Seared on my Soul

by Cole Gibsen

  With nimble fingers, she unbuttons my shirt before sliding her hands along my abs. “Oh yeah.” Smiling, she sighs. “Absolutely. You?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I’ve been sure about anything.” She nibbles on my earlobe and I inhale sharply. I sure as hell didn’t think I could feel that anymore.

  “I’ll be good to you,” she says, pulling me closer, fingers twisting in my hair. “Just one night. Let me take care of you.”

  Take care of me, or prove once and for all how broken I am? I wonder, hands tightening on her waist. Either way, I’ve run out of excuses. “One night,” I agree.

  She leans back, grinning. God, she’s so sexy, it’s all I can do not to explode right now. It has been a very long time.

  “I’m going to do you so good,” she says, “you might regret only signing on for one night. Just wait until you see what you’re going to lose.”

  This gives me pause, though I doubt it’s for the reasons she wants. I’ve already lost so much—a brother-in-arms, a career, a kneecap…a life. And this girl thinks she’s going to get to me? If anything, she’s going to prove how little of me is actually left. “I think I’ll get over it.”

  “We’ll see.” She tugs my shirt off and throws it across the room.

  Maybe she didn’t mean it, but I swear I heard the hint of a challenge in her voice. Still, I’m not afraid. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s not feeling a thing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emily

  I run my hands over his chest. I don’t need alcohol to make Reece look good. The muscles of his chest are hard under my fingers, his shoulders taught, his jaw strained. I have the sudden urge to scratch my nails down his back to find out how deep I have to go to get to something soft.

  He grabs my waist tightly and tugs me against him so sharply, I gasp.

  “I’m sorry.” He immediately lets go and tries to gently push me off of him. “This was a mistake.”

  “I’m not sorry.” I weave my fingers behind his neck and look at him. His lake blue eyes are wide with fear. He thinks he hurt me, I realize. “Ohhhh. I get it now.”

  He frowns, obviously not the reaction he expected.

  “That’s what’s got you so messed up.”

  “What?”

  “The shit that happened to you in the desert—you forgot how to be gentle, and you’re scared you’re going to hurt me.”

  He jerks back, as if considering this for the first time. “Maybe…”

  “You won’t,” I cut him off.

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  “I might not be a badass soldier like you, Reece, but I think you’ll find I’m not easily broken.” This time I don’t fight my urges and dig my nails into his back.

  A rumbling growl emits from deep inside his chest. He grasps my hips and leans forward, trailing his lips up my collar bone, to the dip in my shoulder and then up my neck. When he gets to the tender skin beneath my jaw, the warm velvet of his lips is replaced by the sharp heat of teeth.

  I gasp as the flash of pain quickly turns to waves of desire.

  He leans back, worry evident on his face. “Did I hurt you?”

  I smile. “Oh, honey, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

  He groans, a primal sound that tightens things low inside me. He slides a finger into my hair and curls his fingers into a fist before tilting my head back sharply, inclining my neck. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Every nerve in my body sizzles with need. I whimper, which, in turn, makes him smile. Holy hell, I think I finally found a guy who can keep up with me.

  With my hair firmly ensnared in his hand, he grazes his teeth down my neck. Gasping, I reach for his pants buckle. He catches my hands before I can fumble the button open.

  “No,” he orders. “It’s been a long time. A really long time. I want to make this last, and if you touch me right now, I won’t be able to.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he covers my lips with his. His mouth is so hot, his tongue so urgent, I can feel myself melting into the kiss. Melting, and melting, until I’m sure he’s going to devour me whole.

  I’m limp in his arms when he finally releases me. He licks his lips. “God, you taste good.”

  “I feel good, too,” I say, between gasps for air.

  Something dark flashes through his eyes. “You need to let me know if things get too…intense.”

  “I already told you—”

  “I know what you told me,” he cuts me off. “You still need to tell me.”

  I make a face. “Like a safe word or something?”

  His eyes narrow. “No safe word. Just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. It’s that simple.”

  This seems really important to him, so I don’t bother to argue. Instead, I lick my lips. “Okay.”

  As soon as the word leaves my mouth, he grasps my shirt with his free hand, and rips it open. He still hasn’t let go of my hair, leaving me ensnared.

  “I’ll pay for that,” he says, while appraising my breasts. The hunger in his eyes makes me squirm with need. His dick, so hard beneath me, pulses in response.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you do.” I slide my hips forward, grinding against the bulge of his jeans.

  Growling, he yanks down my bra. My breasts spill over the black lacy fabric. My nipples are already tight with need, so when he takes one into his mouth and sucks hard, it’s all I can do not to buck against him. Strings of desire lace from my nipples to the spot low inside me, forming a web that he pulls tighter with each swipe of his tongue.

  Finally, he tilts his head back and groans. “You are…” He shakes his head. “It’s like you’re too good to be true. You’re beautiful, you’re sexy, you’re…not afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Maybe you should be.” He meets my eyes. “Fear strips your humanity. It makes you an animal. I feel like an animal.”

  “Then be an animal.”

  Releasing my hair, he flips me over onto the couch without warning. I barely have time to yelp before he’s behind me, straddling me. He grabs my hips, fingers digging into my skin so hard, I’m sure I’ll be bruised tomorrow.

  And that makes me crazy with need. The flashes of pain don’t last long before they turn into explosions of desire. Maybe there’s something not right about me, but I’ve always preferred my sex rough. Up until this point, I’ve never had a man strong enough to give me exactly what I’ve craved. Now, however, I think I’ve met my match.

  Just the thought that tomorrow I’ve have actual marks from this man, that I’ll have evidence he claimed me as his, that he owned me, is enough to build the pressure between my legs to an almost explosion.

  Leaning over me, he grabs my breasts with his hands, squeezing, as his breath runs hot trails down my neck. The bulge, contained only by his jeans, slams against my sweet spot, again and again, leaving me squirming and desperate.

  “Please,” I pant.

  He grows still. For one terrifying moment, I’m afraid he’s changed his mind. But then he pushes my skirt up to my waist and slides my panties down to my ankles.

  A high desperate mewl escapes my throat. I’m throbbing with a need so strong, it aches.

  There’s a rustling of fabric, the unmistakable sound of cellophane followed by the snap of a condom being pulled into place.

  I almost groan in relief.

  He leans over me and bites my ear once before whispering, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.” The tip of his penis grazes my skin.

  Crazy with desire, I thrust back, but he catches my hips, stopping me. “Tell me, first.”

  I don’t hesitate. “I want you.” My voice quivers with desire. “I want you so bad.”

  He slams into me without warning. There’s no gentle glide, or feeling me out. He’s just there, filling me up, hitting the spot inside me that makes my eyelids flutter, and then he’s gone again, leaving me empty and desperate.

  I wriggle backward, d
ying to have him back inside me, when he forces my hips still.

  “Emily”—his voice is thick with hunger—“it’s been so damn long. I…I just don’t know if I can make it last.”

  My chest is heaving, my breasts bobbing, nipples painfully tight. “If you can’t make it last, at least make it count.”

  His hips slam into me in response. His dick throbs with need with each thrust. The soft tip of it hits the spot just below my navel, filling my hidden cup with pulsing warm honey. Again, and again, until I can’t contain it anymore and it spills over the sides.

  Throwing my head back, I cry out as spools of pleasure unravel from my core, spiraling down into my fingers and toes. Electricity buzzes through my veins, igniting everything in its path until I’m consumed by it.

  His thrusts continue to pound in time with my pulses until another wave builds. He winds his fingers into my hair and pulls tight.

  That’s all it takes to send me over the edge. Again.

  A first for me.

  I’m still crying out from the first orgasm when the spasms inside me renew in strength. My entire body bucks as tremors seize me.

  Behind me, Reece grunts, and his bucking slows from a steady rhythm into uneven thrusts. Letting go of my hair, he places both hands on my hips and thrusts one last time, pulling me against him as he does.

  As my own spasms die down, I can feel his dick tremble inside me.

  Reece gasps and loosens his hold on me.

  I collapse on the couch. He falls beside me.

  “That was…insanely amazing,” I pant.

  “Did I hurt you?” The worry is evident in his voice. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Don’t you dare.” I sit up, remove my panties from my ankles, and smooth my skirt down. “That was, literally, the best sex of my life.”

  He makes a face. “It wasn’t very long. And if I hurt you—”

  Sighing, I pull my bra back into place. “I told you I like it rough. I would have let you know if you crossed the line.”

  He stares at me a moment before nodding. “All right.” He slides his jeans up, and I grab his hand, stopping him. “What are you doing?” he says.

  “I’m just thinking, if that was the best sex I ever had, and it was that fast, imagine what the next round is going to be like.”

  “Next round?” He quirks an eyebrow.

  “Or third. Or fourth. They can only get better, right? Science, Reece. We must solve this mystery for science.”

  He grins. “Well, I am a teacher. I do love learning.” He leaves his button open wide. “All right, let’s do this. For science.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Emily

  Can’t sleep.

  Reece snores peacefully beside me. Even though my body feels like a combination of melted butter and sore satisfaction, my stupid brain refuses to shut the fuck up.

  Another notch on the ol’ bedpost, huh? Wonder what your mother would think of that—or your brother, for that matter. Don’t you have more self-respect than this? Don’t you have any aspirations at all?

  “Damn it,” I mutter, throwing the covers back. So much for enjoying the afterglow—and this one takes the cake. Usually now is when would I sneak out of bed and dress with ninja stealth. Or, since this is my apartment, this would be the time I plant an elbow in the guy’s ribs and make some excuse for needing to be up early in the morning.

  I glance at Reece, his arm flung over his face and his chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. God, he’s so much fun to look at. I can’t bring myself to wake him. “Fuck,” I whisper, digging my palms into my eyes. I don’t know what it is about this guy, but he gets under my skin, makes me soft.

  I don’t like it.

  The sooner he’s out of my bed—out of my life—the better. For now, I need to get away from him before my damn hormones get the better of me again. I silently climb out of bed, snag a pair of underwear and a cami off my dresser, and head to the kitchen.

  I grab my phone off the counter. I’ve received over a dozen texts from Ash and Lane. Ash wants to know how my date went, while Lane wants to make sure I didn’t fall off the wagon.

  I roll my eyes as I set the phone aside. Looks like overprotective Lane is back. Still, I have to admit, a drink sounds really fucking good right about now.

  I stare longingly at the empty space above the fridge where I used to keep my bottle of whiskey. “Damn it,” I whisper. Without booze, I’m not sure how to quiet the whispers of self-loathing.

  Because you’re an alcoholic, the voice reminds me. A pathetic loser alcoholic.

  I fling the kitchen cabinet wide, searching for any bottles I might have missed—the nasty, fruity wine I received as a Christmas gift last year, the cupcake vodka Ashlyn brought over on our last movie night, even the Irish crème left over from last Christmas. Gone. All of it dumped down the drain by my own traitorous hands.

  All of it except…

  I fling the cabinet above the sink open, grab the cough syrup, and unscrew the cap with shaking fingers. The moment the bottle touches my lips, Reece grunts from my bedroom and I freeze. Is he awake? Did he see me?

  Slowly I turn in the direction of my open bedroom door. He tosses on the bed, burying his face into the pillow. He snorts before going still.

  My muscles unwind and I lower the bottle. What the hell am I doing? I place the cough syrup back inside the cabinet and rake my fingers through my tangled hair. Get it together, Em. You’re better than this.

  I inhale deeply. On the refrigerator is a magnet my mom gave me when I started A.A. I’m supposed to read it when I feel tempted or some shit. Desperate times and all. I walk to the fridge and read.

  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

  Pretty words, I think, chewing on my lip. But what if it’s me that can’t be changed?

  No. I refuse to think like that. It’s courage I need. Change.

  But just thinking about change, and wishing for it, doesn’t make it happen. The need for a drink twists around my body like barbed wire. Squeezing. Cutting.

  I rack my brain, trying to remember the things I did to cope before I turned to alcohol. I used to call my friends. But that was in high school before they all left for college and outgrew me. I used to get inked. There’s something about the rush of a needle digging into your skin that makes you forget all about your problems. Too bad there’s not a tattoo shop open at this hour.

  A memory surfaces from a dark, dusty corner of my brain. It slams into me with enough force that I stagger back against the counter. After Dad died, I stayed with Grandma for a week while Mom and Lane arranged Dad’s funeral. The first night I couldn’t fall asleep in the cold, strange bed. So, Grandma took me downstairs to the kitchen, turned on the oven and pulled out bowls, spoons, and measuring cups. We baked everything from honey bread to cookies. We baked coffee cake and pie, kugelis and casseroles. We baked until the sun bled through the windows and every inch of the counter space was covered by a mountain of baked goods—enough to feed an entire city, let alone a funeral.

  Even the chairs were piled with casserole dishes. After the last muffin was pulled from the oven, Grandma and I sat on the sugar-covered floor, sticky and exhausted. She held me against her, and I was finally able to cry.

  But I survived.

  If I could survive the death of my father, I sure as hell can survive this, too.

  Opening the cabinets, I pull out bags of flour, sugar, and baking powder. I can’t remember the last time I used any of it. Does sugar expire? Muttering a silent prayer that I won’t kill anyone with food poisoning, I scoop out a cup of flour and level it with a knife.

  Slowly, like grains of flour falling from a sifter, Grandma’s baking recipes return to me. Our baking together didn’t end at Dad’s funeral. From that day on, any time I visited her house, we would bake something, usually because I demanded it. She taught me the importance of
room temperature eggs and butter, and how to whip frosting to the consistency of clouds. We baked bread from her homeland of Lithuania as well as American favorites, like cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies.

  Taste everything, Emily, she had said during a baking session. Experiment and modify to your tastes. It might be awful, but you also might stumble upon something amazing. A real baker bakes with her heart, never a recipe book.

  So I did. In the beginning, I made some awful things. But gradually, I got the hang of it, and even became good at it.

  I dip my finger into the batter and lick it. I’m still good at it, I think with a smile.

  So why the hell did I stop?

  I grab the wooden spoon and resume stirring, realizing I’m literally holding on to the answer. Grandma’s spoon. In fact, almost every bowl, measuring cup, baking dish, and cookie sheet I own was hers. I received them all after Grandma died nearly six years ago. I stopped because it reminded me too much of her.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud, but I miss you,” I whisper to the ceiling. “And Daddy, too,” I add, because I don’t want him to feel left out. I know it’s stupid, talking to the ceiling, but holding Grandma’s spoon, I can almost smell her lilac perfume in the kitchen with me.

  The oven dings, pulling me from my thoughts. After lining a muffin tin with paper cups, I fill them with batter and slide the tray into the oven. I set the timer and then start on the frosting.

  Fifteen minutes later, the timer goes off. Opening the oven door fills the kitchen with the aroma of butter and vanilla.

  Electricity dances along my spine. Damn. I forgot how much I love this. I’m way too excited to sleep now, so I make a cup of coffee and wait for the cupcakes to cool.

  While I lean against the counter, sipping my coffee, I can feel her standing beside me like she did ten years ago, smiling at me. Encouraging me. Reminding me I once had potential.

  And maybe I still do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reece

  The blast sets my ears ringing and floods my vision with spots. Even through the whine of my aching ear drums, I can hear his screams.