugged or made unnecessary body movements. He didn’t gesticulate when he spoke. He didn’t have a swagger when he walked. It was as if every movement was purposeful and calculated. “Do you know you don’t shrug?”

  “Yes.”

  I wanted his hand to move lower, but he swept across my stomach and over my hips. “Is that purposeful?”

  He stared at his hand as he rubbed a thumb over my nipple. “Observation happens with stillne
ss.”

  I bit back a groan. “Do you like to be an observer?” His other thumb found my neglected nipple and, oh my God, that felt good.

  Cupping both breasts, he brushed his thumbs rhythmically back and forth. “I was trained to be observant.”

  “By the Marines?”

  “Yes.” He increased the pressure on my nipples, and I felt it in my core. “Do you want to come?”

  So, so bad. “Not yet. What did you do in the Marines?”

  “Recon.”

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  “We hunted bad guys.”

  I couldn’t figure out if it was a flippant comment aimed at a civilian or simply another one of his statements of fact. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Combat is addicting.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.” Desperately rubbing my thighs together, I ached to feel the kind of release only he could give me.

  “I didn’t enjoy it as much as I’m about to enjoy making you come this way.”

  “Is that possible?” The burning ache in my core was almost intolerable.

  “Your legs are trembling, your nipples are dark and hard as shit, if I tongue you right now, you’re gonna fucking detonate.”

  “Tongue me where?” I panted.

  His mouth latched on to one breast, his fingers twisted the other nipple, and he pressed his cock against my pussy.

  My head fell back, a guttural cry ripped from my lungs and I exploded. “Ahhhh.”

  Pleasure-pain shot from my nipples and traveled to my core where the pulsing effect was secondary to what was happening to my breasts. Unlike every other orgasm I’d had with him, this one wasn’t a release. It was as if a switch had been hit and I became singularly focused on getting him inside my body, but at the same time, I didn’t think I could take any more. “What are you doing to me?” The blood drained from my head, and if I weren’t gripping handfuls of his hair, I would’ve sunk to my knees.

  His tongue swept across one nipple then the other before he brought his lips to mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Red.”

  Heat hit my cheeks as warmth curled in my stomach. “You’re turning me into an addict.”

  “As long as I’m the drug.”

  Oh, he was my drug. I smiled and he kissed me.

  Slow and sensual, he swept through the heat of my mouth. With his huge hands holding either side of my head, it was the gentleness of his touch and his kiss that sent me over the edge. For the first time in five years, I wasn’t thinking about steeling myself against hurt by blocking my feelings to anyone and everyone. I was thinking about a future. With him.

  He pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I hear you thinking.”

  I wasn’t ready to tell him how I felt yet. I wasn’t sure I was ready to even acknowledge it out loud, so I brought up another question I had. “Why don’t you like my house?”

  He eyed me for a moment like he knew I was deflecting, then he picked up the soap. “The house itself is fine. It’s the location and the elevation of it.”

  “So you’re not against ever living in a house? It just has to be the right house?” I was trying to wrap my head around this, but I was missing something.

  He scrubbed the soap across his chest. “I don’t talk about Afghanistan and I don’t fucking dwell on my time in the Marines, but I will say this. Once you’ve been in a war zone and you see how fucking easy it is to breach a home on the ground level or even on the second or third floor, you wouldn’t feel fucking safe in your house either.”

  I didn’t belittle him by telling him Coral Gables wasn’t a war zone. How could I? He was right. Anyone could walk up to my front door and kick it in. If living higher up made him feel more secure, who was I to take that away from him? “I never thought of it like that.”

  “No, you were probably thinking kids and dog and a yard in a high-priced zip code.”

  I didn’t deny it. “I was.” Watching him wash himself felt almost more intimate than having him inside me.

  “That a deal breaker for you?”

  Was it? Did it matter where I lived? I didn’t have an easy answer. My whole world was changing faster than I could blink. I took the soap from him then casually pressed on his side to get him to turn. “What about a big sprawling ranch on forty acres?” He didn’t move.

  His muscles tensed under my hand. “You got something you wanna tell me?”

  I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “I don’t have a ranch.” Would he let me wash his back?

  He studied me. “But you want one.”

  I half laughed, half sighed. “Did I have a tell just then?”

  “Fake smile.”

  I held the soap up and went for a more direct approach. “May I?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to make you feel good like you made me feel good.”

  “Then you should put the soap down.”

  His expression was so serious, I couldn’t tell if he was teasing. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not.”

  “I don’t need my back washed, Red.”

  “Ever?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “So it does hurt?” I regretted my stupid question as soon as I asked it.

  “It’s fine.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” I put the soap back on the caddy.

  “Christ, you’re working me. You want to touch my scars, go ahead. You want to drag your nails down my back while you fucking come on my dick, bring it. But if you want to wash my back like I’m some goddamn infant that needs coddling, forget it. I have scars, I’m not a goddamn broken pussy who needs a woman to lick my wounds.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  He brushed my hair off my face and changed the subject. “Why a ranch?”

  I didn’t even think of not answering or bargaining for the answer I wanted out of him. “Growing up, I always wanted to learn to ride horses, but Daddy couldn’t afford it. He promised me one day, but after my mother passed away, I stopped asking.” Jared had a way of peeling back my layers with unmatched deftness. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was cunning or simply bossy.

  “I’m sorry you lost your mom.”

  “Thank you. What happened to your mother?” He’d said he’d grown up with only his father.

  “Another man caught her interest. She decided she didn’t like being a plumber’s wife and a mother.”

  Wow. “Do you ever see her?”

  “I saw her before I enlisted. I made peace with her in case I didn’t come home.”

  I couldn’t imagine being an eighteen-year-old and having to say goodbye to my family in case I didn’t come home. “She didn’t come see you after you got injured?”

  “I never told her.”

  “Your dad didn’t call her?”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  I struggled to understand how his injuries couldn’t bring a family together, but then again, I was only finding out I had a family after my grandfather was dead. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Let’s get you dried off.” He shut the water off.

  “One day, I want to wash your back.”

  He paused. “Are you telling me what to do?”

  Excitement coursed through my veins. “No, I’m making a request.”

  “Noted.” He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me.

  “Is it always going to be like this?”

  “Like what?” He wrapped a towel around himself, and I couldn’t help but notice that he was still aroused.

  “Talking like this….” Naked and intimate and no holding back.

  “Don’t know. Never done this before. But I will tell you this.” He reached under my towel and between my legs. Sliding his fingers back and forth, a smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “When talking stops working, I’ll start fucking.”

  “I should be appalled by your crassness.” She pulled the towel tighter and it pushed her tits together.

>   My dick a goddamn rocket, I wanted to tit fuck her. I breathed through the need for her that was only getting worse every time I touched her. “You should.”

  “But I’m not.” She smiled the shy smile that was becoming my favorite thing to see, next to her face when she came.

  “Good.” I was conditioned to fuck. I’d fed the beast for three years, and before that, I wasn’t a damn monk. But this constant hard-on was fucking new for me. Nothing eased it. I came with her, and five seconds later, I was ready for more.

  She glanced around her bathroom. “I, um, need to get ready.”

  “So get ready.” She could take a piss in front of me and I wouldn’t care.

  “Okay.” She exhaled. “I get that you’re not shy and perfectly comfortable being around me, but I need a little privacy to do my hair and makeup.”

  She looked fucking gorgeous just how she was. She didn’t need to do a damn thing, but I needed to check if the lawyer was here. “I’ll be in the living room.” I turned to go.

  “Jared?”

  I loved my name on her lips. “Yeah?” I glanced over my shoulder.

  Heat colored her cheeks. “Did you… shower with any of the women?”

  Fucking hell. I turned and grabbed the back of her neck. “You can ask me any damn thing you want. But I am never going to discuss what I did or didn’t do with a client.” I didn’t want to fucking say what I had to next, but I couldn’t leave it hanging anymore. I was already in neck-deep, and if she was going to walk, it needed to be now. “I need a clean slate, Sienna. If you want this to work, you’re gonna have to trust me on that.”

  “Trust is earned.”

  I couldn’t fault her for being right, but she was missing the point. “Then give it time to grow. I’ll never give you a reason to be jealous.”

  “Your past makes me jealous. I can’t help it.”

  The sick part of me wanted to smile. If she was jealous, it was because she gave a shit. But I also knew a festering wound when I saw one, and I didn’t have a fucking clue how to close this one.

  I ran a hand through my damp hair. “All right, here’s the deal. You get two questions.” She opened her mouth and I held my hand up. “Two fucking questions, total. You can ask whatever the hell you want, and I’ll answer, but after that, I’m done. So think about what you want to ask and make it count.”