Braving His Past: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Oh, fuck. How could I have been so insensitive? The urge to fold him into my embrace and tell him it’s all going to be okay is tamped down by the shame in his eyes. “That’s why you don’t—can’t—bottom.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’ve been feeling sorry for myself all day. Hell, for a year now. Has it made me so blind, I can’t see anyone else’s pain?

  He clears his throat and after a moment, meets my gaze. “What I said the other day? About being broken? We’re all broken, Q. From the day we’re born. When the right person comes along? You know because they accept all your broken pieces. All the jagged edges, the scars, and the pain. They see you for who you are, and they love you anyway.”

  A single tear carves a hot trail down my cheek, and Graham reaches up and wipes it away, his hand not entirely steady. I lean into the touch and curl my fingers around his, then press a kiss to his palm. “I want to tell you. I do. I just…”

  “Shh.” He closes the short distance between us, holding our joined hands to his heart. “I didn’t come here to demand an explanation. Or to ‘fix’ you. I came because you don’t have to face this—or anything—alone. Not unless you want to.”

  We don’t move until Clementine meows and stretches up on her hind legs to sniff at the bag clutched in Graham’s fist.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he says with a tight chuckle. “This would definitely not be good for you.”

  “It’s not good for us either.” Inhaling deeply, I catch the scent of fried cookies and my stomach growls. “But I don’t think that should stop us. Will you stay? At least long enough to eat with me?”

  Some of his strain eases, and in his eyes, all I see now is understanding. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

  Graham

  Until just now, I didn’t realize how scared I’d been to tell Q about the attack.

  Other than my parents and one former boyfriend—who broke things off with me immediately—I haven’t told anyone. Though Ry’s background checks are so thorough, it’s likely he dug up the police report. If he does know, he hasn’t let on, and while I think Ripper might have some idea, he’ll never press me about it. Not after what he’s been through.

  Quinton and I shared that pint of ice cream and the deep-fried Oreos, but he was in a lot of pain, so I left him to try to sleep in his massage chair. Back in my own bed, I only got three hours before my memories woke me, and unable to calm myself down, I returned to my laptop to read more about antisocial personality disorder.

  At least he texted me a few hours ago. Another picture of him on his porch. Or…his feet anyway. Today, he made it halfway down the ramp, farther than he’s ever gone before.

  Balancing the grocery bag on my hip, I ring the bell and try not to worry that my admission will change things between us. That he’ll see me differently, treat me like I’m damaged goods, or worse…won’t want to touch me at all. We didn’t cuddle last night. Just held hands. Kissed goodnight.

  He’s smiling when he answers. Scratch that, he’s practically beaming as he steps back to let me in. “What’s got you in such a great mood?” I ask. I ache to kiss him, but a part of me deep down needs him to make the first move.

  Jazz spills from his computer speakers, and I catch the scent of chocolate wafting from the kitchen.

  “Look.” He shows me his phone, open to the mobile app store, and the Zen Oasis icon has a shiny, golden #1 banner in the corner. Along with three hundred five-star reviews. Before I can say a word, he wraps his arms around me, angles his head, and presses his lips to mine.

  He’s not timid. Not afraid. His hard length juts against me, and the tight ball of nerves I’ve carried around since last night starts to ease.

  “You’re amazing,” I whisper in his ear when he finally breaks off the kiss. “If I didn’t need to start cooking, I’d take you upstairs right now.”

  “I can wait to eat.” The raw need in his voice is enough to make my cock ache, and I release him.

  “Go upstairs then. I’ll put the steaks in the fridge and be right there.”

  Candles flicker along the top of Q’s dresser, and he stands by the bed, still blushing, his arousal tenting his black pants.

  Please let this still…work.

  I know he wants me. Or, at least wants me to want him. But if he hesitates touching me, I’m terrified it’ll fracture our connection beyond repair.

  “What’s your pain level today?” I ask, sliding my arms around him and running my hands up and down his back.

  “I’m not fragile, darlin’,” he murmurs, then tangles his fingers in my hair and twists just enough to make me groan. Slanting his lips to mine, he tastes me, at first hesitant, then with bold strokes of his tongue and a deep moan.

  This confidence? It’s like he found another small piece of himself that he’d lost to his ex’s abuse. And it’s sexy as hell.

  Grabbing his soft, peach Henley, I pull it over his head, and the sight of his lithe, toned muscles makes my heart beat faster. A lock of hair falls across his forehead, and I brush it away. “You are so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper, trailing kisses along his collar bone, to the hollow of his throat below his Adam’s apple, and all the way up to his shoulder.

  “Graham…” His hands move almost desperately, loosening my belt, then fumbling with the buttons on the only dress shirt I own. I wanted tonight to be special, and from the way his breath escapes in short pants and the look in his eyes, he felt the same. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

  “Don’t ever say that again.” I don’t know how I keep my tone gentle, but the words are harsh enough. In this moment, nothing in the world is more important than reassuring him. Not even freeing my very hard, very insistent erection. I’m in awe of him, and by God, he’s going to know it all the way to his soul by the time I’m done loving him tonight. “You deserve every good thing you’ve ever wanted and more.”

  “I…”

  Silencing him with my lips, I toe off my shoes and shed my pants while he finishes with my shirt. I want us both naked, want to kiss, lick, and touch every inch of him, and let him know how far and how fast I’ve fallen.

  “Make yourself comfortable, baby. We might be here a while.”

  Watching Q come? It’s a sight I’ll never get enough of. This time, I played with his ass as I sucked him off, and the way he writhed as he shot his load down my throat was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I’m hard as a rock, but he’s still shuddering, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure.

  “Come here,” I say as I wrap my arms around him and draw the covers over us. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you let go.”

  “I wish I could…” Q’s words fade away, and he buries his face against my neck.

  “What?” After a beat, when he doesn’t move, I press a kiss to the top of his head. “Q? You never have to be ashamed with me. I hope you know that.”

  His eyes are clear when he finally raises his head, but his shoulders tense. “I wish I could do that to you. I wish my back didn’t stop me from—”

  “You want to give me a blow job?”

  He jerks, then nods. “I used to love it. Before. But I can’t really kneel and move like that anymore.”

  Sitting up, I study him for a long moment. “You don’t have to. Do you have a couple of extra pillows?”

  Five minutes later, with Quinton slouched against the headboard, I kneel in front of him, one hand braced against the wall, the other cupping the back of his head. A drop of precum leaks from my crown, and Q tries to sit up to get closer to me, but I tighten my fingers in his hair. “The only work you have to do, baby, is with that tongue of yours. Got it?”

  He nods, licks his lips, and wraps one hand around the base of my shaft as I push slowly into the heat of his mouth. His lips wrap around me, and he moans deep in his throat.

  “I’ll go slow. If you need to stop, hold up your hand.” The only risk with me in control is that Q can’t pull back if he gags or needs air. Bu
t the look on his face? It’s pure bliss as he stares up at me.

  All the quad and glute exercises West tortures us with? I’ll never complain again. Otherwise, I’m not sure I could do this.

  “Oh, God. Right there,” I groan. He can do things with his tongue no one’s ever tried with me before, and fuck.

  His cheeks hollow time and time again, and he trails his fingers over my abs. “Grab my ass, Q.”

  The words escape before I realize what I’m saying, and his brows arch in a silent question while his tongue swirls and slides over my shaft.

  “I trust you, baby.”

  Reaching for me, he curls his hands around my hips. He’s careful. Gentle, even. And I think maybe…one day, I could let him do more.

  My balls tighten, and I can’t look away from this man I think I’m falling for. “Quinton…fuck. I’m so close…”

  He makes a low rumbling sound, almost a purr, and it’s enough to send me falling off the cliff into an ocean of pleasure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quinton

  My dining room table is the size of a postage stamp, which just makes dinner all the more intimate. I’m still riding the high of what we just shared, of the trust he put in me.

  We sit side by side, digging into steak, crispy potatoes, and salad, with a bottle of wine between us, sharing bits and pieces of our days.

  It sounds like nothing special. But these little stories, the boring, run of the mill stuff? This is everything I’ve never had. Alec didn’t listen to me. Never asked questions. Graham does.

  And when he talks? He doesn’t craft every sentence to make me feel less than.

  “Ry—he’s in charge of Hidden Agenda—is freaking out over leaving his wife for two days. The same guy who told me at my first interview: ‘No relationships. You do this work, you stay single.’ Then he went and fell in love.”

  “Why is he upset? You said you went all over the world for jobs.” I cut another piece of steak, perfectly medium rare, and it hits me—hard—that Graham risks his life every time he goes on a mission. My stomach flips at the thought, and I set my knife down. “This isn’t any more dangerous than usual, is it?”

  All his attention is focused on his plate, but he snaps his head up at the concern in my tone. “No. It’s just a training mission. But Wren’s pregnant. When he told us…” He shakes his head, and I can feel the affection he has for these people he calls family. “Ryker’s…well, picture the Rock, but a good six inches taller, a hell of a lot meaner, and covered in tattoos and scars. The baddest badass to ever walk the earth. But when he pulled out that sonogram picture, it was like the whole world fell out from under him and he couldn’t figure out which way was up.”

  “Is he going to retire?”

  With a snort, Graham picks up his wine glass. “Fuck no.” After a healthy sip, he sobers. “Ryker spent fifteen months being tortured in a Taliban prison deep underground. They broke fifty-three bones, burned him, blinded Dax, and handed Ripper over to the sickest bastard since Bin Laden. The army thought all three of them were dead. They’d stopped looking completely until Rip got a signal out right before the fuckers sent him to that fucker, Faruk.”

  He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to mine. “Ryker will do this job until he can’t anymore. So will the rest of us. Because we really are the best at what we do, and we don’t give up. On anyone.”

  For a full minute, maybe two, the only sounds around us are the clink of silverware and Clementine’s occasional playful meow as she bats one of her toys around in the living room.

  I’m not an idiot. I know Graham wasn’t only talking about the people his team rescues. He was also talking about me.

  After a healthy sip of wine, I clear my throat. “Alec sent me a message the other day.”

  My voice sounds thin, even to my own ears, and before I can regroup, Graham’s fork clatters against the plate, and his whole body stiffens. This is him in full protector mode, and it’s both reassuring and a little scary at the same time. “What?”

  “He’s messing with me.” I can’t look at Graham, so I focus on a grain of salt on the side of my plate. Now that I’ve admitted a part of my truth, I don’t want any more secrets between us. “When we were together, he refused to buy beer or ice cream. If he found them in my fridge, he’d toss them. He made me switch to cider and popsicles. ‘Healthier,’ he said.”

  Next to me, Graham clutches the edge of the table, his knuckles white, and when I risk a glance at his face, I find a mix of pain and outrage in his eyes. “He doesn’t get a say in what—”

  I cover his hand with mine. “There’s more. Please? Let me get it all out before I lose my nerve.”

  Linking our fingers, he nods, but I can tell he’s barely holding it together. “Yesterday…I was such an ass to you because he called the grocery store and had them add a six pack of his favorite cider and a box of popsicles to my order.”

  That’s enough to send Graham over the edge, and he pushes to his feet. “I thought he was back in Texas. Q, if he’s in town—”

  “He’s not.” I rest my hand on the back of his now-vacant chair and wait for him to sit back down. He does, but with the way his jaw ticks, I’m worried he’s going to crack a tooth. “After he emailed me, I told my brother. I don’t know what Connor does for a living, but I think it’s something with the government, because he said he had two of ‘his guys’ watching Alec, and confirmed he’s still in Dallas. Connor will call me if that changes.”

  Graham doesn’t look convinced. “I thought you weren’t close with your brother.”

  “I’m not. We don’t…talk. But he saved my life. If he says Alec is still in Dallas, he’s still in Dallas.”

  With a heavy sigh, Graham takes my hands, his gaze fixed on our linked fingers. For the first time tonight, I can’t read him, and a hint of anxiety rears up inside me. “Q, I did some research on antisocial personality disorder. That’s what Alec has, right?”

  He glances up at me quickly, then looks away. I nod, amazed he thought to look it up. “That, and he’s a classic narcissist and a sociopath. The combination…” Memories hit me before I can stop them, and tears spring to my eyes. “I think…if Connor hadn’t gotten me out of there, he would have killed me eventually.”

  “How?” He scoots his chair close enough our knees touch. The contact renders me speechless, and he sighs. “You’re important to me, Quinton. I know it hasn’t been that long, and I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you kicked me out for saying this, but…” He leans forward, and the scent of bay rum comforts me. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

  “Graham…”

  “Dammit. I know it’s too soon, but I’m leaving tomorrow night for at least thirty-six hours. How can I do that knowing Alec is still fixated on you?”

  Surging forward, I cup the back of his neck and pull him in for a desperate, searing kiss. He opens for me, and I can taste it all on his lips. The future I thought I’d never have. With him. Breathless, I break the connection, resting my forehead against his. “It’s not too soon. It should be. You’re right. But it’s not. You make me feel like me again.”

  “You’re trying to distract me,” he whispers. “It’s not going to work.”

  “No?” My hand slides up his thigh, but he stops me, brings our joined hands to his heart, and holds them there.

  “I know there’s more, Q. And I know I’m not going to like it. Will you tell me?” His breath whispers over my cheek, and fuck. I want to. But once I do, nothing will ever be the same again, and for just a few more minutes, I want the illusion. The normalcy. Just two people, sharing one of the best meals I’ve had in ages, building something I hope won’t crumble into dust in the light of day.

  “You put a lot of effort into dinner, darlin’. And I haven’t had steak this good in a long time. The rest of it…I think we’re going to need cake. A hell of a lot of cake.”

  I see the battle raging in his eyes. The need to know. The need to fix whatever�
��s wrong. Or at least fight it. Beat it to a bloody pulp. But a moment later, his gaze softens.

  “No more talk about that asshole until cake? That, I can do.” Tipping his head, he kisses me. It’s just a quick peck, but with the promise of so much more. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, baby. Even if it kills me.”

  After the dishes are done and I cut us a ridiculously large slice of chocolate cake, we move to the couch. “I half expected you to toss the cake into the trash,” Graham says with a small smile. “Hell, I thought about doing it myself. But that won’t make the past go away. Tell me the rest of it?”

  My stomach twists into a knot, and I pat the cushion until Clementine jumps into my lap. “After three months together, Alec took things too far. I was starting to see through his lies. I found a new therapist, and she helped me understand what he was doing to me.” The kitten kneads my thigh, and I play with a tuft of her soft fur. “I left him. For almost a month. I called it a break, told him I needed some space to figure shit out. Either he gave it to me, or I was done. So he did.”

  “But you went back.” Anger simmers in his eyes, and I stare at the cake I spent hours on.

  “I didn’t buy this, you know. And it’s not from a box.” Digging a spoon into the cake, I offer it to him, and he relaxes slightly as he savors the bite.

  “Holy fuck, Q. You made this from scratch?”

  There’s a spot of frosting at the corner of his lips, and I reach over to snag it with my finger. The only way for me to get through the rest of this story? Breaking it up with sex. Or at least the promise of sex.

  “My mom taught me. This is her Christmas Eve dessert.” I focus on Clementine’s tiny paws that never seem to stop moving. “I haven’t had it in almost three years.”

  “Keep talking, baby. I’m on to your game now. Distract me with cake so I don’t freak the fuck out about what that asshole did to you.” Graham scoops up another bite and fixes his gaze on me. Completely. I can’t hide anymore. And I don’t want to.