But that’d have to wait until she started her new life.
Tonight she’d also learned that coming up with fun and entertaining, revealing and sexy letters for Rory was a lot easier than coming up with casual, nonsexual conversation with her pen pal sitting on the couch beside her, moving farther out of reach with every attempt she made to touch him, until he finally got up and moved to the loveseat.
The nerve!
Neve hated their failed attempts at small talk. She didn’t want to discuss the weather, or a horrific train crash mentioned on the news, or what she planned to do for Thanksgiving. She hated that he wouldn’t let her touch him. That’s what she did. She touched guys, all over. It was how she communicated with the male species…nonverbally.
All the men she knew seemed to like it, a lot.
Until Rory.
She’d tried, really she had. But talking minus the sexual innuendo, banter, and verbal foreplay didn’t feel natural and didn’t come easily, which was why Neve had headed to her room early, which was why this night seemed so long and would probably never end and she would likely die a miserable death in this very bed before sunup.
Still alive seventeen minutes later, still lying awake, her mind still showing no signs of shutting down, still unable to find a comfortable position, Neve sat up. “Just get this over with.” She grabbed her robe, hurrying into it to ward off the chill in the air, remembering her PICC line when she felt a tug. “Shit.” She moved more slowly after that, sliding her left arm in carefully.
Maybe this trip to the kitchen wouldn’t be so bad. She stood. Maybe she could bang stuff around and “accidentally” wake up Rory and ruin his night’s sleep like he’d ruined hers. She tied the belt at her waist.
But that would make you a spiteful bitch.
Hard to fight one’s true nature.
The moonlight helped her find her slippers by the side of her bed without turning on the light. The flickering glow from the television in the living room guided her down the hallway.
Neve expected to find Rory asleep on the couch in front of the television. Only he wasn’t. Instead he sat on the loveseat, in a darker part of the room, wearing only a pair of workout shorts. And he was putting on his sneakers, no socks.
“What are you doing up?” she asked, flicking on the lights.
He showed no reaction. “Can’t sleep.” He looked up, dazed, his upper body and head covered in sweat. “Gotta run.”
Something wasn’t right. “Rory, what’s wrong?” She hurried toward him.
He didn’t acknowledge her presence, just kept tying his sneaker. So she dropped to her knees at his feet to get his attention and asked again, “Rory, what’s wrong?”
“Can’t sleep, can’t calm down,” he said, his upper body rocking forward and back now. “Need to run.”
“You can’t go for a run right now. It’s too cold. You’re not dressed to go running in the cold.” She tried to take the second sneaker from his hands, but he yanked it back. “It’s dark,” she tried. “You’re not familiar with the area. You’ll get lost.”
None of that seemed to matter to him. “One hundred push-ups.” He appeared to be in a trance, his eyes not focused on anything in particular. “One hundred sit-ups. Need to run.”
“Rory.” She put both hands on his face and forced him to look at her. He stared, confused, trying to focus. “It’s me, Neve.” She stared right back, hoping the intensity of her gaze would reach him.
“Neve,” he repeated, his voice quiet, as if trying to make sense of her presence. “My Neve.” He grabbed the sides of her head, holding on tight, as if she’d disappear if he let go. “I love it when you visit me.” He kissed her, hard, more a mashing of lips than anything. “I need you so bad,” he said, a desperate plea. “So fucking bad.”
Without warning, he lunged forward, forcing Neve onto her back, landing heavily on top of her.
Oh God, that hurt. Fear mixed with the pain of impact. But Neve fought to remain calm. This is Rory. Rory would never hurt me. Except, at the moment, he didn’t seem in touch with reality.
“Rory,” she yelled, loud, trying to get through to him. “Stop.” She used her most forceful tone, pushed at his shoulders. “Don’t do this.” Her heart pounded in her chest. He didn’t budge. “Get off of me, Rory.”
Undeterred by her words or attempts to move him, Rory kissed her hair, inhaled deeply. “You always smell so good.” He kissed her ear, down the side of her neck, his actions rough, his scruff abrading her bare skin.
He was so heavy on top of her, Neve struggled to inhale. “Can’t breathe.”
He shifted, trying to make room for himself between her thighs. Pain shot into Neve’s lower back, ripping a scream from the depths of her soul as tears flooded her eyes.
Rory went still.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, pushing at his shoulders, again. “Please, Rory. Get off of me.”
He lifted his head, looked down at her, shock evident on his face. “What?” He jumped off. “How?” He stood, his eyes darting around the room, stopping at Neve. “Why?” He ran his hand over his hair, looking confused.
Neve wiped her eyes, concentrated on slowing her breathing, and turned slightly to take the pressure off of her hip.
“I hurt you,” he said, going down on his knees beside her. “Oh my God.” He got a panicked look in his eyes. “I hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. But when she tried to sit up pain stopped her. “Damn it.” She needed to get off of this floor, hated feeling weak and vulnerable.
“What should I do?” Rory asked nervously. “Do you want me to call Nate?”
“God no.” That would make everything a million times worse. She extended her right hand. “Just help me up.”
Rory ignored it, and in one swift but careful move he scooped her into his arms and set her on the loveseat, so gently, like he thought she might crack. Then he moved away, as if not trusting himself to be close to her. “Tell me what happened,” he said quietly.
She repositioned herself on the couch until she found a comfortable spot. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” He crossed his arms over his chest, not looking at her. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Neve remembered waking up during the night one time while in the hospital to find Rory’s chair empty. The nurse who’d helped her to the bathroom had told her Rory was wandering the halls, making friends. And she’d been too busy feeling jealous to wonder why. “For how long?”
He looked toward the window. “A few weeks.”
“So tonight you were having trouble sleeping and…”
“I felt on edge and fidgety. I tried to find something on TV to occupy my mind.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “Next thing I know your scream woke me up. My God, Neve.” He placed his right hand over his heart. “I am so sorry. This isn’t me. I mean, it is.” He rubbed his hand down his face wearily. “But it isn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You need sleep. That’s what’s wrong with you.” Neve stood up, took a step toward him, and winced as pain shot into her hip. “Damn it.” She shifted her weight onto her left leg, which helped a little.
“I hurt you,” he said, stricken.
“Not really.” She tried to calm him. “I’ve been tossing and turning and feeling uncomfortable for a while. That’s why I’m out here, for something to eat so I can take my ibuprofen.”
“You screamed.”
Yes, she had. “Well, that night in the storeroom you did say you were going to make me scream and you didn’t.” She shrugged. “Tonight you did.” She tried to play it off with a lame joke that, based on Rory’s horrified expression, failed miserably.
“For God’s sake. Scream in pleashah, not pain.” He started to pace the length of her living room wall, three long strides in one direction, then three long strides in the other.
Neve knew two things for certain. On
e, regardless of what was going on with Rory, whether sleep deprivation or the aftereffects of war or some type of PTSD, he needed her. I need you so bad. So fucking bad. And she was going to do everything she could to help him, same as she’d tried to do with her letters and emails. And two, this Rory, awake and alert, would never hurt her…at least not physically.
Neve opened her arms. “Come here.”
The request stopped him midstep. “I don’t think I should stay.” He reached into his duffle bag on the floor, pulled out a T-shirt, and put it on. “I’m going to call a cab.” He picked up his watch from the coffee table. “To take me to a hotel.”
As if she’d let him. “No, you’re not.” She walked toward him. “You’re going to go take a nice hot shower.” She wrapped her arms around his waist—careful of her IV—clasping her hands loosely at his lower back, resting her cheek against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of hardworking male. “While you do that, I’ll take my medicine.”
Rory stood there, his arms flopped over hers at his sides, posture rigid.
“When you’re done with your shower you’re going to join me in my bedroom.”
He tried to pull away. “No.”
She didn’t let him. “Yes, Rory,” she said calmly. “You are. You’re going to let me take care of you and help you relax.” If there was one thing Neve knew how to do it was put a guy to sleep—after a life-altering orgasm, that is. “You need something to occupy your mind? Let that something be me.” Let me do this for you.
“I won’t use you for sex.” He put his hands on her shoulders, looking like he wanted to push her away and yet he didn’t.
Such a nice guy. Still, “You’re not using me,” Neve said. “I want to do this.”
“You’re sore, you need to rest, you can’t—”
“Did you just tell me I can’t?” It didn’t matter can’t what. “You know I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do. For your information, my mouth is perfectly fine.” She ducked her head, giving his nipple a gentle nip to prove her point. “For what I have planned I totally can”…she sucked it into her mouth, hard, soaking his cotton tee…“and will”…she moved to the other one, nipping that one too…“do what I damn well want to do.” She went up on her toes, nuzzled his neck, and kissed his salty skin. “And you are going to love every single second of it.” Then, God willing, he’d fall into a deep, much needed sleep.
His hands settled on her hips. “You’re not scared of me.” An observation, not a question.
“No.”
He stared into her eyes. “I attacked you. You should be hysterical, calling me crazy and shoving me out the door.”
Much to the chagrin of her parents, her brother, and Brooke, Neve rarely paid much attention to “should,” preferring to follow her libido or, as in this case, her heart. So instead of doing any of those things he thought she “should” be doing, she held him tighter.
“You’re not crazy, Rory. But if you don’t start moving, I for sure will start shoving you…toward the shower.”
Chapter 9
Rory stood in the shower, his forehead resting against the cool tile wall, eyes closed, pulsing bursts of steaming hot water stinging his back, then running down his legs. What the fuck had happened?
It’d all felt like a dream. Neve visited him there often, nothing out of the ordinary. Only this time she’d been there for real. And he’d held her down, tried to force himself on her, like a goddamn animal. What if her scream hadn’t brought him back? What if he’d actually…?
In Afghanistan the story of an Allied soldier raping a young Afghan girl in a local village had circulated around base. It’d enraged him, made him want to search out the bastard and kill him, slowly, painfully. Little did he know then that a few months later he’d be no better than the sorry excuse for a man he’d wanted to kill. Disgust clenched at his stomach and made him feel like he might retch. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, over and over, until the nausea passed.
Turning, he adjusted the shower nozzle and held his face under the now-soothing stream of water. You would have stopped. You wouldn’t have gone through with it. You’re nothing like him. Only, how could he be sure? What if war had unhinged something inside of him? What if he couldn’t control it?
“I should go,” he said, hoping that hearing the words out loud would push him to do the right thing. But the depth and intensity of his desire for his pen pal fought against his good sense. He didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave without taking Neve up on her offer, without touching her and tasting her and loving her, again. His need had reached the desperation point, comparable to a drowning man’s need for air or a starving man’s need for food.
Maybe this need had pushed him over the edge. Maybe satisfying it would help him return to normal.
It’d be okay as long as he didn’t fall asleep afterward, as long as he stayed awake and in control.
Speaking of staying awake, what if, while he’d been lingering in the shower, Neve had fallen asleep? Or changed her mind? Or decided to call Nate for protection after all?
Rory looked down, inhaled, then let out a breath.
Well, then he’d pack up and leave, head home, and lock himself in his room at night so he couldn’t hurt anyone.
Either way, the cooling water prompted him to hurry up, get washed, and get out. He looked around for soap, smiling when he saw a bottle of the same brand of men’s body wash she’d sent him in Afghanistan, the one she’d admitted to sniffing when thinking of him.
He picked it up, noticed it didn’t feel full, and smiled again. Had she stood in this same spot, rubbing it all over her body, imagining her hands were his? How would she react to smelling it on him fresh out of the shower?
If she was still awake. If she hadn’t changed her mind. If she hadn’t called her brother.
Rory finished up quickly, exiting the bathroom cautiously, not sure what he’d find, on alert in case Nate had showed up ready for a fight. Finding the condo dark except for a flickering light coming from the bedroom, he headed in that direction, adjusting the towel at his hips as he walked.
Please let her be awake. Please let her be agreeable. Please.
From the doorway he watched Neve place her iPhone in a speaker on top of her dresser, and seconds later the light jazz music he loved filled the quiet. She’d gotten rid of her fluffy bathrobe, and her silky shorts and tank shimmered in the light of at least a dozen small candles that burned around the room. He looked to the left. The prayer candle gave off a saintly red glow.
The pockets of darkness combined with the moving shadows on the walls made by flickering flames reminded him of night patrol, the enemy lurking out of sight…waiting for the right time to strike. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of that thought.
“Finally.” Neve’s voice helped him focus on the present. “I was starting to think you decided to spend the night in there.”
Maybe he should have.
“Come.” She held out her hand to him.
His legs moved of their own accord, one step, then another, his mind immersed in a fierce battle: Go….Stay….Be a gentleman….Let her give you what you need….Leave so you don’t hurt her….You won’t hurt her. All indecision fled the moment their hands touched, her grip strong and confident as she tugged him toward her, the connection powerful, a lifeline to sanity. He would not be leaving tonight, at least not for the next hour.
“Help me with this.” She handed him one of the sleeves she’d purchased from the nurse to protect her PICC line.
The PICC line. Rory swallowed, indecision making a swift reappearance.
“Stop,” Neve said, as if she could hear his thoughts. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just a precaution.”
He slid the top elastic edge up and over the dangling pigtail, covering it, as she positioned the bottom band above her elbow.
“There.” She held up her arm. “Ready for anything.”
Not quite.
Luckily, before second thoughts
could interfere, she cozied against him, reached up to clasp her fingers behind his neck and rested her head close to it. “Dance with me.”
Helpless to resist the press of her silk-covered nipples to his bare chest, the sway of her lower body brushing against his hardening cock in perfect time to the bluesy beat of a lone sax, or the way they fit together as if made for each other, he did. He wrapped his arms around her and, since he couldn’t resist, set his hands on her round, firm ass and gave each cheek a nice hard squeeze. Eyes closed, he held her, inhaling her arousing scent, more potent than it’d been earlier, savoring this moment of absolute perfection.
She wanted to occupy his mind and she’d done it, owning his every thought, every dream, and every fucking fantasy. With each beat of the music his hunger for her grew, as exciting as it was scary. What if he couldn’t control himself? What if he got too rough? Stop it! “Baby, you smell so good, feel so good.” Holding her hips steady he thrust against her, over and over, a tingle of happy things to come building in his balls.
Not yet.
Of course Neve wasn’t one to stand idly by and let someone else have all the fun, which made him smile. Until her wandering hands loosened the towel at his waist and sent it falling to the floor.
Going up on her toes, leaning in close to his ear, she whispered, “Go lie down on the bed.”
Didn’t have to tell him twice—Rory moved so fast a tiny candle he passed on the way blew out. Neve may have laughed, he didn’t care, too busy pulling down the covers and climbing into position, past ready to feel her mouth on him, his erection so hard, so full, he ached for release.
“Turn over.”
He didn’t want to turn over. He wanted his cock in her mouth right now.
“Turn over,” she said again, more insistent.
Damn it. He turned over, facedown on the pillow so she didn’t have to witness a grown man sulk. The bed shifted, warm oil drizzled onto his back. Strong hands massaged, digging deep into the muscles of his neck, his shoulders, all around.
All I Need Is You Page 10