Oh, my God. Her lips had moved to my neck, then to my nipple, and she was biting it gently, then sucking hard, and I wasn’t worried anymore that I’d lose my erection. I was worried that I was going to come before she even got there. Like right now. I had my hands in her hair already, and I wanted to shove her down my body fast, so at least she’d be there when it happened. Marginally less humiliating. I forced myself to hold still instead, tried to say the times tables backward like I was seventeen years old, and couldn’t do it. She was rubbing her entire face over my rib cage, down to my belly, and it was making me shudder, but she wasn’t going where I’d expected. Instead, her hands were on my thighs, the same way I’d done with her.
Wait. Not down my legs. Not . . . She’d reached my knees, and I was tensing.
It wasn’t that nobody else had touched the stump. Every nurse had, and every therapist. I got a massage every day I could, and my left leg was what they worked on most, because it helped with the phantom pain that still plagued me most nights, and with the sensitivity of the scars down there. I massaged it myself, every night before bed.
Nobody had kissed it, though. Nobody had traced her fingers over it like she wanted to feel every stitch and said, “Jax. You’re so gorgeous.”
My eyes were still closed, and now, to my horror, my throat was closing up.
No. Stop. I couldn’t cry.
I hadn’t cried yet. Not when I’d known they’d taken my leg. Not when it had hurt the worst. Not when I’d seen the first person look away in revulsion. I couldn’t do it now, at the worst possible time.
My body wasn’t listening. The heat was rising in my chest, up my throat, and the pressure was building behind my eyes.
The sob ripped out of me like a wound opening, and more of them followed. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t do this. I had my hands over my eyes, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. It was horrible, but it was happening anyway, and I couldn’t stop.
Karen was up my body again, somehow, lying over me, her hands around my head, kissing my fingers, because she couldn’t get to my face. “Shh,” she said. “Jax. It’s OK. It’s OK.”
I was scaring her. I was disgusting her. I needed to stop, and I couldn’t. I cried for every time I hadn’t, or that was how it felt. I sobbed, my chest heaving the emotion out of my body, until there were no tears left, and Karen got on her knees over me, stroked her hands over my shoulders and chest, kissed me some more there, and didn’t say anything.
When I was done, I still didn’t want to move my hands. How could I show her that? It was so much worse than my leg. My leg was a wound. This was weakness. No woman wanted to see weakness.
She got off me, I knew I’d been right, and my heart dropped until the pain and shame fell all the way into my belly.
I’d hear her leave, next. Wanting to leave me alone, she’d say. Wanting to get out, I’d know.
I didn’t hear the raspy zip of the tent opening. I felt her coming over me again instead, and the press of rough fabric against my hands.
“Come on,” she said. “Jax. Let me help you clean up. Let me see.”
I took the towel from her, wiped myself up as best I could, and said, “Thanks,” in a voice like a rusty hinge. I could manage that, anyway. After that, I needed to open my eyes.
It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I didn’t want to see what I knew I would. I couldn’t stand to see her pity.
I didn’t see her expression at all, in fact, because she was too close for that. Kissing my mouth, her fingers threading through my short hair, her mouth gentle at first, then not so much, her tongue venturing out and exploring me.
I’d been right all along. I’d totally lost my erection. It didn’t seem to work with crying. Surprise. Fortunately, she wasn’t looking, and she didn’t seem to care. Instead, she was kissing me like she didn’t want to stop, and I had my hand around her own head, my other arm around her, and was kissing her back. I rolled her over, and an exultant wave of something washed through me. I couldn’t have named it, except that I felt like the fella in that statue. Holding her so tight. Kissing her so deep. Wanting her so bad.
She said, when I came up for breath at last, “I want you inside me so much right now, I feel like I’ll die if you don’t do it.” Because, yes, I was nearly ready to go again, just from that kiss.
“We can’t,” I said, and stroked a hand down her cheek. “I’d tell you I’m all good, but it’s a bad idea for you to believe me. A bloke who hasn’t had sex in this long isn’t going to tell the truth, and I’m not even asking about birth control.”
All of her heart was in her smile. “And you don’t have any honor. Yeah, I’m believing that. Never mind. Lie down, then, and let me love you right. That’s what you did for me, and I want to do it for you, too.”
I did. And she did. And if I’d thought it would be over too soon, I’d been wrong, because she was over my body like it was everything she needed, and like all she wanted in the world was to make me know it.
“You’re beautiful here, too,” she was saying at last, stroking a hand over the length of me, then starting to kiss her way up. “Pictures don’t lie after all. Come on. Hold my head. Move my hands. Show me what you want. Tell me what feels good. All I want right now is to give it to you.”
Oh, God. I did, and bloody hell, but she did, too. And finally, after a long, long time, when I was staring up at the light flickering over the golden roof of the tent, starting to call out, beginning to groan in a way I couldn’t help any more than I’d been able to help the tears, my chest may have tightened up again, and so did the rest of me.
I expected her to move away. Instead, she took me deeper. I held off as long as I could, and when I couldn’t hold back a second longer, I emptied myself down her throat like it was the first time ever, and she swallowed me down like she loved it.
The whole thing had been the slowest, sweetest, most agonizing ride a man could take. And the finish? I wasn’t sure I could take it. It was so good, it almost hurt.
Not the night I’d thought it would be. So much more than that. And bloody hell, what a woman.
Karen
I didn’t move for a minute or so afterwards. I wanted to stay down here, kissing that diagonal line of muscle down his abdomen, stroking his thighs, feeling him trying to catch his breath, the beating of his heart, like I was inside his body.
He felt like my resting spot, and what was even crazier—he felt like my forever. And I had to figure out how to be after this, so he wouldn’t see.
Still no good at hooking up, then, whatever I’d told him about being his first time, and having him be mine. I knew that this was nothing but a brief pause for both of us, and as for our lives? Career interests, home countries, life choices, attractiveness to the opposite sex? Nope. Not even close. The only things we had in common were that we both worked hard, liked adventure sports, had wealthy relatives, and were on the rebound in the most profound possible way, everything we’d expected to be doing right now upended.
And all the same, when he’d cried, when I’d held him, and when he’d let me love him— something had happened despite all the reasons it shouldn’t, and it felt major. It felt big. It felt like my heart had grown so much that my chest couldn’t contain it, because it had to make room for him. And it terrified me.
This wasn’t just being bad at hookups. I’d fallen straight over the edge.
Infatuation, my science brain tried to explain, as I moved up the bed at last and he wrapped his arms around me, rolled me over, and kissed me so deeply and so possessively, I was having trouble with my self-control. I could feel the stump of his leg against my calf, my thumb was brushing over the scar at the side of his face, and he wasn’t trying to hide either one.
Norepinephrine levels. Dopamine levels. Testosterone levels. Hormones. That was why I couldn’t look at him long enough, why I couldn’t hold him close enough, why just hearing his voice made my knees go weak. But it didn’t feel like hormones, or not
only like hormones. It felt real, because it wasn’t just his body I craved. It was him.
There was probably a reason for that, too. No doubt he embodied something I felt was missing in myself right now, certainty or fortitude or something like that. Or call it what it was. Mana, that most Kiwi of qualities. Honor. Dignity. Courage. The way you walked through the very worst things, and the way you put a hand out so the people around you could walk, too.
He waka eke noa, Koro would have said. A canoe we are all in with no exception, paddling or sinking together. That said everything about Jax: Why he’d been so unhappy being a star, and why his world had shifted into place when he’d realized his mission in it was to save people. It was also why he took my breath away, because that feeling wasn’t just his gray eyes or the perfection of his features.
I couldn’t look at that any more right now, which was why I kissed him back instead of indulging in further examination of my vulnerable heart. I tried to do it as sweetly as he was doing to me, to tell him everything I couldn’t say. How strong he was, and how kind, too, from looking after the boys at the beach to taking care of a useless accidental-passenger duck. I couldn’t say what I felt, but maybe I could show him, because I suspected he was feeling as raw as I was.
He definitely hadn’t gotten the no-more-need-for-kissing memo, because by the time he was done, I was melting all over again, and he had both hands around my head and was looking down at me with so much intensity that I was way too close to crying myself.
And, yes, it was more than the noble stuff. It was that I wanted absolutely everything else, too. I wanted to give up control, and I wanted him to take it. I wanted to be sassy, and I wanted him to show me why I should stop. I wanted to let go. No limits.
Whoa. Danger. He didn’t need to get to know me that well. I said, “I should go back before I fall asleep. Debbie, and so forth.”
His eyes searched mine, which I could have done without. “Not hungry? You haven’t even finished your beer, and you probably need your tea as well. It’s still raining, but we could stay here and have a picnic, and another beer, too. Could be I’d get you drunk and have my way with you again. I could keep you up half the night, and I’d like to do it.”
He smiled, because it had been a joke. If I did have another of those high-octane beers, though, after the day we’d had, who knew what I’d actually say or do? I’d tell him I loved him. I’d ask him to do something way too freaky. If he started holding my arms again? I wasn’t all that fantastic at holding back. Plus, he’d said that thing before, about how he always wanted the woman to leave. Why would he have said that if it wasn’t a hint?
I was panicking, and I knew it, but I couldn’t help it. I also couldn’t let him see it. I rolled out of bed, searched for my shirt and PJ pants, felt way too naked, and told him, “It’s hard to sleep if I’m, uh, not alone. Plus, Debbie.”
He sat up, seeming completely unconcerned about his own nakedness, but then, men with that kind of body didn’t exactly have to worry about showing themselves. Except for the leg and the scars, but he knew I was all good with those. He was frowning, reaching for his glasses, handing me my T-shirt, which was on the bed, then studying my clearly panic-stricken self and frowning harder. “Something wrong?” he asked. “And—wait. You said you’d been engaged until recently. How would you not be able to sleep with somebody else? Did I do something you didn’t like? Did I not do something you wanted? Don’t bloody run away, and don’t lie to me. Tell me.”
Oh, God. He might be brave. I wasn’t. Not brave enough for this, anyway. How did you say, I just realized I’m flat-out in love with you, and I want to tell you all my secrets and hear all of yours and escape into a world that’s just me and you, and because you’re kind, I realize you will now say something gentle? You didn’t. I said instead, “My arm hurts, that’s all.” Which it did, but judging by the expression on his face, he wasn’t buying it.
Wait. He thought it was him. What did I do now? I couldn’t run away and leave him thinking that. I sat down beside him, leaned in and kissed his mouth, ran my fingers down his scar, and said, “It was great. I loved being with you. I loved everything we did. You’re . . . you were amazing.” Too many L-words. Too many words, period. Time to wrap it up. “I just need to go to bed.”
I stood up again, found my pants under the bed, to my relief, and put them on, and then my shirt. He didn’t pull me down by it the way I half-wished he would, right onto my back, or do any alpha-male-ing at all. Instead, he said, “Right. D’you have a torch to get back?” Which was a little alpha-male all by itself, actually, in the same sort of way Hemi did with his family. That competent thing. I was kind of a sucker for that, and I’d never had it, at least not a man doing it for just me. I’d been more competent than Josh, the one fixing the sink when it dripped, the one who knew how to change a tire, because Koro had taught me, and so had Hemi, since Kiwi men were the definition of “competent.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be competent myself, it was just . . .
I was tying myself up in knots again. This was why you didn’t have revenge sex, or breakup sex, or however you wanted to think of it. The person you’d broken up with wouldn’t care, and you already had too many hormones and too many emotions happening. No need to heap on more.
Right. Flashlight. “No,” I said. “I didn’t think of it.” That would be a great look, my getting lost in the rainy New Zealand bush, blundering around in the dark in circles until I came back soaked and weeping. If I wanted to look any more pathetic, that is. The alternative, though, was staying here, and I was getting short of breath at the thought.
He opened the drawer of the bedside table and handed me a head lamp on a neoprene band. I looked at it and said, “I’m not even going to comment about this.”
He smiled. “Yeh. You keep on trying.” After that, he stood up on one foot, kissed my mouth softly, touched my face, and said, “Sleep well. See you in the morning.”
This was either the absolutely wrong thing to do, or the absolutely right one. All I knew was, I had to do it. So I left.
Jax
It was a hard night, and a hard awakening, too.
When I first heard the voice, I thought it was part of a dream. An anxious one, where I’d been running with my squad, dressed in full battle kit, the sweat on our faces gritty with dust. Dirt in my mouth, my nostrils, my eyes. Running hard, my weapon held in both hands, scanning the horizon and then the foreground for an enemy who could ambush us at any time, my body ready to react the instant it happened.
“Jax,” the voice said. Alarm in it, urgency, and I bolted out of bed to answer.
The next second, I was toppling, and the second after that, I was hitting the bedside table a crack with my forearm and ribs, and then I was on the wooden floor, landing awkwardly.
“Jax! Oh, no. I’m sorry. Jax. Are you all right?”
This time, I knew who it was. Karen, and it was light out. The birds were so noisy outside, in fact, that I didn’t know how they hadn’t woken me, except that I’d only fallen asleep a few hours ago.
I shoved off with my palms, turned my head, confirmed that it was indeed Karen, that she was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, plus a bra this time, unfortunately, and that she was tugging on my arm and looking extremely concerned. I said, “I’m fine. No worries,” got to my hands and knees, hauled myself up with a hand on the bed, sat down, and tried to look as casual as a man who’d just face-planted naked out of bed could manage.
Not how I’d wanted to start this day, not when she’d run out last night like her demons had been chasing her, and I hadn’t been able to sort out why. Had I been too needy, with the crying and all, or on the flip side, too demanding? I hadn’t been as demanding as I’d wanted to be. I hadn’t wanted to scare her, and besides, I’d needed to be tender. It was her first time since whoever, and I’d needed to be careful. I had been careful.
Or was it nothing to do with me? Why had she seemed so . . . scared? I didn’t have a clue. S
he was the last woman I’d have expected to play mind games, and I still couldn’t believe she had. What was there to be scared of, though?
I’d spent some time trying to be narky about that, then told myself for another thirty minutes or so that it was fine, because we both had too much baggage and lived too far apart to get any more involved. After that, I’d made myself harden up, massaged my leg, and blown out the candle. After which I may or may not have lain on my back in the dark, listened to the rain, and revisited all the things we’d done, decided I was stopping to buy condoms in the morning no matter what, told myself that was stupid unless I was looking to complicate my life, and knew I’d do it anyway, because bloody hell, but I wanted to be inside that woman. My body didn’t care that she wasn’t ready for this. It just wanted her underneath me.
Yeh, I did some thinking about that. It was heaps more entertaining than worrying about questions to which I had no answers, and you could say it took my mind pretty smartly off the leg.
Right now, I pretended I hadn’t imagined myself doing very dirty things to her, like a man who’d never heard the word “vulnerable,” and said, “It’s morning, eh. I overslept.”
Her cheeks were flushed, I noticed, and so was her neck, which was odd. She sat down beside me and said, “I think I have a problem. But first—are you sure you’re all right? Your ribs?”
“No worries,” I said. “Assume I’ve fallen before. What sort of problem?”
She held up her arm to show me, because she’d taken off the bandage.
Oh. Yeh, that was a problem. The wound hadn’t been looking too flash before, and now, it looked worse. The entire underside of her forearm was red and swollen, the scrapes looked angrier than ever, and most ominously of all, a red line like the tail of a tadpole had snaked its way from the worst scrape up and over her bicep, all the way to a few centimeters from her underarm and the lymph nodes there, where the infection could enter her bloodstream. That had happened fast, and it wasn’t good. Bacteria in the water yesterday, maybe, taking advantage of all that open wound.
Kiwi Rules (New Zealand Ever After Book 1) Page 18
