by Julia Sykes
“You coming?” the man demanded.
“I’ll see you later,” Scott dismissed him, only taking his eyes off me for the briefest moment. I loved the way he was so focused on me, so attentive. I felt beautiful and powerful. It was a heady sensation.
He surprised me with a kiss. I wasn’t prepared, but lust instantly ignited in my belly when his lips touched mine and his hands firmed around my back, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around his neck, loving the feel of his hard body pressed against mine.
His lips were gentle, his tongue coaxing. A stray worry skittered across my mind. Had I forgotten how to kiss a man in my months of celibacy? And in the years of cold indifference from my husband before that?
I closed my eyes and pushed the worry away, focusing on him instead: the glide of his tongue against mine, his purely masculine scent that surrounded me.
When he finally pulled away, I knew I wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe even have sex with him. Maybe.
“Here’s the thing,” I murmured, teetering on the edge of a decision that I might regret. I swallowed and braced myself for the awkward admission. “I feel like you should know that I’m going through a divorce, and I haven’t…been with anyone.”
“Oh. That’s okay,” he reassured me.
I bit my lip. There was one other problem that I had to address: I couldn’t have vanilla sex. The lack of arousal made it extremely painful for me, and I wasn’t at all interested in that.
“And I’m into BDSM,” I said, shooting a nervous glance at the bouncer, who was far too close. My cheeks burned, but I had to say this. Alcohol helped loosen my tongue. “Is that something you might be interested in? Because if not…”
He leaned closer, so I could feel his warm breath fanning my face. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
I read that as a yes.
I desperately wanted it to be a yes. I craved the sweet release I’d find in giving up control to a Dominant partner. That reprieve from my anxiety and self-doubt was far more blissful than any orgasm.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “We can go back to my friend’s apartment, but we’ll have to be really quiet. She’s already asleep.”
He grinned. “Great. Lead the way.”
He took my hand in his, but he allowed me to guide him toward our destination.
“I write romance novels,” I blurted out, feeling the need to tell him something about myself before I had sex with him. “You didn’t ask, but that’s what I do.”
He squeezed my hand. “I love that,” he said, sounding strangely intense. His voice lowered, as though he was speaking more to himself than me. “That’s why I do what I do. So people like you can do things like write romance novels.”
I knew in that instant that Scott wasn’t in the lumber business. But I didn’t mind that he’d lied to me. I surmised that he was military, probably some division he wasn’t allowed to talk about. My dad’s best friend had served in Delta Force, so the secrecy was something I was familiar with.
We reached the corner where I needed to take a left to get back to Georgia’s place. The entire street was blocked off by construction equipment. A jackhammer started up, and I felt Scott tense at the sound.
PTSD. The pieces were falling to place in my mind, even though he’d barely said anything to indicate his real profession.
I held his hand more tightly and tugged him back in the direction we’d come from. Protectiveness surged through me. I didn’t want him to feel any pain, and if the blasts of sound from the jackhammer were going to set off unpleasant memories for him, I wanted to quickly put distance between us and the equipment.
He began to relax within seconds of our retreat. I breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that his dark thoughts seemed to have been held at bay.
“You’re not in the lumber business, are you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Why do you say that?”
“A few things you’ve said. Your time abroad, for one thing. You’re military, aren’t you?”
He was silent for a moment. “You’re very intelligent.”
“Not really.” I certainly didn’t feel very intelligent these days. Not after all the stupid mistakes I’d made.
“You really are,” he countered, more firmly.
We rounded another corner, heading back to my apartment by a different route. I wasn’t familiar with this street, but I knew we were headed in the right direction.
I was immediately grateful for Scott’s presence at my side. We walked past half a dozen men who were sleeping rough on the pavement. They didn’t make a move toward us, but I wouldn’t have felt safe passing them on the dimly lit street by myself, especially not in my low-cut dress.
He pulled me closer. “Now I’m really glad I’m with you,” he said in an undertone.
“Me too,” I admitted.
When we reached our next turn, a voice sounded behind us.
“Hey!” the man called out. “I need to talk to you. I need—”
“No,” Scott said firmly, releasing me to turn to face him. “Go away.”
Unease flashed through my system, but I didn’t need to worry. It only took a second for Scott to turn back to join me, the situation handled. He closed the distance between us, wrapping his arm around my waist again.
We didn’t talk for the next three minutes that it took to reach the apartment, but I didn’t mind. It was becoming obvious that Scott wasn’t able to share much about his life with me, and I didn’t feel like chattering at him. The silence was comfortable, almost intimate. The way his fingers curled around my hip kept me focused on the desire coursing through me, so I wasn’t caught up in nervousness over the lack of conversation. Companionable silence was a rare thing, and I marveled at how comfortable I felt with him, how connected. I felt like I could read him, even though he wasn’t saying a word.
He needed this as badly as I did: connection, intimacy. For just one night, we needed to feel something good and pure. We weren’t stumbling back to my place and tearing at each other’s clothes in a drunken frenzy. This was more than a late-night hookup.
I already knew that I’d never see him again after tonight. We wouldn’t exchange numbers and pretend we were going to call each other. His life wouldn’t allow for that kind of communication. He lived in a world of secrets and solitude, and I wasn’t looking to play games.
We reached the apartment, and I entered the code to unlock the door.
“That’s not a very secure code,” he commented, his tone heavy with disapproval.
I laughed, his protective instincts sending me flying high. For years, all I’d wanted was to feel protected and cherished. Even if only for one night, the illusion of a deeper connection was intoxicating.
This night was becoming strange and wonderful. The mystery he presented was intriguing. Sexy.
I didn’t mind his initial lies about his job or his inability to share facts about his life with me. After the way he’d told me so seriously that he wanted to dance with me, and the way he’d tensed at the banging of the jackhammer, I just wanted to hold him. I wanted to give him something special that he could remember on long, lonely nights.
At least, that was the romantic fantasy I conjured in my head. I couldn’t help myself; I was a romance novelist, after all.
We arrived at the apartment, and I fumbled at the lock. Nervousness made my fingers tremble, but I wasn’t scared of him. I was apprehensive over what I was about to do. Could I put my heart at risk and have a one-night stand? Would I be an emotional mess in the morning, left alone and cold in a strange bed?
He touched the small of my back, the steady heat of his hand calming me.
I took a breath and tried the lock again. This time, the door opened.
“We have to be really quiet,” I whispered. I didn’t want to disturb Georgia. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to me bringing a strange man to her place at nearly three AM.
He nodded, saying nothing. I appreciated his silence as we wal
ked down the corridor past my friend’s bedroom. I breathed a little easier once we got into my room and I shut the door. I knew there was pretty good sound privacy in this apartment, so Scott and I could talk at a more normal volume.
That didn’t mean I intended to cry out when he spanked me or brought me to orgasm.
Were either of those things on the table? Had he only vaguely answered my proposition about BDSM to get me into bed with him?
I hoped not.
I needed a moment to collect myself, to soberly consider my actions. I excused myself as I slipped past him into the privacy of the bathroom.
I took a moment to check my appearance in the mirror.
Shit.
My brown hair was still sleek and shiny around my face, but my mascara had creased under my blue eyes a little, and my naturally pink cheeks had even more color than usual.
I supposed a night of drinking hadn’t done my appearance any favors. I hoped Scott wouldn’t be disappointed now that he could see me under brighter lights.
I hastily wiped away the mascara beneath my eyes. It was all I could do, and I’d just have to face him with ruddy cheeks.
After a moment’s consideration, I chose to remove my panties. They weren’t my sexiest lingerie, and I definitely wanted to appear sexy.
When I returned to the bedroom, Scott was seated on the edge of the bed. He’d already stripped down to his boxer briefs. I paused, staring at him in awe for a few seconds.
For five years, I’d written books about hard-bodied men, and I’d wondered what it would be like to have sex with a muscular man.
It looked like I was about to find out. Scott wasn’t bulky, but he didn’t appear to have an ounce of body fat. He was lean. Chiseled. Probably lethal.
But the way he watched me, his eyes darkening with uncertainty, made a sense of safety settle over me, even though I knew he could most likely be a very dangerous man under other circumstances.
I closed the distance between us without another thought, craving to erase the worry from his brow. In that moment, my lingering nervousness evaporated, my decision made. I was going to have sex with Scott, and I wasn’t going to regret it.
I straddled his thigh, letting him feel my bare pussy against his skin. I wasn’t wet yet, but my body was heating for him.
I reached behind me and unzipped my dress before pulling it over my head. I straightened my spine and arched my back slightly, so my breasts stood out. His gaze dropped to my chest, and I glowed at his obvious appreciation. I’d put on a few extra pounds in my depression over the last couple years, but the way he regarded me with open hunger filled me with confidence and gratitude.
I didn’t usually enjoy initiating intimate contact—I didn’t like being in control when it came to sex—but I felt powerful enough that I was emboldened to lean forward and kiss him. His tongue traced my lower lip, and I opened for him, allowing him to claim my mouth.
He gripped my hips and rolled, positioning me beneath him on the bed. A light shiver raced over my skin. This was what I needed: to be overpowered and fucked hard. The only way it wouldn’t hurt was if he was savage with me, unrelenting. Anything soft and sweet would leave me cold and cause me pain when he penetrated me.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured.
I licked my lips, my cheeks heating with a touch of embarrassment. “Well, I told you about the BDSM thing. I like to be spanked. Have my hair pulled. Be held down.”
His eyes softened, the sadness I’d sensed in him rising again. “I don’t think I can be that way with you. If anything, it would be safer if you tied me up.”
The heavy way he said the words, the way his voice dropped, made me realize he wasn’t just making a kinky request. He couldn’t trust himself to get aggressive with me. He’d feel safer if I restrained him, so he couldn’t accidentally hurt me. Or maybe he’d hurt enough people that he couldn’t separate his violent life from sexual aggression, and the thought caused him anguish.
I could see his pain in the lines around his eyes. Drawn to comfort him, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. I’d invited him back with me because I’d needed to be held, but his needs surpassed my own. My personal struggles seemed so small compared to what he must be dealing with.
“Things must be pretty hard in Minnesota,” I said softly, staring up into his aquamarine eyes. I wanted him to know I wasn’t talking about Minnesota. I was respecting his secrets, his boundaries. But I needed him to understand that I was here for him. I would hold him, and I wouldn’t let go.
For this one night, at least.
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “They can be.” He trailed his fingers through my hair, studying me intently. “Never change,” he murmured. “When you walked into that bar by yourself, you ordered your beer, and your shoulders dropped back. You were totally relaxed. You felt safe. That’s why I do the things I do. So people like you can feel safe in the world.”
I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t been relaxed at all. I didn’t say that my casual posture had been a carefully crafted lie to conceal my loneliness and desperation. That wasn’t what he needed to hear right now.
“Thank you,” I said instead. “I can’t begin to imagine what you must have to do, but thank you.”
“I love that you write romance novels,” he said earnestly. “I have a lot of time to read while I’m traveling. I want to read everything you’ve ever written.”
I squirmed beneath him, discomfiture nipping at me again. “You’ll think they’re silly. I mean, the suspense elements. They’re not super realistic. And I know you… Well, you know more than that.”
He smiled, and he didn’t refute what I’d said. “I still want to read them.”
“My pen name is Lauren Krane,” I blurted out, my whole body burning with embarrassment. “But if you don’t like my books, please don’t tell me.”
He chuckled. “If I like them, I’m going to review all of them. If you see a review by Melissa from Minnesota, that’s me.”
I laughed at the ridiculous proposition. “You really will think they’re silly, though. My dad’s best friend is always telling me that he’ll give me real information on how the FBI works, but I’m too embarrassed to talk to him about it. He used to be in Delta Force, and he ran a private security firm after that.”
Scott was silent for a moment, but he kept me locked in his intense blue gaze.
“I was in Delta Force,” he finally said.
He didn’t say anything else.
I put a few more pieces together in my mind. He used to be in Delta Force. But he probably still operated covertly, his life so secretive that he had to tell lies to women he met in bars. His age also made me wonder just how deeply he was involved in special ops. He could have retired by now, but he hadn’t. He’d chosen to stay in that life, even though it clearly haunted him.
“Thank you,” I said again, trailing my fingernails down his back. He seemed to understand what I was saying, even though I was communicating more with my touch than my words.
He leaned in and kissed me again, his tongue gentle against mine. This wasn’t the rough sex I’d craved, but I wouldn’t deny him this moment, this comfort. He might not be kinky, but something about him tugged at my soul. I couldn’t bring myself to break this connection with him. It was bittersweet and intense. I wanted to stay swept up in the moment, to fill my being with the empathy I felt for him.
Empathy felt akin to love, and the illusion of intimacy made my heart expand in my chest.
His mouth left mine, and his lips skimmed down my neck before trailing soft kisses between my breasts.
“Wait,” I ordered, my tone sharp with sudden nervousness. I knew where he was headed, and I didn’t want that. Not only was I deeply self-conscious about a man going down on me, but I knew I couldn’t return the favor. My trauma when it came to oral sex ran deep, lurking in a dark corner of my mind that I chose to suppress. I wouldn’t ruin this night with a panic attack.
“I don’
t want you to do that,” I told him.
“But I want to,” he said fervently.
“Please. Please, don’t.”
His expression softened, and he paused at my breasts. “What’s wrong?”
I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. “Well, I can’t return the favor,” I admitted. “I…just can’t.” I didn’t want to tell him about my traumatic past. I’d barely faced it myself. I just knew I’d crumble into a sobbing mess if he put his dick in my mouth.
He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “That’s okay. I want to do this.”
“I don’t like it,” I whispered. I’d never attained much pleasure from a man going down on me. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my personal insecurities about my appearance and taste, or if it was because of the guilt that plagued me over the fact that I couldn’t reciprocate oral sex. Probably both. I didn’t like to think about it, so I usually refused the offer.
The same earnest light I’d glimpsed when he’d asked me to dance illuminated his pale eyes. “It would mean a lot to me,” he said, mirroring the words he’d spoken in the bar.
“I’m sorry. Please,” I begged him to relent. Things were becoming strained between us, and I didn’t want the intense, intimate connection I shared with him to be severed.
“Okay,” he conceded, his tone soothing.
He kept me locked in his gaze as he lowered his mouth to my breast.
All thoughts of embarrassment or protest left my head when his tongue flicked over my hardened nipple. I’d always been sensitive, and no one had touched me like this in a long time. Pleasure rushed straight from the tight bud to my clit, making it pulse. This wasn’t remotely kinky, but Scott’s strong, hard body pinning me down as he licked and nipped at my breasts made lust bloom low in my belly. My fingers speared into his hair, holding him closer as his teeth grazed my nipple. I gasped and arched up into him. My sex grew wet, my body preparing for more of his erotic onslaught.
“I need to taste you,” he murmured against my skin as he began to kiss his way down my stomach.
My breath caught. Now, that was something straight out of a romance novel. How could I deny a man who told me he needed to taste my pussy?