Cracks in the Armor

by Helena Hunting

  I used Chris’s soap and shampoo. They weren’t anything special, just some no-name Axe knock-offs, but they made me smell like him. He’d left me two towels: one to dry off and one for my hair. Hanging from the back of the door was my favorite shirt of his. I pulled it over my head, wrapped my hair in the towel, and went back to the kitchen.

  The sandwich was exactly the way I liked it. On thick sourdough, it was piled high with ham, cheese, lettuce, and mayo. I checked the other messages on my phone while I ate, my stomach rumbling even as I filled it.

  When I was done, I put the plate in the sink and headed for Chris’s room. It was sparse, just a bed, a dresser, and a night table with a lamp and a digital clock. The bed was the nicest thing Chris owned, aside from his bike. The mattress was soft and plush, his sheets always satin smooth and freshly washed. It was the only reason I preferred to stay at his place over mine. The headboard was a solid wood piece of art he’d gotten from Serendipity, the antique store my landlady owned. She also happened to be Hayden’s aunt.

  As I pushed open the door, the dim light from the hall brought him into view. He was sprawled out over the bed, a massive mountain of muscle and ink. I stood there for a long while, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his back. His sandy blond hair was cut short, making the hard angles of his face seem more severe, especially cast in shadow as they were. But when he smiled all that menace melted away, replaced by boyish good looks that charmed the pants off more women than I could count, myself included.

  He moved his arm, muscles flexing as his hand fanned out over the sheets and stopped at the unclaimed pillow beside his head. His brows came down, a deep furrow replacing the softer lines of peaceful sleep. After a moment his hand drifted higher, fingers curling around his own pillow, and he relaxed back into unconsciousness.

  I left the door ajar so there was enough light to make the trip to the bed. The sheets were cool as I slipped between them, sinking into the mattress. I was beyond wiped.

  I was under no delusion that the exhaustion wasn’t going to get worse when I started my internship. I’d heard horror stories from some of the other people in my program. How they were given projects to develop or manage outside of work hours that kept them up all night. I didn’t get much sleep as it was. The possibility that I might get even less in the coming months worried me.

  I sighed as my head hit the pillow, easing into the comfort of Chris’s bed. As soon as I pulled the sheets up, he rolled onto his side. His arm came over me, pulling me closer. His hand moved down, along my thigh until he reached the hem of the shirt and hit bare skin. And then it was a case of under and up, his wide palm flattened against my stomach. He curled around my body, knees pushing into mine, his chest against my back.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

  I felt his nose as he burrowed through my hair, warm breath against my neck, finally replaced by his lips.

  “S’okay,” he replied in a sleep-heavy voice. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me, too.” I put my hand over his and laced our fingers, pulling his arm farther around me.

  Soft kisses brushed along my neck, shoving down the exhaustion and waking up the part of me I turned off as a protective measure every time I went to work. It was difficult to compartmentalize the constant attention of The Sanctuary’s clientele. Occasionally, a little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that Chris had been among them at The Dollhouse. But he hadn’t fit the typical profile.

  He’d never tried to touch me when I worked, never made a crass comment. He’d been the pinnacle of politeness. Sure, he’d been flirtatious and persistent, telling me I was beautiful, asking me out for coffee, but that was as far as it went. He always looked me in the eye when I waited on his table, instead of at my chest or whatever other skin was exposed. I hadn’t known how to take him at first.

  “You have an okay night?” Chris asked.

  “It wasn’t bad.”

  He stopped nuzzling my neck and his body stiffened. I hoped he hadn’t read anything into the noncommittal answer. “Anyone put their hands on you?”

  “No, baby.” Not tonight, anyway.

  It was the main reason I’d been able to come to his place. I couldn’t face him after the nights with unasked-for physical contact. He was too good at calling out my lies. So when something happened that I didn’t want to tell him about, I avoided his texts and waited until the next day to get back to him. Beyond that, I couldn’t manage his affection on those nights, even if it was wanted. The internal conflict was too much to handle. As if I’d been cheating on him, even though I wasn’t. I couldn’t stand it.

  His body relaxed again and I felt his cheek against my neck. He’d shaved tonight. For me. It made me feel good and bad. I knew he didn’t expect anything. He’d be just as happy to snuggle and fall right back to sleep until I gave him the go ahead for something more.

  It had been too long since we’d been together. I missed the physical release almost as much as I missed his bed, his arms, and his gentle way. I turned over to face him, the thin slice of light from the hall just enough to make out his shadowy features. Sliding a hand up his bare chest, my palm came to rest at the nape of his neck.

  “Wanna make out?” he asked huskily.

  “Mm. I’d like that.”

  “Cool.”

  I grinned in the darkness and waited for his mouth. Except it didn’t come. The hand on my waist disappeared. I inhaled sharply at the slow glide of his fingers along my arm. When they reached my neck, he pushed my damp hair back, tucking it behind my ear. I closed my eyes on a deep exhale. There was such intimacy in the way he traced the contours of my face, it made it difficult to meet his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, though. When his fingers touched my lips, I let them part. The pad of his thumb swept along the bottom one.

  “Sarah,” he whispered.

  I opened my eyes as I sucked his thumb into my mouth. His face was a picture of masculine desire. Eyes hooded and intense, lips parted. I bit down, licking at the pad, watching the muscle under his right eye twitch. His thumb disappeared, replaced by his mouth. His lips were velvet soft.

  His tongue met mine in a languid rhythm. It became almost maddening, the longer it went on, and then he took my lower lip between his, dragging his teeth across it. He wouldn’t take it any farther. He was waiting for the “green light,” as he called it. Early on, I’d realized that if we were ever going to get to the next level, as in get naked, I would have to be the one to initiate it. That hadn’t changed over the last several months.

  I pushed through the sheets until I was pressed up against him, hoping that would make clear what I wanted. If he clued in, it didn’t register in the kiss. He just kept up that same slow, drugging rhythm. I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck and pressed my hips into his, desperate for more. I could feel him through his boxers, huge and hard and ready, just like the rest of him.

  He pulled back. “What’s going on, baby?”

  I didn’t like that he wasn’t all up on me anymore, or kissing me. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

  “I am touching you.” His thumb brushed back and forth over my cheek and he kissed the end of my nose.

  “Not where I want.” I abandoned the back of his neck and snuck a hand between us, palming his erection through his boxers.

  “Huh.” He looked vaguely amused. “That’s weird, ’cause you’re touching me right where I want.”

  I squeezed. The teasing smile fell and his lip curled into the approximation of a snarl. He grabbed my hand and in a quick move rolled over on top of me. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist before he had a chance to stop me.

  “I like this even better.” He laced our fingers together and kissed the back of my hand.

  When I tried to grab his ass with the other one, he snatched it up as well. On the positive side, it meant his pelvis was in line with mine.

  “You should take my shirt off,” I suggested sweetly.

&nb
sp; “You think? But then your hands will be free; and who knows what will happen then, what with my magnetic cock and all.” When I huffed, he laughed and then grew serious. “It’s been more than two weeks, Sarah. I have no plans to make this end quickly. I’d rather take my sweet time getting where you want me, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “If you’d take your damn boxers off, you’d be exactly where I want you.”

  “Oh? So that’s what your problem is?”

  He gathered my wrists in one hand, his hold gentle. I could slip free if I wanted. Then he shoved his boxers down and repositioned himself so that hard length rested right where I needed it. He circled his hips, giving me what I craved.

  I met his hot stare. “I want to put my hands on you.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he released them. Grabbing the hem of my shirt I drew it over my head, then I ran my palms down the solid expanse of his back, stopping at his ass. Pushing down hard, I shifted under him. His erection slid low, close but not quite there.

  “I’m not getting in you yet,” he said.

  “Please, Chris. I miss you. I just want you.” Usually when I said that kind of thing, in that pleading tone, he folded instantly.

  Not this time.

  His head dropped and I felt his lips against my shoulder. They parted and the sharp sting of his teeth told me he was fighting the plea. There was something in the heavy weight of his body and the tightness in his muscles that warned me not to push tonight. I stopped resisting and relaxed, absorbing his weight.

  “That’s my girl.” He started back up with the kissing. With each stroke of his tongue, his hips pulled back and eased forward, providing a hint of relief and a whole lot of frustration.

  He broke away again, his mouth moving down, over my chin, my throat, between my breasts. I groaned as the heat and pressure of his erection disappeared, but he fixed the problem when his hand moved between my thighs. Two fingers slid inside me while his lips closed around a nipple.

  I arched under him, fingers diving into his hair, holding him there. He licked and nibbled, his fingers moving with the same indolence. And then his head dipped lower; mouth moving over my stomach until he was finally between my legs. He sucked on the skin at the juncture of my thigh, his eyes lifting to mine as he kissed his way over to my clit. His lips parted and brushed back and forth. I bit back a moan at the silky smooth stroke of his tongue.

  His arms wrapped around my thighs and he nuzzled in, getting comfortable. “So fucking good,” he murmured.

  “Chris,” I pleaded, fingertips drifting over his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

  Lips wet and glistening, he lifted his head and bit my finger. “What’s up, baby?”

  “Don’t stop.”

  He dropped his head and gave my clit a kiss.

  “I missed the way your mouth feels on me.”

  “Yeah?”

  I groaned when his teeth replaced his tongue. The overwhelming sensation was short-lived, though, because he paused once again to ask, “You miss anything else?”

  I opened my eyes and looked down, sensing the vulnerability in his tone. “I missed everything.”

  His smile was triumphant as he bent his head. I closed my eyes and let the feel of his mouth unravel me.

  As I came down from the luscious high, Chris kissed his way lazily up my body. He expression was gravely serious when he asked, “You good now? Wanna call it quits and go to sleep?”

  “Not a chance in hell.” I kissed his neck and wrapped my legs around his hips. I was slick from his mouth and the orgasm. His deep groan had me lifting my hips just to hear more of it. The head of his cock slipped inside me. Chris’s body went taut. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I hooked my foot around my ankle anyway, securing our position.

  He pushed up on one arm, eyes wide. “Whoa, baby, hold up a second.”

  He ran a palm down the outside of my thigh until he reached the back of my knee. He gave a gentle tug. I clamped my legs tight against his hips, aware I was no match for his strength. He went a little deeper. His shock turned into something more like panic.

  “Shit, Sarah.” His jaw locked and his grip on my leg tightened.

  I unhooked them and he broke the connection. I smoothed my hand down his chest, over the solid wall of muscle. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  Chris gave me a dark look and leaned over, fumbling with the drawer on his nightstand. He found the box of condoms and yanked out a row, ripping free a foil square. I grabbed it and tore it open. His full lips parted as I rolled it down his length.

  Settling between my thighs, he eased inside.

  “This right here,” he said as his hips came flush with mine. “This was what I missed.”

  “Mm. Me, too.”

  Just as the lead-up had been a slow progression to the first orgasm, this was, too. He kissed me again, penetrating my mouth in time with his deep, slow thrusts.

  He pushed up on his forearm and kept his eyes locked on my face as he moved over me, forcing intimacy that had been foreign in the beginning when we started this. But now I liked the way he focused on me so intensely. For all his harshness he was an exceedingly gentle lover.

  “Sarah, baby, you gonna come again?” He faltered and lost his rhythm. “Please. For me?”

  I was already so close, his words undid me. As soon as I came he stilled, eyes glazing over as his mouth dropped open. A tremor passed through him, every muscle tightening in response.

  Before he collapsed, he unlocked my legs from his hips and slid an arm under my back. Then he rolled us to the side so he wouldn’t crush me. Eventually he pulled out, and as always, the vacancy spread all the way to my chest. The comedown after the high of the orgasm made me feel hollow inside.

  He picked up the end of my hair and twirled it between his fingers. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

  “Twice,” I joked.

  “Because I’m awesome.” He smiled, but something dark lurked under his expression. It was gone before I could pin it down, though.

  “Better than awesome.” I kissed him again, but after too short a time, he broke it off with a chaste peck and rolled onto his back. I snuggled into his side and put my head on his chest. “Wake me up before you leave in the morning?”

  “Sure thing, sugarlips.”

  He yawned and settled against his pillow. I stayed close until my neck started to cramp and my face grew damp from resting on his chest. He was already fast asleep, his breathing deep and even. So typical. Sex was like a sedative for men. I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

  Sitting up, I carefully lifted the dead weight of his arm, setting his hand on his pecs. Then I turned on my side to face him, bunching up the soft pillow he’d bought after I complained his were too poofy. I stared at his profile, brutally masculine even in repose. All those hard lines didn’t ease up in the slightest. Except when he smiled. That warm smile of his had been rare lately. The trial over Hayden’s parents’ murder had been hard on Chris, and I didn’t know how to help him through it. He didn’t want to talk about it with me, or anyone, from what I could tell. He was like that, silent in his pain. His hard edges had been part of the attraction, a dangerous allure. I fell asleep staring at the cityscape that covered his arm, wishing I knew how to be as permanent as his body art.

  * * *

  I woke up alone in Chris’s bed. The blackout curtains he used to keep the daylight from penetrating his room were drawn tight, so I’d slept much longer than I would have if I’d stayed at my own place. The clock on his nightstand told me it was one in the afternoon. He’d left for work more than an hour ago. There was a note on his pillow.

  You looked so peaceful drooling on my pillow, I didn’t want to wake you. Stop by the shop if you have time before you go to work tonight.

  ~Chris

  I wiped the corner of my mouth, then smoothed my hand across the pillow. It wasn’t damp. I smiled and dropped back down, enjoying the quiet but not the emptiness of Chris’s b
ed without him in it. Eventually I got up. I had final assignments to complete, and I’d already wasted the entire morning sleeping. I hit the bathroom and groaned as I got a look at my hair; it had dried all wonky from having gone to bed with it wet. Not to mention the rat’s nest of tangles after being under Chris. I wet my hair and brushed out the knots as best I could, then pulled it back into a ponytail.

  Once I was done in the bathroom, I changed out of his shirt and into my own clothes. I made the bed, even though half the time Chris couldn’t be bothered, and honestly, neither could I. I only made the effort if Chris was coming by and planned to get me naked on it later. Messing up a tidy bed with him was fun.

  After stuffing everything back into my overnight bag, I went to the kitchen. A Post-it was stuck to the fridge with “OPEN ME” written on it. I smiled and checked inside. Chris was a horrible cook. He turned pasta into mush most of the time, but the man could do two things incredibly well: sandwiches and smoothies.

  On the second shelf was the top portion of his blender. Inside were layers of fruit and yogurt and whatever other stuff Chris had put in there to make it taste as awesome as it always did. I set the container on the base. A second Post-It was stuck to the lid. I heeded the “BLEND ME” instructions and hit the puree button, watching the contents swirl together. The end result was deep purple. I poured the concoction into the take-out cup Chris had left for me and went about cleaning up, leaving everything in the drying rack on the counter.

  As I sipped the smoothie my gaze drifted to the right, where I’d left his apartment key last night. It was still there.

  I picked it up, flipping it between my fingers. Chris never asked for it back, but he never told me to keep it, either. So I put it down for him to see, wondering if one day there’d be a Post-it saying “KEEP ME” attached to it. Which was silly, because it wasn’t something I should care about.