by Billi Jean
As soon as she walked back in, she froze a foot from the bed where he lay, completely naked and masturbating with a roughness that startled her and stopped the breath in her throat.
Robert wasn’t awake, Kristen realised quickly but that was as far as her brain would function as she took in the sight of his thick, large cock slipping through his big hands.
He was magnificent.
Each muscle in his body tensed from his neck to his toes, outlining every inch of him—some drew more interest—in rich detail.
It wasn’t just his erection that sent a hot flash along her body. It was everything. The sounds his flesh made slipping through his fist, mixed with the rough groan she registered coming from his throat as he worked harder and harder to find relief.
His chest swelled on each rough breath, and with a deeper groan, he spread his legs wider and pushed his feet down on her bed, and began lifting his hips to thrust the broad shaft of his erection into his hands so that the rounded head got most of the friction.
She swallowed, watching the way his sac swung with each upward drive and how beads of sweat glistened and dripped along his rounded ass and made his stomach and chest look like he’d spread oil over himself.
She nearly swooned. The image was such a sensory overload, she couldn’t breathe and the lack of oxygen had her head spinning.
A flush of heat erupted like a hot shower along her body, warming her to a point that she’d never reached with a man before—until this one. But Robert, the visual of him, stroking his bare, very big, very dark erection made her knees weak. Only barely aware she was doing it, she backed away, slowly erasing the sight of him.
She couldn’t do this again. Once had been enough to make her think things she shouldn’t—like how hot it would be to feel him making love to her for real—with every thick inch of him.
Just thinking of it made her flush grow and her pussy throb with an ache she knew would only be eased by him making love to her in every possible way. She couldn’t do this, and if she couldn’t do this, she needed to go, quickly before she did do this then when he left, when he walked out the door and didn’t return, she’d be torn in two.
Or maybe the pieces that used to be her would be ripped to even small bits. So small, she’d never feel like herself again.
With one more glance at his straining body, she shut the door and headed to where she knew she’d not be interrupted—not by her past and not by the present.
Chapter Eight
“What the—?” Robert woke with a suddenness that brought him to his feet, searching for a weapon. The room wasn’t familiar until, like a slap in the face, he realised several things. First, he was naked. Second, he was in Kristen’s home. And third, God help him, he’d been jacking off—or he had jacked off. The question was, had he done what he’d dreamed and pinned Kristen down and felt every sweet tremble from her climax? Right before he’d come from her stroking him?
No way was that what he’d done. It had to be a dream, only if he’d dreamed it, why did he feel like he should have his cargos on still?
He found them, folded neatly on top of the dresser by the door, but his boxers were tangled up in the blankets. The door was closed. Kristen wasn’t here and if he had to face her without knowing if he’d kissed her until he’d nearly blacked out, he was going to lose his mind.
But that’s all you’ve got, buddy—a missing woman, a semi hard-on, and hours gone from your memory bank.
He was used to the time thing—what he wasn’t used to was waking up thinking he’d find a woman curled up soft and warm by his side or to his cock feeling somewhat happy and under control. Wanting more, hell yeah, if what he remembered was what had happened, he wanted more.
In his dream—perhaps reality—Kristen had burned so hot he hadn’t been able to wait long enough to do more than pull out and let her touch him before he’d gone off. She’d come just as quickly. He brought his hand up to his face and knew his dream wasn’t a dream at all. Her sweet scent still coated his fingers.
She’d patched him up too. He touched his shoulder and bent to examine his side. The bandage there was nothing more than a Band-Aid that he pulled free to see his side scabbed over. So the drugs were still pumping him with enough juice to heal him. Then why not the desperate erection?
His cock was full, heavy and he held it firmly to keep the thing from jerking at his memory of Kristen’s climax. But he wasn’t in pain from a hard-on that wouldn’t quit. Had he managed to jack off by himself? He lifted his other hand to his nose again and his erection filled with heavy, pumping pressure. A woman’s scent was something a man couldn’t get enough of. Women didn’t get it. Oh some of them claimed to understand—pheromones and all that—but that wasn’t it. A woman’s scent let a man know he’d got her excited, and sometimes that he’d given her one hell of a ride.
Kristen had been hot, silky wet and soft against his fingers. Hell, her scent alone had him nearing a point he’d struggled hours to reach on his own.
Magic. The woman was magic. But where was she? He dug his boxers out of the blankets, shoved his legs in, pulled them up, and tucked his dick away with a strong order to the damn thing to relax so he could find Kristen. A glance out of the cabin window slowed him only long enough to register that it was still snowing, the snow had reached the window and that he now had some time—more than time—he had a chance he’d never dreamed he’d get.
He grabbed his dirty pants, and froze. He couldn’t go out there wearing those but he couldn’t walk out there without them either. His erection looked damn crazy under the navy blue cotton of his boxers. He had to ease her into this a tad slower than that. And he didn’t want to go out in the pants that still stank of blood and were covered in dried dirt.
One glance around the room and he noticed the dresser again but after pulling out several drawers only found Kristen’s clothes. In the top he hit a gold mine of silky bras and panties of every imaginable colour and style. Feeling like a jerk, he tried to shut the door but the wood stuck and the angle was wrong. Someone needed to fix it, he thought with a low curse. First thing he’d get a hammer and file and fix the bindings on the side, then work on the runners.
A soft woof had him freezing in his cabinet repair. The warm air on his back proved that his worst—or almost worst nightmare might right now be occurring.
“I agree, Rowdy, just what does he think he’s doing?” The sound of that sweet voice, soaked in sarcasm, had him tightening his nerve and doing the only thing the woman left for him to do. He turned and faced her with all the knowledge a man his size needed. He wasn’t full of himself, and he might be busted up and scarred, but he also knew at over six foot four with a hard-on pressing against his boxer briefs he wasn’t a man to take teasing without dishing it out.
“I couldn’t put on my pants, so I thought I’d borrow yours. Did you know your dresser needs fixing?”
He held in the satisfied grin that fought to break free at her soft ‘oh’, and the wide-eyed look she gave him from the top of his head down to his hips and slowly, very slowly back to his face. By the time her eyes returned to the head he tried to do most of his thinking with, she was flushed and her breathing had turned erratic. If he had to guess she kept holding her breath then realising it and kept letting it out in a rush.
“I think we need to talk about last night,” he told her, feeling a tenderness fill his chest with such warmth he actually ached to hold her.
“Talk?” she asked as if he’d suggested she walk on the moon. “About last night?”
“Yeah, do you have anything that will fit me?” he gestured to his body, and couldn’t hold in the grin when she stepped backward. “Kristen,” he urged when she didn’t say a word. “Sweats? Something?”
“Uh, my brother, he left some things in there,” she pointed to the closed closet door but didn’t move.
“I’m not going to bite.” He took a step towards her only then seeing the redness in her eyes. Had she been crying? He
smelt alcohol, some of that was him, he guessed, but it was stronger coming from her. “Have you been drinking?” he asked before he could stop the question from busting from his lips.
She blinked and frowned, the shocked, slightly amazed expression finally leaving her beautiful eyes. “I have.”
The snap stopped him from saying more about it, but they would have to talk about that as well. “Let me get dressed, then I—”
“I came to see if your wounds were better.”
“It’s good,” he told her, rotating his arm and feeling only soreness there, nothing more under the miles of bandage she’d put on him. “The drug I’ve been given does a lot, but thank you, for taking the bullets out. I wouldn’t have healed until you did.”
“The drug? The one that makes you volatile as well?” Her question edged closer to things he really didn’t want to discuss, but she shook her head and continued on. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair what I said to you yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m here now, though, ready to listen if you can tell me what you’ve got into.”
What I’ve got into? He’d rather talk about what he’d like to get into. Namely, her. After he romanced her so well she couldn’t deny the simmering heat brewing between them. So he caught her hand in his and pulled her closer gently.
“You don’t need to apologise. I was out of line last night and I should be the one apologising. We can talk about what I’ve got into until you’ve heard it all, but right now, I should shower and dress, don’t you think? But, Kris,” he murmured not able to say her name often enough, “Last night I was out of line, but I wouldn’t go back and not share what we had for any amount of money in the world. You know I’ve wanted a chance with you all these years, but I thought we’d go slowly and I’d romance you, let you know so much more than just passion…” He paused at the tears rushing her eyes, unsure if he should continue, but forced himself to carry on as he wanted to continue, “I wanted to show you I was here for you, slowly, though, not like I did last night.”
“What are you talking about? You thought we’d go slowly? When was this, Rob? When? Because I’ve not seen you in years. I thought you were dead. Dead.”
“I wanted to come to you. Trust me, when I heard you’d divorced that sorry son of a bitch, I wanted to so badly I almost broke my word and did just that.”
She shook her head and grimaced at his words, the tears she had tried to keep in spilling down her cheeks ignored by her, but feeling like they struck him a blow he might not recover from. Without another word she rushed from the room, but he followed, not for a minute letting this sit the way it was. He caught her arm and gently stopped her.
“I would have come, Kris,” he whispered harshly, then stopped to swallow the regrets. “I would have, but I couldn’t chance exposing you to the shit I’d fallen into. I can’t make it up to you, I know that, but right now we have this time,” he gestured out of the window to the storm, and she followed his gaze then lifted hers to his face. Her grimace of pain made him want to hit someone, Daniel, the men he was trying to stop, anyone who stood in their way, but he couldn’t. All he could do was try to explain to her.
“Don’t. Can’t you see?” she whispered painfully, “It’s too late for that, for any of that.”
He shook his head hard at her words, but she went on. “It is. I’m not that person any longer. I’m not and I never will be again.”
“Kris, don’t say that,” he told her, pain tightening his throat at seeing hers. “I can help, let me try.”
For one moment he stared down into her tear-drenched face and thought maybe he’d got through to her, but she blinked and stepped away from him, shaking her head.
“I can’t, Rob. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have come here,” she cried and turned, walking quickly to the door and going into the room beyond with a soft sob.
He debated what to do but what did he know of helping a woman through the kind of pain Kris had been forced to live through? He couldn’t even get his own life together and he wanted to help her with hers? What if he did? Then what? He had to leave?
The door remained closed and he decided the best thing to do was give her time. Time alone then he’d try again.
The storm was raging outside now stronger than ever, but he’d created a worse one for Kris. He wasn’t letting her handle it alone. He’d make her something to eat, bring it to her then they’d talk. He’d seen the hope in her eyes, something else too, almost a belief in him, he thought, but the pain had been there too. Maybe it always would be.
Didn’t matter. He turned and silently headed to the shower, taking the time to explore her home, first for her brother’s clothes, then to search the small kitchen for what to make her.
Kris sank down next to the closed door and let the tears flow—again. This time the pain was fresher, harder to bundle up and throw away. This time it was laced with regrets and all those dreams she’d once had. Dreams of Robert coming to her and asking her in his quiet way if she wanted to go out to eat, or how he’d maybe stop by her house in his big Ford truck and ask if she wanted to go see a movie, or tell her that he’d wanted to date her since he’d first seen her.
He’d done that now, or near enough to make the old dreams feel bitter and broken. She had wanted him—that dream—for so long and now he was right here, saying all the things she’d wanted and more.
Only it was too late.
Angelina was gone.
She’d never be able to see Robert give her daughter that half smile she’d seen on his face at the antics of other children. Never be able to see what he looked like holding Angelina’s little hand, or swinging her on a swing. Never be able to show Angelina that there were good, strong, dependable men in this world, like Robert McNeil. She’d dreamed of doing all those things, of seeing him with her daughter because she knew it wouldn’t matter to Robert who Angelina’s father was—Robert would have been a good dad to her.
Now, she had him right here, but she couldn’t take him without feeling like she was letting go of her baby.
He’d have to leave. He had to because she’d given up on all those old dreams and would again—right now for one more chance to hold Angelina in her arms. To just have her baby girl back, safe and whole, by her side, smiling her sunny little baby smile. And if she couldn’t have her back, she couldn’t have Robert either.
That’s what he wouldn’t understand.
She got up from the floor slowly, her body so tired from lack of sleep and shovelling every two hours she didn’t have the energy to do more than open the cabinet and pull out the bottle she’d started during the night. The first sip tasted sweet, burning through the tears and washing away the pain. By the time she reached the last pour, she knew no matter what else happened over the next few days, Robert McNeil had to go.
If he didn’t she might not be able to stop herself from reaching for those dreams again. Then when he left?
She’d be worse than before.
If that was possible, she thought, the alcohol making her thoughts jumbled.
The box of her daughter’s things was in reach and she opened it, revealing the sweet smile of Angelina on her pony, the baby curls just beginning to grow longer. She looked so sweet. She’d been so beautiful, Kris thought, brushing her hand over her daughter’s face.
Robert couldn’t replace that. He couldn’t give her back her daughter and no matter how hot he was, he couldn’t fill her emptiness—he could only make it worse. Because if she’d learned one thing, she’d learned that life gave you small doses of happiness then ripped them away and replaced them with huge amounts of pain.
Like last night. Like how wonderful it’d been to touch him, Robert, after so long wanting to. A slice of pain struck because she knew he wasn’t here to stay.
No, she wasn’t letting Robert McNeil near her. Nope.
Because if I do, I won’t want to let him go and I don’t want to hurt again, all over again, when I’m still trying to survive. Some dreams w
eren’t meant to be, Kris. Some dreams were never meant to be.
Chapter Nine
“Kristen?” Robert whispered and opened the door to reveal a small room with only one window over a large wooden desk. Kristen was on a couch, her arms wrapped around something, he thought with a frown, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s next to her on the desk. Empty. “Hell.”
She’d drunk an entire bottle? He reached her side and set the tray of food he’d brought her on the desk then sank down on his haunches next to her.
She held a picture to her chest and when he pulled it free, his heart nearly broke. Her daughter’s face smiled up at him from the wooden frame. She looked just like Kris, golden with dark eyes but light brown curls.
Why did things like this happen to people? Why did she, of all people, have to suffer through something like this?
He eased a blanket over her from the back of the couch, and after debating what to do, picked her legs up, sat down and put her feet in his lap. He sighed heavily and watched her peaceful expression.
Tears marred her cheeks still. How could he help her through such pain? He’d never lost anyone but his mother and Mandy had filled that void almost completely.
Kris was different. Her loss was fresher and he couldn’t imagine how she felt. Maybe he could try, follow his instincts with her and try to help her.
He’d asked Dare how he’d known Kylie was the woman from the desert who’d saved him all those years ago, and Dare had said he’d known, his instincts had told him. With Kris, Robert’s instincts were telling him to love to her. Even with the unfinished mission, he wanted to heal her first, then end the mission and come back to her as quickly as possible.
He watched her sleeping, amazed all over again how beautiful she was, how feminine and small she was compared to him. He wanted to pamper her, and if he could, while he was here, he would.