by Zoe Dawson
“They hurt me bad. The navy prepares you for being captured. But it’s not nearly enough. I didn’t understand the fear. I didn’t anticipate Natasha’s need to break me completely. She tapped into something I’d buried, and I feel completely lost. They took something from me,” he stammered out, unable to keep his voice from breaking with the force inside him, the pain pulsing as if alive. “I don’t know how to get it back.”
She clutched him to her, rocking him, and the comfort was a boon to his soul. He needed someone who knew how to wield a blow torch, who could weld him back together. “You’ll figure it out. I’ll help you.”
He rested against her, the flat of his hand on her ribcage just below the rounded plump of her breast, absorbing the beat of her heart. “I was so scared, Elena. For you. For Speed. For my team. For myself. But I had to overcome it.”
“I know,” she whispered, then she murmured, “Why?”
“It was my duty. I would have brought you back to the US with me. I would have given you that, so you were safe. I promise.”
“I know, Blue. I know you would have if you could have.”
“But I failed you, and I failed Speed. I lost myself and everything I knew seems like a dream. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know anything. I feel like I’m fading.”
She held him tighter, rocked him harder. “Oh, God, Blue. I’m so, so sorry.”
He buried his face in her neck and breathed deep of her scent. She didn’t smell anything like Elena, and for a moment he was confused, but she stroked his shoulder and arm rhythmically. Her breathing matched his, and he was so comfortable for the first time since that explosion had ripped his world apart and he’d fundamentally lost who he used to be.
He slipped his hand down to the flat of her stomach and curled deeper into her embrace as she held him until he drifted back to sleep.
* * *
He came awake slowly. The pounding of his head told him he’d exceeded his threshold again. He kept his eyes closed, trying to orient himself for the day, trying to think what he had to do. He blinked his eyes open and then frowned. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he felt gritty and salty as if he’d been swimming in the ocean. He couldn’t seem to remember much of last night, except the dream with Elena and how he had told her everything he’d wanted to say. He shifted, not remembering his mattress being this comfortable, but when he turned over, he found he wasn’t in his bed, but in an unfamiliar room. Beside him, the woman from the dive locker was asleep.
The sheet was half off her so that the sleek, naked curve of her hip and well-toned leg showed, along with a beautifully rounded breast topped with a satiny pink nipple. He stared at her for a long time, his dick already rock hard from waking up. He studied her face, the pixie quality of it, the light sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the thick black lashes like dark half-moons on her cheeks, the tanned, toned skin as if she worked outside a lot, and the mass of black silk waving across the pillow, strands of it sliding over his shoulder as he moved to get a better look at her.
Jesus. What a babe. But what the hell was he doing here, and how was she naked and he still in his briefs? Did they have sex? If he was drunk with this woman and they had done it, wouldn’t he be naked, too?
He immediately got a sick feeling in his stomach. Had she seen his scars? Then her eyes opened, and she was staring up into his with the most self-possessed, unabashed boldness he’d ever encountered with a woman.
“Good morning,” she whispered. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused,” he said, then he froze at the sound of her voice. Elena. Last night. He hadn’t been dreaming. He’d mistaken this woman for her. Fuck. He’d spilled his guts, clung to her for comfort, and he would be more freaked out about it if not for the fact that she had given it to him without any qualms.
“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked. As she rolled away from him, he got the full view of her delectable body and heart-shaped ass. She reached for her robe and shrugged into it, the sleek muscles across her back flexing. Damn.
She rose and tied the sash and turned around. Her hair was a tousled dark mess around her shoulders, and he noticed her freckles were barely visible. She stood there waiting for his answer.
“Breakfast? What the hell? How did I get here?”
“You got drunk last night in Flight of Seagulls, and I broke up an almost bar fight with a jerk who thinks a drunk Navy SEAL would be a good opponent to take on because he’d be much too scared to take you on sober. Then you wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me your address. I couldn’t in all good conscience let you roam the streets drunk off your ass, so I tried to bring you home.”
“What do you mean you tried?”
“You decided that going for a swim was a good idea. Oh, and you owe me for all the drinks you swilled.”
That explained the gritty feeling and why he was in his briefs. Even in his inebriated state, he couldn’t reveal his scars.
“You let me think you were Elena.”
She stiffened. “I did not. I tried to tell you several times that I wasn’t her, but let’s face it, with the amount of alcohol you consumed last night, it wasn’t only your liver that was pickled.”
He looked away, the fact dawning on him that he’d told a complete stranger, one associated with the school, more about himself than he’d told anyone since he’d come home from Kirikhanistan.
“You should have stopped me.”
She tilted her head. “You going to have a tantrum now? If that’s the case, I need coffee. Without another word, she walked out of the room. He sat in her bed and fumed. She was so nonchalant. Like waking up next to a strange man didn’t faze her a bit. Who was this woman? Fuck. He didn’t even know her name.
He threw back the covers and called out. “Can I take a shower?”
“Wow,” she called back. “You do have manners?”
That stung a bit. He was well aware that he’d been a prick lately to everyone. Maybe he was entitled?
“You don’t pull any punches do you, babe?”
“Don’t call me babe and no, Blue. I don’t. Towels are in the linen closet to the right of the bathroom door. Help yourself. Eggs, bacon, and toast?”
“Yes,” he said, then added grudgingly, “please.”
“Oh my God, don’t get too polite. I might not know how to handle it.”
Her tone made him smile, and he was surprised at the amusement he felt. His life had been so…fucked up.
Inside her bathroom, he remembered catching her fresh out of the shower, her skin damp. This place was beautiful, upscale, and the bathroom reflected it.
He touched the switch on the wall near the vanity, and a warm, subdued light filled the arch, revealing a glassed-in shower, an open shelf full of soft, peach-colored towels, and the curved recesses of a large, jetted tub.
He slipped his briefs off and refused to look down at himself. He had no idea if he could even perform with a woman. The explanation of what had happened to his groin and dick would be something that a woman would want to discuss. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This woman definitely would.
He stepped into the shower with his continued hard-on, remembering how silky her skin had been beneath his palm. She had allowed him to touch her, and he was again floored and humbled by how she had comforted him. An almost complete stranger. He wondered if she was the type to take in stray animals. A fixer. He immediately rebelled against that idea. He’d already shown his vulnerability to her without meaning to. He’d thought he was talking to Elena and that she was a dream woman. But damn, the way she looked this morning, he could have sunk down into all that beauty without thinking a single thought—except for his scars, he thought, shame twisting in his chest.
He wondered about his mystery woman. He still didn’t know her name. He stepped inside the shower and turned on the hot water. The steam from hot water loosened him up, helping with his pounding headache. She’d been so sassy at the airport. Taking his cab was a great
way to tell him that she deserved his respect.
Damn if that wasn’t effective.
But from the moment he’d awoken to her shaking him out of that debilitating nightmare on the plane, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Not during his waking hours when his vigilance would drop, and he’d almost feel normal. And certainly not when he closed his eyes and the memory of her face burned behind his lids.
The water cascaded over him, and he couldn’t seem to help himself. It felt so good on his body. Every cell seemed enhanced since his torture, since that sadistic bitch had forced him to participate in his own humiliation while her husband watched her dominate him and get off.
There was nothing but triumph in her eyes when he begged her, and she would laugh and withhold until he thought he would go mad. The doctors had told him the drugs in his system were a combination of the date rape drug Rohypnol and a number of sexual enhancers. With the amount she’d given him, he didn’t have a chance in hell of resisting.
When he opened the body wash, it smelled like her, simple and clean like rain on a summer day. He breathed deep, and suddenly Natasha’s satisfied face disappeared and there was nothing in his mind but the sensual smell of the brunette and the feel of her body beneath his hands. He gripped himself and groaned softly when he stroked himself. In the past, it was as a result of a frantic need to show to himself that he had control. Drawing his hand back up, he imagined having her beneath him, pumping into her, his hips flexing and grinding.
His back went against the shower and his chest heaved, his heart pounding with the need to be deep inside her, giving her the kind of pleasure she was giving him.
A sound distracted him, and he turned his head, looking toward the door. She was standing there, her eyes caressing every inch of his body. Was she crazy? She didn’t even know him. He could be some kind of a psycho. Although, she’d seen enough of his crappy attitude to be wary of him, there was nothing but the wonder of discovery in her eyes, and it was like a mirror. He felt something come over him, something akin to lust and force. He wanted to know, to know if he could fuck her. Stay hard inside her.
“What do you need?” she said.
“Control. Power. You.”
“Come then, come and take me.” A power play, her way of challenging him to a dare. But she left the decision up to him, and that made all the difference in the world.
“Condom?”
“You don’t need one. I’m safe.”
It was all he needed to hear. He had that sense that she was a safe haven. “Turn around and face the wall. Don’t look at me. Lose the robe.”
She did as she was told, and his whole body trembled at her compliance. Her delectable form that he’d glimpsed this morning was on display for him to appreciate fully.
He was on fire, burning himself in the fervor of his need. The need to dominate felt so good.
But she was letting him take over, and he didn’t know what turned him on more, knowing her, but not knowing her. Finding himself in a strange place with a stranger who was as open to him as if he’d known her for years.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he skimmed his other hand down her stomach to the heat of her core. His fingers stroked her intimately, deeply, where she was all velvet softness and slick, wet heat. Her head fell back against his chest, and a low moan escaped her throat.
He stared down at her, the cascade of her hair across those delicate, but strong shoulders, the thick lashes covering her eyes, the plump promise of her lips, the tip of her tongue moistening her bottom lip in anticipation. Then the payoff, the gasp when he touched her. With a taut, aching need, he pressed his body against hers, pressed her into the wall, watched as her breasts flattened. He wanted to turn her around, but he couldn’t let her see him…he couldn’t deal with that now.
She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes hot and hungry, so full of life that the lust in him crested.
“God, I want you.” Her voice was nothing but a wanton whisper that drove him completely out of his mind. His dick full to bursting from thinking about her all over him for days broke whatever flimsy restraint was left to him.
He buried his face in the fragrant curve of her neck, drowning in sensation, his fears about performing gone. She was so soft beneath his hands, her body moving against his. Her soft panting and gasping showed her eager anticipation, wanting this. Wanting him.
Pressing his dick against the soft firmness of her ass, he gripped himself, guiding his dick to her like a heat seeking missile. His head found her slick opening, and with a long, driving thrust, he was where he ached to be. She moaned and arched her back, driving her gorgeous ass toward him, one hand splayed against the wall, the other clasping his hip. Reaching around her, he stroked her in the same slow, heated rhythm as his pumping hips. He was so fucking hard, he was about to burst.
“Blue,” she whispered in a trembling panic, her fingers digging into him. She was on the verge; he could feel it in her body as if he’d known her all his life, as if her body was sending him private signals.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “I need you to come for me.”
He increased his tempo until he was pounding into her, the feel of her hot, slick core driving him even harder. Then she splintered, sobbing as her body convulsed with the beginning of a powerful, intense orgasm.
With an unraveling groan, he jerked her hips tighter against him, thrust fiercely into her until his balls were tight, his pleasure cutting through him like a hot, sharp knife.
When he came, it was so good, better than he had experienced since Natasha’s brutality. Almost as good as it had once been.
He supported himself against her and the wall, his hand stretched out in front of him, bracing himself, barely remaining upright.
She looked over her shoulder at him, and he made eye contact with her, his heart squeezing as hard as hell, suspended by her beauty. She was glowing, radiant, flushed, and fuck if he didn’t want her all over again. But he had been an animal, taking her without any foreplay or any care. This woman who had no qualms about watching him in private. When he met her eyes, he could see her interest, but there was more there. Compassion and the sense that she knew exactly what he was going through and knew exactly how to help him.
She tilted her head and said, her voice husky, “Breakfast is ready.” She moved, and he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist, hiding himself. She picked up her robe. He took it from her and helped her into it. She studied him for a moment, then turned and left, but he noticed she left the door open.
He waited a minute. He closed the door and leaned against it. Was there a part of him that really enjoyed her watching him jack off to the thought of being inside her? Did she get that it was her he was thinking about when he’d touched himself, the pleasure rolling over him until it was a full-body experience?
He gritted his teeth as he saw himself on his knees in front of her, his hands tied behind his back. He had no idea where that vision had come from, but he craved her touch, especially when he was bound, but he also feared it. Feared the way it would make him feel.
He didn’t know if it stemmed from the comfort she had so selflessly given him. Part of him wanted it until his teeth hurt, and the other part of him was desperately afraid.
He dried off and ducked into her room and stepped into his jeans, shoving the briefs into his pocket. He picked up his T-shirt and slipped it on.
He followed his nose to the kitchen to find her standing by the big window watching the boats on the bay. She was in full sun, a coffee cup in her hand, and he was transfixed. As the sun caught her hair, tones of caramel brown, espresso, and milk chocolate came alive. The soft strands slid across the back of her shoulders as she shifted to get a better view of something below.
He had that vision again, and his hands clenched, his wrists tingled, and he was damned if he wasn’t getting hard again.
He cleared his throat, and she turned her head, a smile on her face. He gave a
slight smile, not understanding how she did that to him.
She pushed off the window and walked over to the stove and dished up his food, the toast already on the plate. He settled in at the bar. She leaned back against the counter top and sipped her coffee while he took his first bites.
It was damn good, and he didn’t realize how hungry he was.
“I can help you,” she said.
He choked on a swallow of his coffee and coughed. She walked over and went to slap his back, but he choked out, “Don’t touch me.”
She stopped in mid-motion. “Okay.”
He took another sip to help with his raw throat. Then he looked at her. “With what?”
Her brow rose, and she gave him an are-you-a-dumbass look. “Really. You spent an hour relating to me about Elena and what you’ve been struggling with.” She set the cup down and leaned on the counter, the gap in the robe giving him a tantalizing view of a plump breast.
He looked away. “I don’t need your help.”
“Navy SEAL, right?”
He nodded once.
“You seeing a therapist?”
“That’s a pretty personal question and none of your business.”
“You were mandated to see one, but you’re fighting it because showing any weakness scares you. You’re a man, Blue, before you’re a warrior. There’s no shame—”
“What the fuck do you know about it?”
She never even flinched. The girl was so damn confident in herself and didn’t apologize for how she was. Damned if that didn’t turn him on. “I know that you need my help. I feel the pain in you when I look into your eyes. I want to help you to find your way back.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you can help me.”
“How?”
“I’m lost, too. I have been for a long time. I need something to jar me out of my…numbness. I need you as much as you need me.”
He looked away, the eggs feeling tentative in his gut now. “What would this help entail?”
Her eyes dropped to his wrists where the scars from his bondage showed like a shame-filled secret.