by Lizzy Ford
I’m on pins and needles. “What?”
“… have coffee, of course.”
“You’re such an asshole!”
“You started it,” he points out. “If you want to fill in those blanks between fictional Katya and fictional Sawyer at any point …”
I ignore him, almost enjoying our cat and mouse game. Before the awkward silence can descend, I speak up. “You got the duck.”
“I did. Thank you.” He’s smiling again, his dimples showing.
“If I hadn’t sent it, would you have come home … er, I mean here?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Probably not. When I saw it, I knew you didn’t hate me too much. I figured I’d come back and just see if you wanted …”
I glare at him. “If you say coffee, I’m leaving!”
“Nah. We both know you won’t.”
“How did you know I sent it anyway?” I ask, irritated.
“Because the only other person who knows about it is dead.”
“Oh, god.” I stare at him. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been years,” he says easily.
We evaluate each other once more.
“I’m sorry, Sawyer.” This time, I’m holding his gaze when I say it. My voice trembles. “I’m sorry that I blamed –”
“Stop,” he replies.
I do, not at all certain how he can be so forgiving or how much longer I can sit here, gazing at him, without going insane at not being able to break the fragile plane between us. Or even if I should.
“Just … out of curiosity … if fictional Katya asked fictional Sawyer to stay with her tonight, what would fictional Sawyer say?” I ask.
“He’d say yes. Without hesitation.”
The answer makes my heart somersault. “So you’re saying fictional Sawyer has none of the honor issues real Sawyer does. Too bad real Sawyer doesn’t -”
He kisses me lightly, enough to shut me up.
“I’m saying, let’s skip the coffee and go upstairs,” he whispers. “Unless you want to keep playing this game.”
No part of me wants to. I press my lips to his in response, emotions I’ve never experienced working their way through my system. Sawyer deepens the kiss leisurely, and I lean into him, my body burning too badly for him for me to try and play it cool.
He pulls away. “Come on.” Drawing me up, he leads me through the house to the third floor and my room. I follow in a daze, hardly daring to believe this is really happening and so aroused, if it doesn’t, I might die.
We make it to my room, and he tugs me into his arms, his lips claiming mine once more. Mine part, and his tongue slides in to taste me while I deepen the kiss to get a taste of him. Cocoa and mint, light and dark, sweet and heady. His taste is intoxicating, complicated, like he is. Despite the need I know he feels, he takes his time, exploring my mouth while his hands run down my body, over my clothes.
His mouth, the thick arousal pressed to my lower belly and the firmness of his touch convey how hot his hunger for me is. My body is fevered, the ache at my core almost too strong to tolerate.
But still he is patient, the opposite of me even here, relishing each second while I push him for more.
The sense I had about him soon after meeting, that he’s not the kind of guy you walk away from, is pounding into the back of my mind, warning me this isn’t a fling.
This is something much more already, something so deep and primal, it almost scares me. We barely walked away from one another the last time we kissed. This time, we won’t. If his kiss stayed with me for months, made me look at every potential date I met differently, what will sleeping with him do?
I’ll never want anyone else.
My hands slide up his sweater and over the warm skin of chiseled his abs and chest. He’s solid, hard, strong.
He breaks off the kiss to tug off his shirt then presses his mouth to mine again. I let my hands roam his upper body, amazed and enthralled by the shapely muscles and his strength. His scent is stronger without his shirt, a mix of coconut and man, as complicated and consuming as his flavor.
I love it. I love that he’s got so many layers, so many puzzles for my senses. The hollow between my thighs is wet with need, my mind already fantasizing about how it’ll feel when he’s inside me.
Sawyer’s hands go up my shirt, one drifting over the scars on my back, and I hesitate for the first time.
The scars remind me of how much we’ve been through, of how battered we both are as people. He’s honorable, good and deserves everything good in the world. Being this close to someone this amazing reminds me of how flawed and imperfect I really am.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine.
“I, uh … one sec.” Prying myself loose from him, I go to stand in front of the hearth. The fire is the only light in my room.
Sawyer trails without crowding me, calm as always when my hands are trembling from emotion and need. I wish so much I could have more self-control like he does, especially right now. My soul feels exposed, and I’m terrified we’ll end up where we’ve been the past few months: devastated.
I pull off my shirt and unsnap my bra, dropping both. “I want to show you my scars.”
“I’ve seen them, Katya,” he replies gently.
I face him, not surprised when his eyes go to my breasts. He’s so sexy right now, standing in his jeans with his perfect upper body exposed. His brown eyes are bright with desire, his features softened with affection.
“No, Sawyer,” I say with some impatience. “I want you to see all of me. Every last imperfection. Because I’m afraid if we do this, and you don’t …” I can’t finish. I don’t know how to say what I feel. This is so much more than one night with him, and if he is going to be scared off by something about me, I’d rather know that now than later.
My heart can’t take him breaking it again. I’m about to lower every inch of my guard to someone I admire and respect more than I can express, and I’m scared.
His gaze lifts to mine, and understanding flickers through his features. “Show me,” he whispers.
I fumble with my jeans and unbutton them, pushing them and my underwear to the floor. I turn my back to him and pull my hair over one shoulder, so he can see the extent of the damage.
“I’ve got a lot of scars,” I say into the quietness.
His hand touches my shoulder lightly and goes down my back, tracing the edges of the scar tissue.
“You’re beautiful to me, Katya,” he murmurs, his other hand resting on one of my hips. I can feel the heat of his bare chest, inches from my back. “I don’t care how many scars you have or understand why you think who you are is going to scare me off.” His voice carries a tender note.
I listen, hardly daring to breathe. His hands skim my shoulders and down my sides, wrapping around me to my belly, where he clasps them and leans into me. His skin is hot at my back, the strong arms I’ve admired for months holding me securely.
“I won’t hurt you in any way, Katya,” he adds. “I’m here because I want to be with you. Nothing will change that. If this is too fast, I’m happy to wait until you’re ready.”
“No,” I murmur. I rest my hands over top his.
“I know what kind of person you are, and I like who you are. Enough to fly halfway around the world to see if there’s even the smallest chance you feel the same.”
“I do, Sawyer,” I whisper. Even hearing his words, it almost seems too incredible to be possible. That Sawyer Mathis, the man I’ve given hell since we met, is actually interested in me …
He turns me to face him. “You’re beautiful. Passionate, sweet, giving. You make me feel like it’s okay to let someone in finally.” He searches my gaze as he speaks. “When I got your letter, I thought there was no chance of ever seeing you again, and that crushed me.”
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer.” I touch his face and then wrap my arms around his neck, leaning into him. My heart is pounding hard, my body screaming for hi
m to touch every part of me.
“We both had to heal, I think, before we were ready for this,” he says. “I swear, Katya, I want to be with you. Nothing you can do or say, no shoe you throw at me, will ever change my mind.”
I smile at the mention of the shoe. He’s serious and sincere, which is almost as mind blowing as the idea he’s holding me right now. I pull his head down to me and kiss him.
A different kind of warmth is blooming inside me, stoked to life by the idea he feels what I do about us.
Desire soon overtakes conscious thought, and I sigh when his hands reach my breasts, pause to tease my nipples, and continue down my body. He releases me briefly to remove his pants and picks me up, carrying me to my bed. I listen to his heartbeat, my blood racing.
Setting me down, he lies beside me on his side, his hand exploring my body while his mouth finds mine. His controlled, slow approach is killing me, driving me mad with need, and I shift onto my side, wrapping a thigh over his and trying to pull him on top of me.
Sawyer breaks off with a soft laugh. He pushes me onto my back once more and stays in place.
“I want to experience every part of you,” he whispers and kisses me. His hand glides down my lower belly to the sensitive hollow of my body.
“Sawyer!” I complain.
My knees part automatically to give him better access to the part of me that’s almost painful with need. His fingers slide into me, and I groan.
“So wet. And here I wasn’t sure if you really liked me,” he teases.
“I do!” I snap breathlessly. “I want to be yours. I’ve never wanted that with anyone else. It scares me, but I want you to have all of me, down to my scars.”
His fingers still, and his eyes travel from my body to my face.
“That’s how I feel. Right or wrong,” I add.
I’m expecting a verbal response. Instead, he kisses me and presses me back, his body lowering onto mine. The heat of his skin against mine and the hunger in his kiss scatter my thoughts, send me into sensory overload, while his arousal tickles the opening of my core in a way that makes me claw at his back and try to wriggle into position.
Sawyer enters me slowly, inch by inch, and I my body grows taut. At no time in my adult life have I ever felt the need to come from penetration, but with him, it’s entirely different.
It’s more than physical. I opened my heart and soul to one man, the best man I’ve ever known, one who makes me want to be the best person I can be, who challenges me mentally and stirs me physically.
It’s knowing he’s seen my scars, survived my pain and born my misguided anger – and still chosen to be with me.
It’s admitting to myself that it’s not only okay to lower my guard to someone else, it’s worth risking everything I am to be loved in a way only someone like Sawyer can love me.
Whatever this is between us, it’s too strong to walk away from, and I never want to make that mistake again.
I arch beneath him, overwhelmed physically and emotionally, unable to control the intense pleasure building in response to his rhythmic thrusting and the friction of our bodies, to the intimacy of being one with him, with Sawyer Mathis. My legs are wrapped around his hips, my arms hugging him as close as possible.
“Come for me, Katya,” he whispers into my ear.
My world shatters, and I murmur his name as pleasure breaks over me, sweeping me even deeper into my senses, filling me with waves of ecstasy and his scent, skin, heat.
He slows.
My eyes flutter open, and I gaze up at him. I’m trembling from my climax and reach up to trace a finger across his lips.
I could get used to this, to lying beneath him and feeling him inside me.
“I want you to be mine in every way, baby,” he adds.
His tenderness makes me want to melt. I breathe in our combined scent. “Do you want to be mine?”
“You pretty much already own me.”
“Really?” I start to smile.
“Yeah.”
“I like that.”
“I figured you would.”
“I want you to make love to me until we can’t walk,” I whisper.
“A good Marine always follows orders.”
I start to smile, when his lips claim mine. Within seconds, it’s like I didn’t already come. I’m burning for him with too much desire to control.
No longer caring about self-control, I drop the last of the guards around my heart and tackle him with every ounce of passion I contain.
***
I’ve never felt so euphoric and happy as I do the next morning. Taking a quick shower, I pull on my bathrobe and glance at my glowing, grinning reflection. It’s the first time since Mikael’s death where I’ve felt … happy. Truly happy.
Incredible isn’t enough of a word to describe last night. Sawyer was more than I expected of any man.
I want you to be mine in every way, baby.
The words, and how he looked at me when he said them, hit me hard enough that I start to tremble in the middle of the bathroom. I balance myself against the wall. My inner thighs are sore, but I’m already growing wet for him once more. The fire that’s been smoldering between us since we met enveloped both of us last night. There were no survivors in our passion, no barriers or walls that could withstand everything we did last night.
“Breathe, Katya.” I recover and comb my hair before braiding it.
Tossing it over my shoulder, I exit the bathroom. To my surprise, he’s not in bed but nearing the door.
Fully dressed, with boots, as if he’s leaving. The small voice that’s been warning me about him being gone in two days is a little louder. I ignored it last night, too swept away in the physical sensations to want to think about not spending another night with him.
Sawyer reaches the door, and I debate whether or not I should say anything or just throw a shoe. I’m not sure why I feel the urge to flip the switch on my anger. Maybe because I’m a little embarrassed about plunging head first into a relationship without knowing if we can have one.
The door opens.
“Captain where-are-you is leaving without telling me where he’s going?” I challenge.
“I texted you.”
Picking up my phone, I check and see he has. “Going for coffee,” I read. “You need shoes in the kitchen?”
“Oh, no. We’re not starting like this.” He closes the door and faces me.
My breath catches at the sight of his handsome features. My face is warm, my body humming with desire already.
“You need to decide now if you’re going to trust me. Because if you don’t, this won’t work,” he says firmly.
What won’t work? I rarely think more than a day ahead. I know he’s the opposite. What I can’t figure out: if he’s only thinking two days ahead or much farther.
Or even if I care, if I can get his clothes off him right now. I don’t like there being anything between us, more so after last night, when I got to experience Sawyer without his Iceman face or guard.
He’s even more beautiful unguarded than he is now.
“I’m going to tell your brother about us then get us both coffee,” he says when I’m quiet.
“Petr?” I say, startled. “You’re going to tell Petr you slept with me?”
“No.” Sawyer gives a faint smile. “Mikael. He brought us together. I thought I would thank him.”
My god. I think I love this man.
Chapter Twenty Three: Sawyer
Katya’s entire expression changes, from the point where I’m about to have a shoe thrown at me to the vulnerable, emotional, sweet girl she is only for me. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips swollen from kisses. The bathrobe is cinched loosely enough for me to glimpse one smooth, round breast.
“If that’s okay,” I add. I’m not one hundred percent certain she’s comfortable with me bringing Mikael up. Her emotional reaction is always intense yet mixed, and I suspect she’s not sure yet either if she’s comfortable talking about him.
“I’d like to go with you,” she says, eyes wide and filled with emotion.
“We’ll go together.” I resist the urge to take her in my arms, knowing how it’ll end if I do.
She nods, gaze misting over.
“I figured we’d have coffee and talk this morning,” I tell her.
“If this is the part where you tell me I’m a one-night stand, then skip the coffee and leave.”
Already she’s stirring my blood with her fire. We were awake for hours last night, but I can’t get enough of her. I know she wants this as much as I do. I also know she likes to poke the fire to get a reaction out of me.
I have the sense this morning that she’s raw and uncertain what to do about it. Last night was beyond anything I expected: intense, sweet, tender, passionate. Any restraint I thought I’d show was burnt to a crisp the moment she said the words I can’t get out of my head.
I want to be yours.
She was vulnerable and open, her heart in her eyes. I’ll never forget that or the surge of protectiveness, of possessiveness, I experienced.
But I’m still going to enforce a few boundaries I think she needs.
“I’m serious,” I warn her again. Taking off my jacket, I toss it then work my shoes off. I approach her. “We’re not starting off like this. You need to decide now if you trust me.”
She cranes her neck back to look up at me, not backing down.
I love it. She’s so sexy when she’s pissy or about to throw a fit. Now that I know how to fix it properly – by making love to her until she’s too happy to speak – I’m eager to try it again.
Holding her gaze, I tug the tie of her bathrobe free. “I don’t do one-night stands.”