by Freya Barker
“So you have a sister. Any other siblings?”
“Just the two of us. Connie is two years older and married to Jim, a lifer like my dad was. Army. They have a twelve-year-old daughter, Brittany.”
“You’re an army brat?” She nods. “Is that why you joined the Medical Corps?” At that she laughs heartily.
“Good Lord, no. Let’s just say Dad was not pleased his daughter had decided to enter a man’s world. His words, not mine.”
“Wow. That’s a bit…” I let my voice trail off, not wanting to risk insulting her family on our date, but she finishes my sentence for me.
“Misogynistic? Yes, that would be an accurate description. What about you? Siblings?”
“My older brother, Yanis, and Jake’s like a brother too. My parents took him in when we were kids. We all grew up together.”
“Good childhood?” she asks. Somehow I get the impression hers was far from.
I tell her about growing up just outside the small town in Wyoming, where my parents still live. About the stray animals my mother was forever collecting, the vegetable patches we later discovered weren’t just carrots and beans. She laughs when I tell her my parents still grow pot and supply the senior community they moved into a few years ago with my mother’s version of digestive cookies.
Dinner is good, conversation is great, and when it’s time to go, it feels natural to take her hand in mine as I lead her out of the restaurant.
“That was delicious,” Willa comments when we get to my vehicle.
Knowing my time is limited and not wanting there to be any confusion about where I’d like this to go, I crowd her against the side of the truck, my hands braced on either side of her head. Her hazel eyes drop immediately to my mouth.
“Gonna kiss you, then I’m gonna drive you home, and kiss you again. You don’t want that, now’s the time to tell me.”
When she raises her hands to my chest, sliding them up and around my neck, I have my answer.
There is no hesitation in the way her lips open under mine and her taste explodes in my mouth. I groan down her throat as my tongue strokes the bold touch of hers. Instinctively my body pins hers against the passenger door. I slip an arm around her and with my hand at the base of her spine; I press her hips against mine. I know she feels the ridge of my hard cock when her blunt nails dig into the muscles of my neck.
Fuck she feels good—tastes good—but we’re in the middle of a parking lot in the center of town on a busy Saturday night.
“Wow,” she whispers when I reluctantly lift my lips from hers.
“Yeah, wow.”
I quickly hustle her in the passenger side and adjust myself as I round the hood before getting in behind the wheel. Pulling out of the parking lot, I reach for her hand and she slips her fingers between mine.
The drive to her place is quiet, so I hear her sigh when I pull in beside her parked RAV.
“I’m gonna walk you to your door, kiss you goodnight, and head to the office.” I turn to her, sliding a hand around her neck. “But what I’d really like to do is follow you inside, strip you out of that ridiculously sexy dress the moment we enter the house, and fuck you hard against the wall.”
Her breath hitches and her mouth opens, a flush darkening her cheeks. I brush my thumb over those lush lips.
“Yeah,” I mumble before letting her go.
Willa
Mercy.
If that first kiss last weekend stirred my blood, and the one in the parking lot earlier tonight set me on fire, this last one against my front door left me a quivering mess.
I could taste the hunger on his tongue, and if the way his large rough hands moved restlessly over the thin fabric of my dress is any indication, he knows how to use them.
My skin is still tingling ten minutes later when I walk out of the bathroom, ready for bed. Even just the slight brush of the sheets when I slip between them is enough to have me reach for the drawer in my nightstand.
By the time a couple of days have passed, with just an occasional text from Dimas, the glow of his kisses has worn off some. Once again I’m questioning the wisdom of starting something with him.
I’m not upset with him, I understand the kind of work he does isn’t an easy nine-to-five. It’s not him I’m questioning—it’s me. Whatever is working its way to the surface between us has gone well beyond what I can justify as a hookup, and I find myself almost obsessively willing my phone to alert me to another text or maybe a call. I’m already losing myself.
He mentioned in his first text on Sunday what was supposed to be a few-hour job has turned into a longer, more involved assignment that would more likely take days. I’m sure this isn’t the first, nor will it be the last time. I promised myself a long time ago; I would not be that woman who sits at home, waiting with bated breath for her man to come home.
Yet here I am, maybe not sitting at home, but most definitely waiting for a man to pick up life where we left it off. If this is a precursor of what a relationship with him might be like, I don’t know if I’m woman enough.
“Okay, this is the second day I walk past your office to find you staring at the wall,” Rosie says, leaning against my doorway. “What gives?”
“I’m fine.” My words sound hollow, even to my own ears.
“Right.” Rosie steps inside closing the door behind her. “Tell me how fine you are?” I sigh long and deep, causing her to snicker. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me guess. This wouldn’t have anything to do with this emergency job that has the entire PASS team—including my husband—out of town indefinitely, would it?”
“Indefinitely?”
“I’m talking about the job. No telling how long their involvement is required, but they’re not that far from home. Jake says they’ll start rotating shifts so they can all have a break.”
“Does Jake tell you about the assignments he’s on?” I’m suddenly curious and she smiles at me with understanding.
“Depends on the type of assignment to be honest, but he talks to me about it after. Is that what is freaking you out? Their work?” She sits down across from me, subtly indicating she has time to listen.
“There’s a reason I’ve never invested the time and energy to learn how to cook.” Her eyebrows go up but she continues to listen. “We were celebrating my mother’s birthday earlier this month. My mom and sister were in the kitchen, preparing her birthday dinner, while my father and brother-in-law first played eighteen holes at the local golf course, only to come home and sit down with their fucking drinks and a game on TV.” Understanding dawns on Rosie’s face but she stays quiet. “It’s what we grew up with, it’s what was expected, and it seems to be what my sister wants out of life, but it definitely is not what I’m looking for. So I have no interest in being Suzy Homemaker for anyone.”
“And I completely understand that, but what isn’t clear is what this has to do with the boys being on assignment?”
“I like him, Rosie,” I try to explain. “I think I could like him a lot, but I don’t want to wake up at some point down the line and find out I’ve turned into my mother, after all.”
“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in a long time,” she snaps, and I sit up straight in my chair. “I don’t know your mother or your sister, but I know you and there’s no way you could ever be like that, not even if you tried. But more importantly, I know Dimas, and there is no way in hell he’d ever treat you like that.”
“You don’t—”
“Oh, but I do know. Once you meet his parents you’ll get it.” She gets up and moves to the door. “I get you think it’s safer to avoid men like Dimas, but you’re wrong. Trust me on this one, men like that will move heaven and earth to make sure you feel safe and cared for.”
I don’t know how long I sit there after she leaves, thinking about her words, when Ron knocks on the door. “Have you seen Dave?”
“Not today, no. Why?”
“No worries, I just want to clear up a few things with him
.”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen him. Sorry.”
“You heading home soon? It’s after five.” He glances at his watch.
“Probably,” I answer, shocked at the time. “You have a good night.”
I stop to pick up some sushi I have a sudden craving for on my way home. Changed into something comfortable and armed with a beer and my dinner, I sit down in front of the evening news.
My eyes are still watering from a piece of sashimi dipped in too much wasabi and soy sauce, when a knock sounds at the door. I’m still blinking when I find Dimas standing on my step.
“Are you crying?” he asks immediately, moving me backward into the hallway with a firm hand on my hip.
“Wasabi,” I manage in a raspy voice.
“Can’t handle the heat?” he teases with a grin.
“Oh, I can handle heat just fine,” I snap.
I barely have a chance to identify the look in his eyes when the next instant his mouth slams down on mine.
Well, hello.
Chapter Eight
Willa
“Tell me this fucking thing comes off.”
I can’t help the giggle bubbling up at his frustrated growl.
Somehow I ended up on my back on the couch, Dimas looming over me, struggling with the wrap shirt he’s impatiently trying to divest me of.
“Let me,” I snicker, pushing his hands—tugging at the faux wrap around my waist—to pull the whole thing off over my head.
A deep growl is his only response as he stares down at my naked chest. If I had any insecurities; the heat in his eyes as he peruses my heavy breasts and soft stomach would’ve instantly dispelled them. The man likes what he sees and isn’t afraid to show it.
“Dimas…” I mutter when his mouth latches onto a nipple, his hand lifting my breast.
More growling as he sucks hard before releasing me, leaving the dark rose peak tight and erect. He trails the flat of his tongue to the other side, giving that nipple the same treatment before lifting off me, looking appreciatively at his handiwork.
“Fuck. Gorgeous,” he rumbles, running his rough palm from my belly up over my chest to the base of my throat. “Tell me you want this.” His eyes meet mine, searching for an answer.
“I want this,” I whisper.
“I should probably explain—” he starts, but I immediately cut him off, curling a hand around the back of his neck, and pulling him down.
“You can explain later,” I mumble with my lips against his.
As he kisses me hungrily, I slide my hands down and slip them inside the back of his jeans, my fingers digging into the firm butt cheeks. I can feel them clench as he rocks his hips into mine, and I wantonly open my legs.
“Easy, sweetheart. Waited long enough, so I’m not gonna rush through this.”
I’m about to protest when he slides down my body, pulling off my lounge pants on the way to leave me completely exposed.
“You still have clothes on,” I complain, and he immediately whips off his shirt.
Oh, yeah. A little more than just a dusting of hair covering his chest and running down his stomach. He’s built. Not bulging and cut, but strong and solid. I instantly reach out, dragging my fingers from his pecs down his stomach, loving the feel of the bristly hair under my touch. He stops me when I reach his waistband, shaking his head with a smug grin. Then he hooks my legs behind the knees and spreads me open.
“Fuck, yeah,” he groans before lowering his head.
He marks the inside of my thigh with his teeth and I hiss. Then he does the same on the other side.
“Yesss…” The word drags from my mouth when I feel the wet stroke of his tongue along my slit and my back arches off the couch.
The man knows how to put all his assets to good use. With teeth, tongue, lips, and even the slight abrasion of his beard on the sensitive insides of my thighs, he doesn’t waste any time turning me into a shaking, quivering ball of need.
Then he slides a large, long digit inside me and I about levitate off the couch, whimpering pathetically. A second finger joins the first and he pumps a few times before rotating them inside me. I push my head back into the pillow; shamelessly grind my hips into his touch, and with his fingers curving deep inside me, he barely grazes my clit with his teeth, sending me flying in a million different directions.
When I catch my breath and finally lift my head, I find him looking down on me, the foil packet of a condom between his teeth. With brisk moves he unbuttons his fly, shoves jeans and briefs down his ass before palming the thick, very erect, and heavily veined cock jutting from the dense nest of hair.
A lazy couple of strokes and then he efficiently rolls on the condom before slicking the tip along my crease. With eyes burning into mine, he plants himself balls deep, filling me completely.
Fuck, yeah.
Dimas
It’s the fucking butt crack of dawn when my blasted alarm goes off on my phone.
Willa’s naked body stirs against me, as I quickly reach for the damn thing on her nightstand.
Last night after milking another orgasm from her still quivering body, I let go of my own, leaving me almost cross-eyed. Somehow I managed to get us to her bed, where she rolled on her side the moment she touched the mattress and fell asleep. I lay awake for a while, simply watching her.
When my stomach started growling—I didn’t stop to eat before I got here—I went in search of sustenance and found Willa’s forgotten container of sushi on the coffee table which I promptly devoured. Sitting on her couch, I debated heading home. It would’ve been my usual MO, but for some reason sneaking out of the house didn’t feel right with her. Instead I collected our clothes, strewn across the living room, and took them with me to the bedroom. There I stripped the jeans I never quite took off, removed my prosthesis, and slid between the sheets, where her body instinctively rolled against me.
It took me only seconds to drift off, her scent enveloping me.
I could do with another couple of hours after a few mostly sleepless nights, and I certainly don’t want to leave the warmth of Willa’s bed, but I promised Radar I would meet him this morning at the gym. After that I’m supposed to stop in at the office, pick up a few things for Yanis, and check in with our office manager, Lena, before picking up Bree and heading back to Palisade.
Pressing a kiss to Willa’s bare shoulder, I ease myself out of bed and get dressed. I can take a shower at the gym after my workout. I scribble a note on the back of the sushi receipt and leave it under her phone on the counter before pulling her front door closed behind me.
We never did have a chance to talk.
“Jesus, man,” Radar grumbles twenty minutes later. “You smell like sex.”
Not at all bothered, I grin in his face. “I’m surprised you recognize it,” I tease.
That earns me a swift left hook to the gut, knocking the breath out of me.
“I get laid, asshole,” he grunts, right before I pay him back with a volley of punches on the body, ending with a solid hit to his chin.
Both of us are wearing protective gear—mandatory in the gym—but I still manage to rattle his cage.
“You’re better pissed off,” he groans, shaking his head.
We spend another twenty minutes going through the paces when Radar suddenly takes me in a headlock.
“He’s here, and watching,” he whispers close to my ear.
I twist out of his hold, at the same time hooking my leg behind his knees. He hits the mat hard when clapping draws my attention to the edge of the ring.
“Nice move.” The guy looks to be in his late forties, fit enough and dressed for a workout. Looks like every other guy in here, so I wouldn’t have looked at him twice.
“Thanks.” I unclip the headgear, pretending disinterest.
“Looks like you may have spent some time in the cage.”
I watch as Radar ducks between the ropes and heads for the showers before answering.
“Been a while ago,”
I lie. I’ve never fought in the cage, but that doesn’t mean I never fought. Did plenty of that.
“Veteran?” he asks, indicating my leg when I pull off my gloves.
Grabbing my towel from the corner, I rub it over my sweaty hair before draping it around my neck.
“What’s it to you?”
I’m being an asshole on purpose. I don’t want to seem too eager and have him get suspicious. More credible if I let him bait me than the other way around.
“Nothing,” he says, shrugging. “Just making conversation. I have a few buddies who were in the military. They do some recreational fighting; make a little money on the side. You look like you might be able to hold your own, but I can see you’re not interested.”
With that he walks away and I let him. If I read him right, he’s not done with me yet.
I guessed right. When I walk out the door after my shower I spot him right away. He’s standing beside a red, souped-up Challenger, decked out with a cheesy fucking racing stripe and a set of shiny-assed rims, trying hard not to look like he’s been standing there waiting for the past little while.
He opens his door when I step off the curb and pretends to just spot me, giving me a chin lift. I play his game, move toward my vehicle and stop halfway there, turning back in his direction.
“Hey!” I call out, ambling over to him. “What’s the catch?”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand.
“Catch?”
“Yeah, you said recreational fighting and extra money. There’s gotta be a catch. Is this like a fight club or something?”
“Or something. Lots of people enjoy watching a good bout, but not everyone likes the limitations of regulated fights or the often questionable judging,” he explains, fishing in his back pocket for what I hope is a wallet. He hands me a card. “That’s my number. Think about it. You decide you don’t have what it takes, I understand. This kind of raw hand-to-hand combat is not for everyone.”