by Elise Faber
It hurt, and I missed her more than I should have, considering I knew her all of a few weeks, but it was better that things were over. Better she found out I was a fucking asshole now, better she move on and find someone worthy of her. And if that sounded like playing the martyr, maybe it was, but dammit, I was trying to do the right thing.
And that right thing was having a clean break.
Brooke’s question was quiet. “What kind of man are you?”
I froze.
“Because the man I know,” she said, and I heard the tears in her voice, “is honorable and kind. The man I know served this country and protected my brother to the extent that his body is forever changed. The man I know struggled his way back from the edge and then helped me away from mine.” She released a shuddering breath. “So, why in the fuck does that man think that he doesn’t deserve all of the happiness in the world?”
My chest rose and fell rapidly. I couldn’t summon an answer to that, because I didn’t feel like the man she described. Not in the least.
“I think you do know that man,” she said quietly. “I think you know that man is still inside of you, still longing for more, but I also think that the man in here”—she tapped my temple lightly—“I think he recognizes that even though what you have with Iris is new, it’s also special.”
I shook my head, not sure which part I was disagreeing with.
“I also think that man is scared.”
My spine went ramrod straight.
“Because he knows she’s special and if he allows himself to care, if you allow yourself to care for Iris, to love her, that you’ll lose her, too.”
Fuck. Fuck.
No. I couldn’t be scared. I was trying to do the right thing by her, trying to—
Brooke stepped even closer. “Brent—”
I shook my head again.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
“No.”
“You’re allowed to feel this way.”
“No.”
“That makes you normal—”
“I’m a virgin!” I all but shouted. “I’m a fucking virgin, so even if I wasn’t a failure who couldn’t keep the guys in my unit safe, even if I couldn’t keep Hayden safe, even if I hadn’t taken too fucking long to get my shit together to look after you, even if all of those things didn’t happen, I’m still a fucking virgin.”
I’d rendered another woman silent.
I was starting to think that was my superpower.
Go me.
Brooke took my hand and tugged me toward the couch. I let her take me over, let her pull me down and sit beside me. “There’s a lot to unpack there, Brent.”
I ran a hand over my hair. “Look, logically I get all of the things you said, and I get that what I said isn’t logical because none of that is my fault and that it’s not really a big deal that I’m a virgin.”
“But?” She bumped my shoulder with hers, when I didn’t fill in the blank. “Your silence tells me that logic isn’t the problem.”
Yeah, it wasn’t.
“Okay, right. Since I’m just all about butting into everyone’s life tonight, I’m going to keep on rolling.” She straightened her shoulders, shook out her hands like she was a boxer getting ready to head into the ring. “Here goes. I know that I can’t take away the pain of what happened, what you lost, what it was like over there. I get that it doesn’t just magically disappear, just like the pain of losing Hayden never really goes away for me.”
Hearing her say that made a spasm of pain slice through me, and Brooke saw it, putting her hands on my shoulders and pulling me in for a tight hug. “But, that right there, honey. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” She jostled me lightly. “You can’t keep punishing yourself because bad stuff happens.” She leaned back, eyes fierce as they held mine. “It’s wasting what Hayden gave up, what the others did, too. Because you have a life to live, and you need to make sure you don’t squander it away.”
I dropped my forehead to her shoulder, sighed.
“Iris is trying,” Brooke murmured. “She feels like shit because she hurt you, because she’s so used to being on the receiving end of someone hurting her that it’s tearing her to shreds.” She leaned back. “So, even if you think you two don’t have a future—which would be a fucking stupid thing to think, but I also know I can’t force you to make the right decision—she deserves to have the chance to apologize. I’m not saying you have to forgive her—”
“I already have.”
And I had.
I also just hadn’t realized it until that moment.
Because Brooke was right. I was running scared, terrified that I’d lose Iris, that I’d disappoint her, that I’d fail her, too, and because of it, I had grasped at the first thing I could use to push her away.
I glanced into the eyes of the girl I’d watched grow up and marveled for a second. “How did you get so smart, darlin’?” I asked, not bothering to disguise the wonder in my tone.
Her lips twitched. “I got really good at getting stupid, but someone”—she squeezed my shoulders—“someone set me straight a while back.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for returning the favor.”
“Does that mean you’re going to talk to her?”
I nodded. “Talk, beg. I think I have both in my future.”
She grinned then stifled a yawn and stood. “This is late, even for me.”
I got to my feet and walked her to the door, but when I pulled it open, I found Kace on my front porch, eating my fucking expensive ass pizza.
Glaring, I marched over to him, snatching the box out of his hands.
“It’s good,” he said, through a full mouth, completely unconcerned. “In case you were wondering.”
Huffing, I stomped back to my door.
“Enjoy,” Kace called.
I grunted.
“Bye,” Brooke called.
I smiled over at her, mouthed, “Thanks.” And then I went inside, locked my door, and flicked off the porch light. No more visitors.
Just me and my pizza.
And trying to figure out how I could possibly make up for what I’d done to Iris that week.
Knocking at my door woke me up.
By the bright sun shining through the uncovered windows, it was nearly noon, but it wasn’t like I’d been sleeping well—not thanks to my nighttime visitor and definitely not thanks to the fact that I’d stayed up for a long time after Brooke had gone, puzzling through my feelings and trying to figure out how to stop myself from running scared again.
Because if I was going to do this, if I was going to talk with Iris, explain to her what happened, then she needed to know that I wouldn’t do it again.
The knocking stopped and started again, not letting up for several minutes, and so with a groan, I dragged my sorry ass out from beneath the covers, even though it felt like I’d only gone to bed minutes before.
I stumbled across the floor, back stiff, though it was feeling better than it had in days. I felt better than I had in days.
Mostly, because Brooke had slapped some sense into me.
I stretched when I reached the bottom step, rolling my shoulders, tilting my head from side to side to ease the remaining stiffness in the muscles of my neck as I headed toward the door. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have learned from my lesson the night before, might have looked and seen who was standing on the other side of that wooden panel, might have glimpsed the bright blond hair through the window at its top, the peaches and cream skin, or maybe even the striking blue-green eyes.
But I was stretching, taking in the fact that my body finally felt like mine again, that my mind had followed suit, and so I opened the door without any consideration of who stood on my porch.
Or the fact that I was only wearing a pair of low-hung basketball shorts.
“I’m sorry!” Iris said, her words coming fast and furious, almost like she thought this might be her one chance to get it all out, so sh
e was doing it as rapidly as possible. “I was a jerk and insensitive, and I didn’t mean to make you feel small. I spent too long with someone who I allowed to make me feel like that, and I’m so ashamed that I made you feel that way.” She inhaled, exhaled rapidly. “And it’s my fault you hurt your back and couldn’t work. I made you run off, and I made you feel bad about yourself, and I-I’m a g-giant asshole!” Her arms came up, and I realized she held a platter with a cake on it. She thrust the tray in my direction. “It’s a nine-layer cake, and it’s for you, and I’m sorry, and I’m going to leave now—”
Maybe it was the fact that I was tired.
Maybe it was the sheer onslaught of her blurted-out words.
Maybe it was just Iris.
Because I’d never had a chance of keeping my distance, and just seeing her in front of me, seeing her so upset that she’d wounded me, made it clear that the decision I’d come to just a couple of hours before was the right one.
I snatched the cake out of her hands, plunked it on the table I kept there for my keys.
It barely fit, but I wasn’t thinking of that.
My mind was on Iris.
I needed her, needed her to know that this whole thing was my fault. “Darlin’—”
She launched herself into my arms, and I stumbled back, scrambling to keep hold of her while closing the door with one foot, flipping the lock and then letting my mouth come down onto hers. She opened immediately, tongue dancing with mine, lips softening, body melting as we kissed and kissed and kissed.
Finally, she pushed at my chest, and I pulled back, letting her have a moment to breathe. I was flying high on adrenaline and didn’t think I’d ever need to breathe again.
Then she grimaced and I remembered morning breath. As in, my mouth was probably rank with it. “Shit, darlin’. Let me brush my teeth.”
“What? No,” she said. “I’m trying to apologize.” Her fingers traced along the lines of his jaw. “Brent, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, darlin’. It’s my fault,” I said, trying to focus.
She shook her head. “No—”
I tugged her closer, slid my lips over her cheek, nipped at the corner of her mouth. Her tracing turned into stroking, fingers running over my pecs, and my mind fogged. Then she skimmed my nipples with her nails, making my cock pulse.
“It was my—” she began.
My hands fell to her waist, brought her pelvis flush against mine. Her breath caught, palms drifting down over my abs, fingertips slipping under the waistband of my shorts, and I felt the leash inside me snap. Without thinking of my back, I scooped her up into my arms, probably reversing my recovery by days, but not able to feel anything in that moment aside from her bare hands on my skin.
She didn’t protest or squirm, just arched her neck so her lips could meet mine.
And then I was walking to my bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress, and I knew this was it. I wasn’t letting this moment slip by.
She scooted up, resting her head on my pillow as my fingers went to the zipper of the hoodie she was wearing. “Do you forgive me?” she asked, breath hitching when I yanked the garment down over her arms.
I’d momentarily lost the ability to speak, mainly because she wasn’t wearing anything beneath that hoodie, aside from a see-through lace bra.
Peaches.
Her nipples were the orangey-pink of a peach and beaded, pressing against the lace, making my mouth water, my cock grow even harder.
“Brent?” she called, hands coming to my head. “Do you forgive me?” she asked again. “I need you to forgive me so—”
“Shh,” I said, coming back into my brain, seeing the vulnerability on her face. “Yes, darlin’,” I told her, knowing she needed to hear it, but also knowing she needed my apology, too. “Except there’s nothing to forgive. This whole thing was my fault because of my hang-ups. I shouldn’t have run off. I should have stayed and talked—”
Her mouth covered mine in a scalding kiss.
“It’s my fault,” she said when we broke apart for air. “I should have—”
“I know we’re really good at blaming ourselves,” I said, gently placing a finger over her lips. “But how about we both table the should haves,” I said, “and instead, think about what we can have?”
She nibbled at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes went soft. “And what do you think we can have?”
“Everything,” I murmured.
She smiled. “I like the sound of everything.”
I kissed her then, and it was everything, the jagged pieces of my heart knitting together, the worry and disappointment and pain of my past easier to shoulder. Because she knew everything and still had come to me. I knew we had more to talk about, knew I still had far to go to make it up to her, but I also knew we needed a can have in that moment.
And I intended to give it to her.
I tugged off her shoes and socks, while she shoved down the waistband of her sweats, our hands tangling when I took over to slide them over her knees and off her feet.
Then she was in front of me, clad in see-through underwear, and I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I hadn’t done this before.
“Here,” she murmured, and my eyes flicked up to see she was stroking a finger across her lips. “Start here, and all the rest of it will fall into place.”
Frustrated that I was inexperienced, that I was scrambling to stay in control and figure out what I should be doing, I blew out a breath. “Darlin’—”
Iris smiled, somehow understanding what was going through my mind. “I’ve done this with one other person, Brent,” she said. “I’m not an expert by any means, but I do know I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, that when you kiss me, the rest of the world disappears, and I can just . . . feel.”
That.
That was what I felt, exactly what I felt and because of it, I didn’t need any further coaxing.
I let my mouth drop to hers, allowed my hands to roam, and I stopped thinking. Because I might be a virgin, but I had done other things . . . lots of other things. My lips slid over her jaw, down her throat, along the tops of her breasts. I nudged the straps off her shoulders, baring those gorgeous peachy nipples, feeling my mouth water.
She moaned my name when I sucked one into my mouth, and since I really fucking liked hearing my name fall from her lips, I spent a while at her nipples, rolling one between my forefinger and thumb then suckling deeply at the other, alternating sides, sucking and nipping and loving the way her hands found my hair and gripped tight.
That sting on my scalp grounded me, pulled me back into focus when it felt like I would fall away.
Releasing her nipple with a soft pop, I traced my tongue over her ribs, drifting down, laving the dip of her belly button, tugging down her panties, and positioning myself at her center.
She spread her legs, eyes shadowed, lips parted, breaths coming rapidly.
“Pink and wet and glistening,” I said roughly.
She choked then groaned. “Brent, get inside me, baby. Another time can be slow. I need you now.”
The problem with that was I knew I probably wouldn’t last long. Not only was I more turned on in that moment than I’d ever been in my life, but I’d never done this before, so I knew it wasn’t going to take much to put me over the edge.
Which meant I needed Iris close.
I needed her so turned on and ready to fly that I wouldn’t blow without her.
So, I ignored her reaching for me, ignored the plea, and knelt between her thighs. A heartbeat later, I had my mouth on her pussy, and it was the greatest fucking dessert in the world, sweet with an edge of tart and so damned wet that I could picture how that wet would feel on my cock.
I sucked her clit firmly, just as I’d learned she liked the other night, then circled her entrance and slid a finger home.
She arched up on the bed, head thrashing on the pillows. “Brent. Honey. I—”
I flicked my tongue, pressed the flat of it to
her clit, and then alternated the pattern, driving her up until she was bucking against me, pleas tumbling from her lips.
Then I scrambled for my nightstand, for the package of condoms I’d bought before that first date.
I tore into it, yanked one out, then rolled it with trembling fingers down my cock.
“Now,” Iris demanded.
And I didn’t have it in me to tease or coax or ready bring her closer to the edge with me. I couldn’t think, could only feel, and as I pushed inside her tight, wet, heat, I knew that I wasn’t going to last long.
It was . . .
More than I could put into words.
Not just the sensations, because those were fucking incredible. But it was the connection. Never had I felt closer to someone in my life. Never. Not my friends. Not the people I’d dated. Not my first long-term girlfriend.
It wasn’t this.
It was Iris, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from my kisses, her beautiful curvy body sprawled out beneath me. It was this woman looking at me with softness in those glazed eyes, her desire tempered with affection.
With love.
I loved her.
And that made this moment mean so much more.
I moved in and out slowly, wanting to prolong this time with her but knowing I wouldn’t be able to for long, especially when she tilted her hips, arched farther, and reached a hand down between her legs to find her clit. “More, Brent. Please, more.”
More.
Yeah. I could do that.
I picked up the pace, leaning down to kiss her, bracing myself on one hand as I pulled out and slid in, using the other to tease her nipples, to trace over her curves, then to tilt her hips when I found an angle that made her freeze, lips parting on a moan.
And I zeroed in, because the end for me was near, and I very much wanted her with me.
I kept at the angle, thrusting harder and faster, my free hand moving desperately, dragging her up the precipice with me . . . until finally, she broke, groan torn from her lips as her orgasm swept through her.
Thank fuck, because I was right there with her.
One more thrust and I was over the edge, pulsing inside her as my orgasm shot down my spine, and I came hard enough that I could have sworn I blacked out.