She opened her eyes to dark pools of desire.
“Ready?” His hand blocked her from giving more than a brief nod, but as soon as she did, he slammed into her with enough force that the table moved across the floor.
If she could’ve screamed out in pleasure, she would have. Instead, she met his reckless pace, thrust for thrust. Her hips lifted from the table, seeking to drive him home with each movement, even when her legs tired and they both shook from head to toe.
Would she ever get enough? How could she? He was so much more than she’d anticipated. His cock filled her until all she knew was him. He owned her. And she let him.
Each withdraw. Each plunge to the hilt.
Again.
And again.
She craved it, the abandon, the pulse-pounding rhythm.
Tension ripe with sex built between them, a separate entity so immense it surrounded them, compressing them into one another. She fought for air, and still she urged him faster, arching her neck and granting his hand better access while pushing up into his grip to force a tighter grasp.
The first rush of her orgasm threatened to drown her as every pore in her body became saturated with him. Blood roared through her veins. His fingers increased the pressure around her throat, enough to cause awareness of each individual beat of her heart. The sex was so frantic that her lungs burned for air. His hand denied her even more. Her body screamed for release—her lungs as much as the tightness clenching inside her core—and the restriction of one only added to the other, increasing her need to such a fevered pitch that with just the flick of a match, she’d burst into flame.
“Come on my cock, baby. Take me with you.”
Like she had a choice.
Jacob thrust deep, and Sara did as she was told, unable to do anything else.
Then she might have passed out from the pleasure.
It was hard to tell since when the world normalized, her body still vibrated from the intensity of her orgasm, so much so that she couldn't claim it had ever really ended. The current aftershocks were still a muted version of the blissful free fall she’d experienced mere minutes before.
For once, being right about a man meant something positive. From start to finish, Jacob Ramírez proved an incredible lover.
He'd be lucky if she didn't tie him down and never stop fucking him.
Sara groaned when Jacob hoisted himself off her, ready to beg him to stay.
“Which way to your bathroom?” The gleam in his eye did little to prepare her. He placed another foil packet between his teeth a split second before he threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold, headed in the direction she’d pointed. He spoke, his words garbled around the wrapped condom, but unmistakable. “You've been a bad girl these last few weeks, Sara Morrow.”
Her breath hitched as his hand first smoothed over her ass. The sharp sting from the crack of his palm against her bare skin hit twice.
Yes! I'll be bad every day if you keep doing that.
Jacob nipped at her hip and brought his hand down much harder than anyone had dared in the past. Three times he smacked her, twice on her left cheek and once again on her right.
And just like that, she was ready for him again—wet and eager for his attention, her pussy throbbing as if it hadn’t just been taken.
After flicking the bathroom’s overhead light on, he cupped her ass, massaging it while she slid down his body to her feet. The tender touch on her enflamed flesh enticed almost as much as the sting had.
“Sit.” He pointed to the toilet.
“Jacob, I—”
“Sit.”
She closed the lid. Once she’d followed his order, he knelt between her legs.
Man, he was something. In the white light of the bathroom, muscular shoulders looked even more impressive. His back. His arms. Everything about him rendered her speechless including his many scars and the birthmark on his left shoulder. His eyes, though… his eyes stole her heart now that darkness didn’t hide their brown depths in shadows.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, a trace of fear returned in them while he swept his thumb back and forth on her exposed neck and the redness sure to be there. Concerned lines made grooves on his face so deep that they appeared permanent. Oh, sweetie. Worried you took it too far? To ease his tension, she traced three angry scratches on his arm, trailing her finger over the drops of dried blood she'd drawn from him. “Sorry I didn't warn you. I can get a little rough.” She bit her lip to keep from giggling. “Did I hurt you too much?”
The bark of his laughter was almost sweeter than her two orgasms.
Almost.
But not enough that his honest show of emotion didn't make her want to try for number three.
Sara opened her legs wider in invitation.
24
“NO!”
Sara jerked awake to the bed shaking under her. What the–?
“Incoming!”
Her grogginess vanished as an understanding took hold. Jacob shouted, but not at her. The final piece to the puzzle of the enigmatic man she dated clicked into place for her.
Careful not to make any sudden movements, Sara slid off the bed to avoid injury from his thrashing. The last thing she wanted was for him to carry that guilt, too. “Jacob.” Her voice stayed calm, just as it did when she took care of Tessa. “You’re here with me, Jacob. You’re with Sara. In my home. You’re safe.”
His features slackened in horror at visuals she didn't want to imagine.
Her hand curled in a fist, desperate to touch him, to comfort him, but instead she continued to call in the same calm voice while she turned on the lights, afterwards kneeling by her side of the bed, resting her arms on the edge. Her vision didn’t stray from his tormented body, though his appearance blurred through a watery haze.
“At your six, Tzu, now!” Opened eyes, wild and glazed, stared past her.
“You’re in my bed, in San Diego. Can you feel the bed beneath you? The sheet around your legs?” Sara talked Jacob through sensations, attempting to bring his consciousness to the present. Her place—she—wasn't familiar. Once he awoke, he'd be disoriented and terror stricken, an unhealthy combination for them both from what Sara had heard.
When Bel's husband had left for active duty four years ago, the two girls had pored over books—from personal accounts to self-help books on transitioning back to civilian life. Bel had joined Sara in volunteering with the local VA and community center, immersing herself, fully committed to learning what she could. Wanting to be ready for her husband’s return, Bel had interviewed therapists for them, for him, and had joined a group for military spouses at the center on base. Three months into his tour, the two friends had met with a soldier missing both of his lower limbs from an IED. Once he'd sensed genuine concern as well as Bel's need to help her husband, Curtis had told them the stories of his own sleepless nights.
“At first, all I wanted to do was close my eyes. My pain was so great, I…” That day, he’d drifted off, his attention focused on the wedding picture on the end table near him. “The pain medication allowed me to float away, going back to when I had legs, letting me forget everything I wish I'd never seen.” His forearms rippled as he gripped the arm of the wheelchair with one hand and pushed off the couch with the other. What was left of his thighs swung out in front of him before he landed in the chair. “Not long after, the doctors talked about dependency and took away my escape.” Quick pumps of his arms took him to the window as if he still sought one.
While he’d watched the ripples on the water, Sara and Bel had sat in silence in the sterile living room that overlooked the bay.
“For three weeks, I didn't sleep more than five minutes at a time. I spent most of my days and nights in front of the TV watching reruns of Sex and the City.” He paused to swallow. “I did that until I couldn’t hold out and crashed. On one of those nights, the first time since I’d come back, my wife and I shared the same bed. It was also the last.” Hell etched itself on his face. “
Calling it a flashback doesn't do it justice. That day didn't flash before my eyes. I lived it. I scared Lia so much she did what she thought was best to bring me out of it. As soon as she shook me, I flipped.” He pinned Bel with a hard stare. “Never touch him without warning.” A shudder wracked his shoulders. “I don't know how she got away, but by the end, her eye was bruised, and I’d fractured two of her ribs. I moved back home with my parents the next day.”
Sara and Bel had left shortly after that, but the conversation had stayed with Sara, resonating in ways she hadn't understood until now with Jacob's screams fresh in her room.
“No. No!”
Her heart shattered at his helplessness. “You’re okay. No one’s hurt. You’re stateside. In my home. Sara. From the bank. We went to a bar tonight. You came home with me.” As if some of what she was saying reached him, the fear in his eyes receded slightly, making the whites not quite so enlarged. Grateful to have found some way to help, she continued. “Do you remember Riley singing? The car ride here?”
“I failed. They're gone. What did I do? They're gone.”
But I'm right here. I'll help if you'll let me. She stretched her hand out as close to his closed fist as she dared, talking to him until the storms quieted. When his breathing returned to normal, she slipped from the room.
25
Jacob shivered, cold and damp.
How is that possible?
He'd been with his team under a blazing sun, not under blinding artificial light. His body was still sticky from their blood and his muscles ached from the fight. Yet he continued to shiver with… cold? He swiped at his face only to find sweat dripping from his fingers instead of red sludge.
The softness of the mattress registered before his eyes focused, and dread, heavy and nauseating, settled in his stomach. Tessa’s portrait stared back at him accusingly.
Sara.
He'd spent the night. She must have seen… and now she was gone. Hijo de puta… why did it happen now? They’d had a great night and nothing had triggered him, so why?
Jacob knew better than to look for a logical answer, since none had ever existed for him. But this far into the year? It should’ve been his sweet spot.
Still, he knew better than to spend the night, too, yet he hadn’t given it a second’s thought.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d had sex with Sara, but not even that was excuse enough for knowingly curling up with her in bed afterwards.
And Sara was the one paying for it.
Jacob stood up too fast and sank to the edge of the bed while visions of his friends in pieces mixed in against the pretty eyelet bedspread and peach walls. Dammit.
One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight…
Once the memories quieted, he circled the bed. The extent of his demons ran his blood cold. His side lay demolished where damp sweat marks streaked the light sheets, and the comforter remained nothing more than a twisted heap at the foot, the top sheet torn in multiple places.
What would he do if he’d hurt her?
He’d never forgive himself, that’s what. Jesucristo! Why had he refused to see the counselor Mama Bea had tried to connect him with?
Jacob should’ve…
No. He shouldn’t have done anything. He didn’t deserve redemption. He deserved to feel every moment of his horror. Reliving it a thousand times over still wouldn’t come close to being a fitting punishment. Six men hadn’t died beside him; they’d died because of him. No amount of counseling could make him feel good about that, and he wouldn’t deserve to if it did.
That answer didn’t bring comfort, but it did bring resolve. He needed to find Sara, make sure she was okay, apologize, then get the hell out of her life before he did any more damage. There wasn’t any coming back from a mistake like the one he’d just made.
Jacob brought her pillow to his face to inhale her scent and his vision lit on the bottle of amber liquid on her bedside table. Its promise of forgetfulness lured him closer.
No. He needed to leave before he hurt her even more. Drinking until he was mindless only ensured he’d stay.
At the creak of a door down the hall, he tensed. How would she greet him? Scared? Angry? He glanced up to find her draped in nothing more than a bath towel. “Did I hur–”
Sara interrupted, “Sorry if I woke you.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“Yes I do. I’m an insomniac. Well, not every night. I just get plagued with random bouts of it from time to time. I probably should have warned you earlier. When I can’t sleep, I watch TV.”
What was she saying? That she’d missed… No way. She couldn’t have missed everything. Look at her bed. “Sara, I'm sorry.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, her voice rose over his whisper. “I’m ashamed to admit it took me longer than it should have to realize there was no better cure for my restlessness than the gorgeous man in my bed.”
Jacob knew what she was going to do before she did it, and his gaze stayed firmly planted on the floor where the towel landed at her feet. He couldn’t let her nakedness sway him.
Yet she kept going, talking while bringing her nakedness closer. “I know you were thorough with me in the shower earlier, but I thought it best to freshen up for what I had in mind.”
He shook his head to stop her from touching him. “I-I have to lea–”
“I did, after all, promise something involving my pussy—”
“No! Listen. You don't underst–”
“—your mouth, and a bottle of whiskey.”
Heaven help him because he was most assuredly going to Hell. One delicate finger traced his lips and he sucked it into his mouth despite his mind shouting no.
Logic finally returned and he released her finger to skirt around her, crossing to the clothes she'd piled neatly on a chair while he’d slept. The sight halted him when he should have rushed out of there. No one besides him and his housekeeper had folded his clothes since he’d moved from his mother’s place.
The simple gesture did what her nakedness hadn’t. He turned to her, unable to do anything else. “Goddammit, woman.” He didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her, or from wanting to believe what she’d said.
Her smile was her only response. That and her body sitting atop two pillows in the middle of the bed, her legs spread wide in front of her, the whiskey bottle at her mouth.
He hadn’t even heard her move. “Sara…”
“Stop talking, Jacob. I’m oh so very tired of talking. And if I’m honest here, I’d much rather have your mouth occupied in other ways at the moment.” After a quick sip, she tilted the bottle lower, allowing a tiny amount of liquid to dribble onto her chest.
Using sex to push memories at bay before they took hold wasn’t new to him, but nothing had proven capable of returning him back to normal functioning once he’d been in their grips. Nothing but time and countless techniques.
Until Sara.
Until now.
Excitement replaced the fear in his veins. The bottle trailed alcohol from her breasts to her abdomen as it continued a downward path, and his suddenly dry lips craved the drink she offered.
Still. Could he trust himself?
Hell, no, he couldn’t.
Yet he moved a step in her direction. How could he not when she grazed outer pink lips a few feet south of her mouth with the tip, then held the bottle out to him in invitation?
“Care for a sip?”
Like you wouldn’t fucking believe. Sara’s arousal glistened on the rim.
One hundred.
Ninety-nine.
He counted his steps trying to cool his blood, but her room was too small. In two, he stood at her feet.
Staying long enough for another round might be okay. Right? He didn’t need to leave right then.
Or ever.
Don’t be an idiot.
As if Jacob had a choice.
She leaned back until her hips were the only part of her that was raised, e
xposing herself intimately to him.
Hell. How could he turn away from that when all he wanted was to show her how much she deserved to be cherished?
Jacob started his caress at her ankles, barely touching the tips of his fingers up the inside of her calves and thighs before lifting her hips to add another pillow, and then another, until her pelvis rested a few feet higher than her head.
Tiny rivulets ran down her torso as she tilted the bottle onto her skin. “This has been a work fantasy of mine for the last four years.”
It’d be his for the next four. At least.
“You wanted me to drink whiskey from you at BCF?” Their fundraising efforts would’ve been a hell of a lot more interesting had he known that.
“I’ve wanted you to do everything. Don’t you know by now I’d let you do anything, anywhere?”
He should’ve. She’d proven it countless times over that night alone.
Yet her admission still choked him up. Jacob licked a drop from her belly button, unable to speak.
Sara didn’t have that problem. “You'll never know how much your likeness has gotten me to do in the name of the bank... cold calls.” She shuddered. “Ugh. Every time the demand from corporate came down, I had to picture your mouth delivering it to work up any enthusiasm.”
His laughter surprised him. Ten minutes ago, terror had fueled his body, yet now she consumed him. His gaze met hers, blue-green swirls that held his attention more than her curves. “I'll never enjoy drinking whiskey any other way again.” Hell, he didn’t know if he’d ever be the same period.
He lowered the bottle to her elevated pubic bone and tipped the container. The first taste of her and alcohol erupted on his tongue, but the smoky-sweet tartness wasn’t enough. “More.”
“Now you understand.”
Amusement rumbled out of him with so much force, he had to rest the bottle against her leg. He expected her anger for stopping, but a grin as wide as his own greeted him. He whispered his adoration in response, “Dulzura.”
Morrow's Horizon (The Morrow Women Series Book 1) Page 21