by RC Boldt
Instead, I’m pulling into his driveway to park behind him, turning off the ignition. Because that’s the smart choice. Yeah. Totally. Leaning my forehead against the steering wheel, my eyes fall shut as I mentally slap myself. If I’m going to do this, then this is it. I’m going to need to lay it all out there.
It’s now or never—even if there is a teeny, tiny part of me that wants to vote never.
The sharp sound of knuckles knocking against the glass of my driver’s side window makes me sit up straight with a jolt. Foster’s waiting for me on the other side, likely wondering what the hell I’m doing and why I’m not getting out of my car. Blowing out a long breath, I grab my purse from the passenger seat and slowly open the door with my keys in hand.
Foster offers his hand to help me out and as soon as I place my hand in his, his fingers tighten around mine, making me feel it. The same feeling I always get when he touches me. It’s crazy, but it’s a sense of relief, of calmness when you’ve been away for a while and finally come home. A sense of security of being back in your own place, your own space where you feel safest.
Home. That’s what Foster feels like.
Just once more, I bargain with myself as I allow him to lead me to his house. Just once more and then I’ll lay it all on the line. Because I know not only is it unfair to myself, but it’s also unfair to let him go on thinking what I feel hasn’t changed from when we first began. Because it isn’t. Not any longer. Not since my heart decided to become a key player in the deal.
Because I’m a coward, I decide to test the waters and show him—with my body, with my actions—what I feel for him. When we get to his bedroom, I reach up to bring his lips to mine, kissing him tenderly before my tongue slides inside to taste him. He tastes like the breath mint he’s likely popped into his mouth earlier along with a unique flavor I know to be his. The kiss turns feverish and I let my fingers slide over his head, over his short, close-cropped hair, reveling in the soft feel of it.
His hands hold my ass, pulling me closer, fingers sliding beneath my dress to caress where the back of my thigh meets my ass.
Foster draws away slightly, yet still close enough that his lips brush against mine when he speaks. “It drove me nuts to know you were bare beneath this dress. All night.” He takes my bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug. “All night, I wanted to put my hands on you, again. To see if you were still wet for me.”
Raising my eyes to his, my voice is throaty with emotion. “I’m always wet for you. Only you.”
His lips crash down on mine and we’re tearing at each other’s clothes frantically. He pulls down the side zipper of my dress, pushing it down my body before I kick it off to the side to join his discarded shirt. After kicking off his jeans and underwear, I drop to my knees before he can stop me and take his hard length into my mouth.
“Noelle.” My name is drawn out, his voice hoarse as his fingers comb through the strands of my hair to fist it in his grip. Looking up at him, I slide my mouth up and down his length, making sure my tongue flicks against his piercing, knowing he loves when I do that. When his fingers tighten their grip in my hair, I watch as his eyes become hazy with lust, knowing I’m pushing him closer to the edge. The moment I create a firmer suction around his cock, his eyes fall closed, head thrown back, and I watch his chest rise and fall with labored breaths.
Reaching my hands out to hold onto his thighs, I work his cock with my mouth and tongue. And just when I think I’m going to make him lose control, he pulls away.
“On the bed.”
Scrambling onto the bed, I lie back, waiting for him to join me. My arousal heightens at the sight of him, his heavy lidded gaze watching me. One hand strokes his hard length as he slowly stalks to grab a condom from the nightstand drawer. His cock is impossibly hard, and I feel myself get wetter thinking about it inside of me.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks huskily while sliding on the condom.
“Everything.”
His eyes dart up to mine. “Starting with?” Joining me on the bed, his forearms brace his weight above me. Dipping his head, he drags his lips across my cheek. “Here?” They trail farther down the column of my neck. “Here?” His lips graze over the top of my breast and I draw in a breath as he nears my nipple.
“Ah.” His eyes meet mine with a gleam. “Here’s where you want me?” The tip of his tongue lightly touches my already hardening nipple, causing me to inhale a sharp breath, instinctively arching into his touch.
“Foster … please.” My voice is needy, but I don’t care. All I know is that I need more.
“Please, what? Please, more of this?” His tongue flicks against my nipple before dragging his teeth against it gently. My hands fly up to grasp his sides just as he drags the tip of his cock against my clit before pressing it against the spot where I’m aching the most. Shamelessly, I rock against him.
“Jesus,” he grits out. “You’re so wet, so slick for me.” Shifting slightly, he presses into me, barely an inch, making me gasp aloud. Arching my back, attempting to urge him on, he lets out a hoarse groan. “Stop moving,” he commands. “I’m trying to take it slow and make it good for you.”
“Foster,” I warn huskily. “You’d better not go slow.”
One corner of his lips tips up. “Or what?”
“Or … this.” I surprise him by using my weight to push him onto his back, sliding my leg over him to straddle him. Grasping his cock with my hand, I guide him inside of me, both of us groaning at the feel of our bodies joining. Once I slide down and have him seated fully inside me, I rock a little, watching him with a heavy-lidded gaze.
“You’re so unbelievably gorgeous.” The way he says this, his tone the slightest bit breathless with what sounds like a hint of wonder, pierces my heart. One of his hands reaches out to cup the side of my face, his thumb tenderly caressing my cheek as he gazes into my eyes. As I start moving, finding a rhythm that eventually becomes so intense it causes our breathing to become labored, my eyes remain locked with his. When my pace becomes frenzied, I lean forward, fusing my mouth to his, while he grips my hips and his own piston rapidly. Suddenly, our release crashes over us at almost the same moment.
When I raise my head, propping myself up on my elbows to look down at him before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, I swear he’s feeling this same powerful feeling between us, too.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Foster
Holy shit, that was intense. It felt like I was about to black out when I came inside of her. I’ve never experienced an orgasm as powerful as the one I just had. Which is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
Noelle’s body is sprawled on top of mine, my heart still thundering beneath her palm she has against my chest. Sounds of Harley’s soft snoring drifts in from the living room where he’s likely curled up on one of the area rugs.
Turning my face and pressing my lips against the top of her forehead, I whisper, “Stay the night?”
I don’t want her to leave me. Hell, I haven’t even pulled out of her yet, haven’t disposed of the condom because I don’t want this moment to end. I’ve been lying here, my fingertips lightly stroking the curve of her back, relishing in the smoothness of her skin. As soon as I pose the question, however, the muscles in her back tense, causing my hand to still.
“What is it?”
She waits so long to answer I’m on the verge of thinking she doesn’t plan to. Finally, her head lifts off my chest, her blue eyes finding mine and there’s an emotion—an added depth—I’ve not noticed before. Something about it sends shards of unease through my body.
“You want me to stay?” Her gaze is watchful, voice soft, almost faint. When I nod, she continues, “For sex?”
Frowning at her, I stare for a moment. “Not just that.” I smooth back some of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “You know I sleep better when you’re with me.”
A ghost of a smile plays at her lips. “So I’m your own personal version of a
sleep aid, Kavanaugh?”
My hand goes to the back of her head, pulling her lips to meet mine in a kiss. And I feel myself hardening inside of her all over again. When our lips part, my voice is husky as I admit, “You’re the only woman I’ve ever spent the night with; the only woman I’ve slept beside the entire night.” I hold her gaze with mine, trying to convey the truthfulness of my admissions. “I’ve never been able to—or wanted to—do this with anyone ever before.”
She lets out a tiny sigh and drops her forehead down to my chest with a soft grunt, hiding her face from me. “Seriously, Kavanaugh. How am I supposed to resist you when you say things like that?”
“You’re not.”
“Exactly. That’s a problem, damn it,” she mutters against my chest.
Furrowing my brows, I stare at her head. “How is it a prob—”
Her head pops up. “Why can’t you—or don’t you—sleep through the night, normally?”
And there it is. The exact conversation I don’t want to have with her right now. Or with anyone, for that matter. Attempting to change the subject, my hands glide down to her ass, pulling her into me, reminding her my cock is still inside of her and clearly getting ready for another round.
The moment her palms press against my chest to push her body off of mine is when I know she’s determined to see this conversation through. When she rolls off of me, I slide off the bed, padding over to the adjoining master bathroom to dispose of the condom. Washing my hands in the sink, I’m silently praying that when I return to the bed, she’ll be over this Let’s have a heart-to-heart shit.
Entering the bedroom, she’s sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, eyes downcast. Nearing the bed, her gaze lifts to mine. Exhaling a heavy breath, I drag a hand down over my face. Just leave it alone, I silently beg. Don’t ask me—
“Will you talk to me?”
Staring at her, I know my eyes flash with irritation, a strong hint of sarcasm in my voice. “What is it exactly you want to talk about?”
“Why can’t—why don’t you—normally sleep through the night?”
Even though her tone is gentle, subdued, it still sends a jolt through me, as if she’s just struck me. Pivoting to my dresser, I roughly pull out a drawer to retrieve a pair of boxer briefs, tugging them on while my back is to her.
“You want to know what keeps me up at night, Davis?” I grit out the words, growing angrier as I speak. “You want to hear what replays in my mind over and over again? Like a bad fucking horror movie? Every single fucking night? You want me to open up to you? Are you sure you can handle it? Because, fuck if I can even manage to handle it most days!”
Whipping around to face her, I stare at her accusingly. “You want to hear about how I’ve killed women and children—kids who were far too young to die? Kids who were brainwashed to believe we were the enemy and they’d use any means possible to destroy us or try and protect some of the most evil men I’ve ever come to know. And I had no choice but to kill them.”
When she remains quiet, her eyes continuing to watch me with an intensity that feels overwhelming, I press on. “You want to know how I killed—murdered—not one, but two small children?” My voice grows louder as I continue. “That, after we took out the father who shot one of our guys, I shot the first kid in the head when he aimed an RPG at Hendy? That he couldn’t have been more than ten fucking years old? That his brother was right beside him when it happened and decided to pick that damn RPG right back up and aim it at us? Is that what you want to hear?” My voice is bellowing now. “You want to hear how I shot both boys, how my bullet went straight through their heads, how I saw the life vanish from their eyes? How I heard the mother’s screams of anguish? Is that what you want to hear?”
Her eyes flash with something undecipherable, her throat working. “Foster, I—”
“What? You what?” I snarl. “You’re sorry? You don’t want to hear this? Well, you’re the one who just had to know.”
While I continue to level a hard stare at her, she takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly, her voice quiet. “What do you think it means, that you don’t have the same nightmare whenever I’m with you?” She pins me with an impenetrable look, moving off the bed, grabbing my discarded shirt from the floor and pulling it on.
“What does it mean that you can sleep beside me, through the entire night, and not be woken by the replay of those events?” Her head tips to the side. “Did you honestly think I would judge you, Foster? Do you really think so little of me? Think I’m stupid?”
My head jerks back. “Of course not.”
“Then why would you think all this would make me look at you differently?” There’s a crease between her eyebrows displaying her confusion. Rolling her lips inward, she adds, “Did you think this would make me see you differ—”
Waving my hand, I cut her off because the expression on her face is making me uneasy. “Look, I shouldn’t have unloaded on you and I’m sorry for that. But it just confirms I shouldn’t have started anything with you. It was selfish of me because you’re the one thing—the only thing—that’s brought me peace. Just by being with you and sleeping with you in my arms.”
Resting my eyes on her, I fight against the hint of sadness trying to break free. “If I could give you even half of what you deserve, I would. But I’m not that man. I want you to know,” I clear my throat at the sight of the desolate look in her eyes, “you deserve more—more than me. But I can’t offer you the love or the life you deserve.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Noelle
Cautiously stepping closer to Foster, it feels like how I would imagine I would approach a skittish animal in the wild. “Foster,” I pause, trying to choose my words carefully, “I accept you. Just as you are—imperfections and all. And none of it—not anything you’ve ever done, whether for your country or otherwise—changes that. You’re a good man, Foster Kavanaugh.”
His laugh is humorless and full of disbelief and disgust. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not. Hell,” he pauses, roughly running a hand over his face, “I’m not the man for you. Especially not for you. You deserve a good guy who can give you marriage, the white picket fence, the two point five kids. And we all know I’m not the guy who can give any of that to you.”
Emotion clogs my throat. “If you don’t believe you’re good enough, then I doubt I can manage to convince you. If you don’t love me—if your heart doesn’t have the capability to love me—then I refuse to let it keep me from the one who will.” I take a small step back. “I once read somewhere that if you love someone, you should say it. That you shouldn’t keep it in your heart. Well, I’m say—”
“Don’t.” Foster’s tone is lethally quiet. “Don’t say it.”
I visibly flinch at the fact that he doesn’t want to hear it—doesn’t want me to tell him how I feel—my chest tightening painfully. “That’s what love is all about. It’s all a game of risk. Risking not being loved in return, right?” My throat grows tight with emotion. “But,” with a half shrug, I continue, “what’s life if you don’t risk anything? If you don’t hope and risk the failure of someone loving you back?
“I mean, God knows I have enough regrets about who I’ve spent—or wasted—my time on. But I can say I’ve followed through—I’ve followed my heart.” My lips press thin in an attempt to maintain composure. “I won’t ever regret following my heart this time because … it led me to you.” I lift one shoulder in a weak shrug. “Even though you don’t love me back, I can’t ever regret this. Because I know what love really feels like. Even though it’s not returned, this love—the real thing—doesn’t make me feel inadequate or beaten down. Not once has it made me feel that way. And maybe one day I’ll find this feeling again—with someone who actually feels the same.”
I glance down at my feet, attempting to will away the tears threatening to fall before raising my eyes back up to his. “You’re wrong about one thi
ng, though. You’re capable of loving. You may think you’re not or you might think you’re not worthy of love but you’re so very wrong. Your mother, your sister, your friends all love you more than anything in this world—would do anything for you. And many of them don’t love easily, but they love you.
“And I see how you look at your sister, your mother … at Raine. You’d do anything for them. You might not recognize it, but you know how to love. And you’re worth loving. I guess I’m just … not the right person who can make you realize you’re worth it. But I hope you find that person. I really do.”
Voice falling softer, my eyes burn with unshed tears. “I want you to know you’re missing out. Choosing to stay in your past, choosing to believe you don’t have the ability to love, that you’re undeserving of love, you’re missing out on me. Someone who loves you, someone who would love you … forever.” The last word comes out sounding a bit strangled.
Rising on my tiptoes, I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re a good man, Foster Kavanaugh.” Stepping away, I scoop up my dress and rush to grab the rest of my things. I don’t even care I don’t have on underwear—that I’m barely dressed as it is—because I desperately need to escape this house. I leave him standing alone in the bedroom without a second glance, giving a quick kiss to the soft fur of Harley’s head before closing the door softly behind me.
Not once does Foster call out to me. Not once do I hear movement or frantic footsteps trailing after me. It acts as confirmation to the fact that he doesn’t love me. Because I’m clearly not worth chasing after.
As painful as it is to be faced with this, I know it’s far past time I stop being the person unworthy of a man’s efforts and genuine affection. I know I’m worth it even if Foster doesn’t.
If only my heart could hurry up and get on board with this, too.
* * *
Being the office manager has its benefits. Especially when it comes to scheduling.