“No, honey, I don’t. I’ve never experienced survivor’s guilt and I pray to God I never do, because that would mean those men downstairs would be dead. But I do understand misplaced guilt. I do understand the aftermath of captivity. I do understand the effects of torture and how it twists and poisons your insides. Been there, done that, more than once. I know what you’re going through.”
“And yet you’re still standing there passing judgement.”
“Judgement?”
All right, that was a stretch. I knew it was but couldn’t stop the anger. My vision blurred with it. Everything was jumbled in my head. It wasn’t even so much the guilt as it was the anger. I was so mad it had consumed me to the point I was irrational. I knew it but I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to stop it. I wanted to bask in it. Bathe in it until it seeped deeper so I wouldn’t ever forget.
“Judge-ment?” Drake repeated, breaking the word into two enunciated, enraged syllables.
I couldn’t think of a retort so I remained quiet. My silence meant Drake got even more annoyed and he took the opportunity to further tell me how annoyed he was.
“Get over yourself,” he growled and my breath froze in my lungs. “Woman, you wanna be pissed that Roman took you, beat the shit out of you, mentally tortured you, hurt you, scared you, treated you like a goddamn animal—do it. Be fucking angry. You have every right to be. You wanna hate the son of a bitch who killed your team, I’ll stand next you and curse his very existence. You wanna put two between his eyes, I’ll help you load your magazine and try my best to provide you the opportunity. But don’t you ever tell me I’m passing judgement on you. Not a man in this house has done a goddamn thing but support you. I’ll repeat a-fucking-gain, deal with it.”
“I can’t!” I screeched.
“You can.”
Drake closed the distance, his arms went low around my waist, and what did I do? I lost my ever-loving mind. Or what was left of it cracked open and out poured crazy. So much crazy, I balled my fists, clenched my teeth, and started pounding on his chest like, yes, a crazy person.
“Harder, baby,” he encouraged. I did what he told me to do and hit him harder. “More,” he grunted. And I did that, too.
I slammed my fists as hard as I could against the solid wall of muscle until my arms shook with exertion. I could feel the wetness leaking from my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.
“Now tell me, what happened downstairs?”
“We were laughing,” I croaked. “Laughing and joking and smiling. My team was laid to rest today and there I was, smiling.”
Suddenly my arms were trapped tight between us and Drake shoved my face to his throat and held me so tight I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
My irrational Jekyll and Hyde mood swing concluded and I was close to coming back to myself when Drake whispered, “Baby.”
The tears that had already started came faster and Drake held tighter and for the first time since I’d been taken, a sob escaped and I came apart. Everything I’d been holding inside just came spilling out. I couldn’t lock it away anymore.
A long time passed, Drake just holding me, letting me take what I needed from him. Then he let me go and stepped back, not far, but enough for him to kneel in front of me. He unlaced my boots, pulled them off, stood, and divested me of my pants.
He wasn’t undressing me like a lover, his movements weren’t hurried or sensual. They were slow and careful like I was made of glass. Like I was precious. Then he helped me into bed and quickly pulled his clothes off, leaving on just his boxer briefs.
Drake turned off the light, climbed in next to me, and rolled us so his chest was pressed to my back. His strong arm pinning me to the mattress was familiar and comforting. His embrace was so comforting I’d become addicted to it.
That was a problem.
“Wanna tell me about them?” he asked.
I didn’t need to think about my answer, it was a no. I didn’t want to talk about my team in the dark the night before we were starting our op. I didn’t want to think about anything.
“No.”
“You should—”
“Please, Drake. Please give me this. I can’t do it. I need to clear my mind.”
With a heavy, disapproving sigh, he let the subject drop.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the darkness, wishing I could say more to express my gratitude.
I snuggled back, forgetting that for the first time there weren’t multiple layers of fabric between us. Just my panties and his boxers. Gone was the heavy material of our uniform pants, leaving only thin cotton. And sweet holy hell, I could feel the outline of his thick dick against my ass.
Not good.
Feeling him, my mind started to wander.
It was going places it shouldn’t go, but the more I tried to stop it, the less I was able to. That’s because I was telling myself to stop thinking about his dick. And every time I thought the word ‘dick’ I wondered what it would feel like to have it in my hand. And when I scolded myself for thinking that, I wondered what it would feel like between my legs. On that thought, I squirmed uncomfortably because my panties were now soaked.
Drake’s body went still behind me, his arm clamped down, and his growly, rough voice skidded across my neck. “Stop movin’.”
That made me shiver, which I reckoned would be considered moving but I didn’t ask. I couldn’t even if I wanted to because I was sucking in oxygen, trying to stop myself from panting. I could still feel the outline of his dick, but the contour had grown—longer, thicker, harder.
“Serious as fuck, honey, you have to stop squirming. Warned you once about testing my control.”
“And what if I want you to lose it?”
I was playing with fire with no comprehension of what I was asking for. I wasn’t a virgin but I wasn’t experienced enough to know what it meant when a man like Drake lost control. I had a few men in college but none since I’d joined the Army. There’d been no time between basic, AIT, Ranger school, and SF training. I’d been surrounded by men, a lot of them good-looking, but none who were available to me, and if they were, I still hadn’t been interested. I hadn’t been looking for a man or sex. I’d been laser-focused on being the best I could be. But right then lying in that bed, I was interested in Drake and what it meant for me if his control snapped.
“Trust me, you don’t.”
Just to test this theory, I wiggled back and turned my head so we were face-to-face. It was then I realized I should’ve played it smart. I shouldn’t have tested anything and I certainly shouldn’t have poked the beast because, holy fuck, the beast had awoken and he looked beyond hungry.
The warm brown eyes I’d found solace in glittered with something wild. Drake looked like he was moments away from proving to me not only did I lack the experience needed to take a man like him, but I lacked the skill to give him what he wanted.
“Um…”
“It sinkin’ in yet?”
He asked a question but didn’t wait for an answer. His palm went to my belly and pressed down, and at the same time the tips of his fingers skimmed the skin above my panties, he flexed his hips.
“Yes.”
I thought at my admission he would’ve stopped but he didn’t. I was trapped—his dick was nestled tight against my ass, his hand was dipping lower, but still very far away from where the ache throbbed.
Neither of us said a word as we stared at each other in the minimal light the floor-to-ceiling windows provided. I wanted to turn on a light to see him better. His hand had stopped going down but hadn’t stopped moving—his fingers were gently gliding back and forth and they were driving me insane. I needed him to do something. Stop or move lower.
I communicated this by rubbing my bottom on his erection.
“That an invitation?” Unable to speak, I nodded. “I need words, baby.”
“Yes.” My answer came out in a whoosh.
“Need to know what exactly you’re inviting me to
do.”
“Touch me.” Again my words were barely more than an exhale.
“With what?”
“Huh?”
In our current position, I didn’t think my answer required an explanation. I certainly wasn’t asking him to touch me with some inanimate object he could uncover in the bedroom.
“Lots of ways I can touch you.” When I still didn’t respond, he continued. “I could use my mouth between your legs. I could get you off with my fingers. Or I could give you my cock. What I’m asking is, which way do you want it?”
This time I answered, though I was so turned on by the buffet of pleasure he’d laid out I was shocked I could speak.
“Hand.”
Drake didn’t have to be told twice. His hand dove lower, skimmed over my clit, causing my pussy to flutter. And before the flutter had subsided, a long, thick finger plunged inside. My back arched, my bottom hitched back, knocking into his hard-on, and a low moan slipped out.
“Christ,” he grunted.
The man wasted no time. He didn’t play around, fumble, flounder, or struggle. Drake had found my sweet spot and with extraordinary proficiency, exploited it. He had the perfect rhythm and before I knew it, I was on the edge. Then I lost his finger.
“Not so fast.”
“Wh-what? Why’d you stop?”
“Trust me.”
Trust him? Was he crazy? I was on the verge of an orgasm when he left me hanging. That didn’t instill trust, it inspired sexual frustration.
Drake’s hand was back, two fingers this time, and with a twist his thumb was circling my clit.
My hips jerked. His fingers speared in, setting a different pace than he had before. This time he was building something and he did it with deliberate, measured thrusts. Dragging the pads of his fingers over my g-spot, perfect pressure on my clit, and that something he was creating was going to be spectacular.
I knew because I was again close. Drake’s eyes hadn’t left mine and that was hot. Almost as hot as his dick moving against my ass as he grinded himself into my backside.
“I want you inside of me.”
“I am.”
“No. I want your dick inside of me.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You said you wanted my fingers, baby. So my fingers are what you get.”
Was a girl not allowed to change her mind? And if I’d asked for his dick from the beginning would I not have gotten anything but?
“I want more.”
“Trust me,” he repeated. “I’ll get you there.”
“I want more.”
“Right now you do because I’ve got you close to coming on my fingers. But a minute ago when you were thinking straight, you weren’t ready for my dick.” Drake put more pressure on my clit and my vision started to blur. “Turn your head more and get ready to give me your mouth.”
I kind of understood what he said but mostly I wasn’t paying attention because the biggest orgasm I’d ever experienced was barreling down on me. My legs trembled, one hand fisted the sheet, the other found his hip, and my nails dug in there.
Then it hit me and my mouth opened to verbally express my pleasure when Drake’s lips hit mine and he swallowed my scream. I wasn’t entirely sure if I kissed him back or if I lamely laid there. What I did know was it felt fucking great.
All of it.
His fingers between my legs. His dick grinding. His tongue in my mouth. But most of all my pussy spasming around his fingers in the best orgasm I’d ever had. As in—ever.
“Jesus.” Drake tore his mouth from mine. His hand came out of my panties. Then I felt it moving behind me. “Fuck.”
My mind caught up and I realized what he was doing. That was hot, too, so hot I pushed my ass back in another invitation.
“Babe,” he groaned.
“Finish, Drake.”
“That’s a given.”
I wasn’t sure how to ask for what I wanted, again my lack of experience meant I wasn’t sure about how to say the words. So I decided to both show him and say it. I wiggled my panties down as far as I could get them, pulled the t-shirt Drake had left on me when he put me into bed up enough that my butt and lower back was on display.
“I want to feel you on my skin.”
His hand slowed. “Need more than that, baby.”
His voice was tight and strained and God if that wasn’t off-the-charts sexy.
“I want you to finish on me. You got to feel me. I want to feel you.”
Drake didn’t move, he didn’t speak, and for a moment I regretted my request. I probably sounded like some sick sex freak.
“Jesus,” he bit out. There was a rustle of movement behind me, then I felt the smooth head of his dick hit my lower back.
I closed my eyes. The smell of Drake and sex filled my nostrils, my body sated, my mind at ease. And just like all of the other times I was in his arms, I felt safe.
“Wish you’d let me help with that,” I muttered.
“Make no mistake, baby, you’re helping.”
Seconds later, there was a warm splash on my back. It was hot. It was sexy as all get-out. The only thing better would’ve been if I could’ve watched.
18
“How is she?” the general asked.
I glanced around the apartment and found Liberty, Luke, and Trey sitting at the table. I had Liberty in profile, her pretty face awash with laughter. She was damn good at hiding her pain, until she wasn’t, then it spilled over. Last night when she finally cried I was relieved. That shit should’ve happened days ago.
I moved out to the balcony and answered, “Holding it together.”
“She gonna snap?”
Fucking shit.
Oh, yeah, Liberty was going to snap and when she did, it was going to be catastrophic.
And I wouldn’t be there to see her through.
The knot in my gut grew as I chose my words carefully. Not only because I was speaking to a general but because the man was a close family friend and he cared about her a great deal.
“I think you need to brief McCoy. He needs to know what he’s got on his hands before she gets home.”
I heard Wick’s heavy exhale. “The mission secure?”
“Absolutely.”
“You sound sure.”
“That’s because I am. I wouldn’t endanger her life or ours.”
“I shouldn’t’ve—”
“She needs to do this. If she doesn’t go back out in the field immediately, she never will. You’ll lose her to indecision. She’ll waver, be hesitant, and that vacillation will make her ineffective. Physically, she’s healed. She took one hell of a beating, but they didn’t break her. Mentally, her head’s in it. And if we get where we’re going and for some reason she can’t handle it, you know we have a plan for that.”
Not that Liberty knew about the snatch-and-run if she froze or freaked out, but Logan would grab her and escort her to the exfil point. If it came to that, there was no doubt Liberty would be spitting mad and Logan would have his hands full. But it was better than her getting dead.
“Like riding a horse,” Wick grumbled and fought back a groan.
The last thing I needed to be doing was thinking about Liberty riding anything—and when my mind went there she wasn’t riding a horse. The setting sun over the Mediterranean suddenly vanished and my vision filled with the exquisite memory of Liberty’s bare ass, the curve of her hip, and her smooth skin. Soft, silky flesh I’d tarnished with my seed. The image was raw, and damn if it didn’t make me an animal, but I wanted to mark her again and again and again until there was no denying she belonged to me.
More than that, I wanted her to mark me. I wanted her scent to linger and leach into my skin. My addiction had turned into an obsession—a dangerous fixation that would end in the worst kind of way.
She’d be gone and I’d be fucked.
But for some Godforsaken reason, even knowing I’d never see her again, I couldn’t resist her pull. She was
under my skin and I’d decided not to fight it, I liked her there.
“Anything new for the R and S team or were you just checking on Liberty?”
He met my question with silence. I knew why—I’d screwed up. The general didn’t miss much, therefore he would not miss the informality.
“Right. Target is still in the proximity and you have the green light,” Wick returned.
Excellent.
“Good. Then we’re going huntin’.”
“Aim true,” Wick grunted then disconnected.
Game on.
“Yo,” I called out when I entered the apartment. “Let’s roll.”
Luke and Trey stood, Matt and Logan stopped rummaging through the kitchen cabinets like something in the form of food would magically appear and they moved swiftly to the living room.
Liberty remained seated. Her pretty face turned in my direction and an even prettier smile aimed my way.
Damn. I had approximately two minutes to stop thinking about that smile before I needed to get my head right and get out the door.
Apparently, I’d miscalculated. “You two done making googly eyes at each other so we can bounce?” Trey asked.
“Fuck off.”
“Guess not.” He chuckled.
Liberty’s smile grew and it was painful to see for a variety of reasons. The first being I only had a limited number of them left. The other reason had to do with the fallout when she realized she’d allowed herself to feel something other than grief and anger. Last night, hearing her beat herself up was agony. She was on a dangerous road—porpoising, unsettled, volatile. It wouldn’t take much for her to break apart.
And I wouldn’t be there.
Matt, Logan, Trey, and Luke were strapping on gear, chuckling amongst themselves at my outburst. Liberty wasn’t laughing but she was up out of her chair moving to her kit so she, too, could get ready—she was also grinning.
Time to get a move on. I grabbed my vest, slid it over my head, fastened the Velcro tight around my ribs, and went for my holster. All of this mindless—having done it hundreds of times, I could do it in my sleep. That left room for me to think about Liberty and what it was about her that was so different. I’d shared my bed with plenty of women, done a fuckuva lot more than just put my hand down their panties, yet Liberty coming apart in my arms was hotter, sexier, and more of a turn-on than any other woman had been.
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