I swallowed, words temporarily failing me.
Kate had never been into dresses and I’d always been into Kate being herself, so I’d never really cared one way or another what she wore. And even though I knew I had no business caring, it bothered me a lot that she’d gone out on a date with some guy looking as fucking amazing as she looked, while I’d spent the last few weeks in hell, thinking of her.
“Who was the guy?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone casual, realizing that we’d never had the conversation about whether there’d been anyone else in the time we’d been apart. I hadn’t asked, because part of me couldn’t handle her answer either way. I hated the idea of her living her life in some sort of funeral shroud, years spent mourning me, but I also wasn’t prepared for the idea of her with another man.
If it had happened, fine, I just didn’t want to hear about it—or hear it on the other side of the fucking door.
Kate blinked, her gaze narrowing. She didn’t make any effort to move closer, but I could feel her annoyance even with the few feet that separated us.
“That’s where you want to start? You’ve been gone for weeks, left in the middle of the night after we were together,” she sputtered. “Don’t even get me started on the whole fucking fake death thing, and on top of that, you somehow think it’s okay to waltz back in here and what? Give me shit about my dating life?”
“So you’re dating him?” I closed the distance between us with three strides. “Were you dating him when you had your hand on my cock? When you clenched down around my fingers?”
Fury lit in her eyes, her hands shoving me backward.
“Apparently death made you an asshole,” she snapped.
She was right; who she fucked or didn’t fuck was none of my business. I’d relinquished all claims to her, and if that meant she kissed other guys, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Or so I told myself, at least, even as I knew the lie behind my words. Things had changed between us, but I’d lived my entire life knowing that Kate loved me, and this thing between us was too strong for me to doubt it.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything,” I muttered, stalking away from her to sit on the couch.
I’d been waiting for her to come home for an hour, had been worried about her. Especially when I’d read Capital Confessions. We had bigger battles to fight than whether she went on a date with some guy.
I expected my reaction to calm her down, figured she was pissed that I was jealous, but it almost seemed to have the opposite effect, as though everything I said was somehow wrong and only making her angrier.
Fuck.
She muttered something that sounded a lot like, asshole, under her breath.
“Do you actually have intel to share or did you just come here to check up on me?” Kate asked, following me into the living room.
“I came because I saw your name in Capital Confessions.”
Her chin jerked, her gaze defiant. “So what?”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Exactly what it looks like.”
“We talked about this. You promised to stay away from your father.”
“Actually, I didn’t. You promised you would come back. I never answered you when you asked me to stay away from him.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. She was driving me fucking crazy. She’d been stubborn as a kid, but this— She’d listened to me before; she hadn’t just run off and put herself in danger without thinking about the consequences. She hadn’t danced on the edge like this.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“And yet you don’t fucking listen.”
“What do you want me to say? You want this to be over, we have to get to the heart of this. It starts and ends with our fathers. You know that. It’s not a coincidence that someone sent me those files. We can dance around it, but I have a much better chance of resolving this if I can get access to my father’s office. He wouldn’t keep them at work; there would be too many opportunities for someone to find them. They’re in his office at home. I know it.”
God, it was almost worse that she had a plan. I knew exactly where she was going with this, and given the level of skills we’d seen before, how she thought she stood a chance going up against her father’s machine I’d never know.
“Tell me you aren’t breaking into his office.”
“It’s not your call to make.”
“Jesus, Kate, do you think I’m just going to stand by and watch you get yourself killed? Don’t tell me it isn’t my call to make. My unit paid the price for all of this. My father’s name is tied up in this. Don’t act as if you can just go off like some kind of vigilante.”
“Like you did when you left me and went to Afghanistan without telling me? When you snuck out in the middle of the fucking night?”
“Is that what this is about? Are you punishing me because I won’t give you what you want?”
“Your arrogance is really unbelievable. This isn’t all about you. I’m a big girl and I’ve got this. I’ve been handling my father for over a year now, chipping away at his reputation. I did all of that on my own.”
“You leaked information to a gossip site. Not exactly a covert operation.”
I didn’t want her anywhere near her father or mine; didn’t want her investigating any of this. That was why I’d gone to Afghanistan. If someone’s life was going to be on the line, I wanted it to be mine. Not hers.
I took a deep breath, trying to get my temper under control.
“Look, I didn’t come back to fight with you. I saw the mention in Capital Confessions and I became concerned. After I finished my business in Afghanistan, I came back to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Our definitions of “fine” varied drastically.
“How did it go?” Kate asked, changing the subject. “Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“Maybe. I’m meeting with a contact here in D.C. tomorrow. I’ll see if it pans out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re supposed to be dead, how do you have all of these connections?”
“It’s hard work staying alive. I needed people I could count on. Needed money. They don’t know me as Matt Ryan. They think I’m just a guy for hire.”
“Like a mercenary?”
I swallowed, hating how close she was to the truth. I’d been proud of my work in the military, of all we’d tried to accomplish. There was no honor in what I did now.
“Something like that. You tend to end up with a specialized skill set when you’re Special Forces, and I needed money to buy a new life.”
She was silent for a moment and I wondered if she’d finally come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t the boy she’d loved and he was never coming back. Did she see the blood on my hands now?
I closed my eyes, sitting down on the edge of her couch, resting my head in my hands, my elbows propped on my knees. It was hard enough to fight myself, impossible to fight her.
Maybe there were people in your life you just couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried. I’d loved her so long that it had become a habit I didn’t know how to break. So yeah, every fucking version of me, killer, soldier, or pampered prince loved her. At this point, I might as well rip my heart out of my chest and lay it at her feet next to my balls.
“What do you want from me?”
I was tired. So fucking tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting her. Tired of living my life like I was dead anyway.
It was nearly a minute before she spoke.
“I want you to admit that there’s something between us. That we aren’t over. That we’ll never be over. I want you to fight for me. For us.”
I got up from the sofa, suddenly needing to move.
Except she didn’t let me. As with everything, she got in my face, taking the distance I tried to put between us and shredding it before my eyes
.
She might have been a few inches over five feet, but she fucking terrified me.
“What do you want?” I asked, defeat dragging my body down.
She kept coming, until her arms were around my neck, her body pressed against mine. I could feel her tits against my chest, her nipples tight. My hands came down around her waist, hauling her toward me even as I told myself not to fucking move.
She pulled my head down, rising on her toes, and then her lips found mine and everything exploded.
Chapter Ten
Senator Reynolds and James Ryan were seen in a heated exchange at the Hay-Adams Hotel. Is there trouble in political paradise?
—Capital Confessions blog
Kate
We crashed into each other, our mouths connecting on a sigh that slipped from my lips. I’d stolen this kiss from him and somehow I couldn’t find it in me to feel sorry about it. At all.
Despite the times we’d been together since he was back, this was different. He’d made me come, had run his hands over my body, and yet we hadn’t kissed. And despite the fact that we’d kissed hundreds of times before, this kiss was something new. Those kisses had been sweet, sexy, romantic. This kiss was all-consuming. While my mind struggled to accept that the man standing before me wasn’t quite the boy I’d loved, my body couldn’t forget it.
His mouth was unyielding, the soft lips I’d spent my teens kissing now taut with something I was afraid to name. Matt didn’t kiss me like he used to, like he was a boy in love with a girl. He kissed me like a man living on borrowed time, as though he didn’t have the luxury of finesse or sweetness, didn’t have room for love, as though he’d fling my feelings back in my face if he could. He kissed me like he couldn’t not kiss me, even as he tried to fight it, frustration and anger pouring out of him and into my body like a flash flood.
When Blair had first told me she had feelings for Gray, I’d thought she was crazy for getting involved with a guy who carried so much baggage. I’d forgotten what this was like¸ how love could twist you up and hollow you out. That it could make you crazy and reckless and send you careening toward heartbreak.
I didn’t care.
I couldn’t even claim ignorance or naiveté, because I knew exactly what would happen next if this didn’t work out. I’d already lost him once, and I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I would survive this. This was suicide and I went for it anyway. I knew he wasn’t the boy I remembered, that whatever love had existed between us was killed off inside of him long ago. All that softness chiseled and molded to make him into the man he was today. Maybe this was just sex for him. Maybe he wasn’t capable of anything more. So while he gave me his body, I gave him my heart.
Our mouths turned greedy, our hands roaming. His beard scratched against my skin. He branded me with each kiss, each touch, claiming me as his as if there’d ever been a question, as if there ever had been a moment when I wasn’t his. And still, I wanted more.
I reached for his shirt, my fingers curling over the worn cotton. My hands turned ravenous as I pulled the fabric up, baring him before my gaze. He shrugged the tee over his shoulders, and then my hands were running over his skin, his abs.
Holy shit, he was beautiful.
His body looked like a tool, a weapon, full of power and control. The size difference between us was even more glaring; I felt breakable next to him, fragile in the midst of all of his strength.
And then his muscles trembled beneath my hands, and somehow the power shifted, and I felt like the one in control, Matt at my mercy.
I stroked his scars, my touch turning gentle, hesitant, running my fingers over the ridges and bumps of skin, the sight and feel of them a knife twisting in my stomach. They were like a map of his travels, of the life he’d lived when he was away from me. They were pain I wished I could take away from him.
I bent forward, pressing my lips to his skin, his muscles bunching and jerking beneath my mouth as he inhaled sharply. He was warm and smooth and hard, and I couldn’t resist the urge to suck on his skin, wanting to leave my marks on him, to claim some ownership over his body. My lips found the tattoo near his heart, pressing a kiss above the initial he’d had inked there.
Matt groaned, his hips canting toward me.
My fingers fumbled with his belt, with the button of his jeans, my heart hammering.
It had been way too long since I’d had this. When I’d thought he’d died, the idea of having sex with anyone else hadn’t been appealing at all. I’d resigned myself to my vibrator and a lifetime of celibacy. This was so much better.
I dragged the zipper down, the rasping noise filling the air around us, pulling the denim from his powerful hips as Matt stepped out of his jeans and I admired the view before me—tan legs, muscular thighs. My hands went to his boxers, tugging until they hit the floor and he was naked before me—long, thick, hard.
My mouth went dry.
His hands moved behind my body, searching for the zipper to my dress, yanking it down, his gaze molten. My nipples tightened, another flash of arousal hitting me, my body growing wetter.
I stepped out of my dress, my legs trembling, hands shaking, grateful for the heels that gave me the extra height to close the distance between us. Grateful for the fact that I was wearing one of my nicer bras and thongs. And then, with a few deft twists of his fingers, those were gone too, pulled from my body in a flash of silk and lace, and I stood before him naked, my body throbbing for him, begging for his touch.
For a moment he remained still, his gaze drinking me in. There were nerves there, and at the same time, we’d been together too many times for me to feel nervous, even as I wondered if he was cataloguing all of the changes in my body as I’d done to him.
And then he moved.
Matt pinned me back against the wall, his hands fisting in my hair, his hips pressing into me. His legs came between mine, widening my stance so that I was splayed open against the wall, the power shifting. I might have started things with a kiss, but he had no problem taking over, no problem taking what he wanted.
His cock brushed against me—big, hard, one thing that apparently hadn’t changed. When we’d fooled around in my bedroom before, I’d known that there was a limit to how far things would go between us, known that with my stitches there was only so much we could do. But now? I wanted it all.
My heart might have died when I’d thought he did, but my body was very much alive.
I wrapped my arms around him again; I nipped at his bottom lip. Matt growled against my mouth.
This.
Maybe I didn’t need love. Maybe I just needed this. Savage and brutal, beautiful and sharp. I’d been living like a nun for three years, dried up and worn out at just twenty-two. I wanted—needed—tonight. It had been explosive between us before he’d left for Afghanistan a few weeks ago. I wanted that rush again. Wanted to forget all of the death and destruction. I figured I’d lived in the darkness for long enough; I deserved this. And even if I didn’t, I took it anyway.
I sucked on his lips, nipping at the skin there again, our tongues tangling when he invaded my mouth, his hands gripping my head, holding me in place while he kissed me. I moaned, the sound swallowed between us.
Matt tugged on the ends of my hair, pulling my head back, his mouth on my throat, his teeth scraping the skin there, his beard scratching me. My scalp tingled, my hips rocked forward, and I rubbed myself over his erection, my nipples pebbling.
It had never been like this before.
We’d had great sex, and even though it wasn’t like I’d had anything to compare it to, I’d always been satisfied. More than satisfied. Matt had always been sweet in bed, had always made sure I got off on it like he did. There’d been passion, but not like this. I realized now that he’d held back with me before, or maybe this wildness hadn’t existed within him, clawing its way out.
He wasn’t holding back anymore.
Whatever fueled me now lived inside him as well. Whatever we’d been through in t
he past four years, whatever versions of ourselves we’d become, had brought us to this point. To this total and utter loss of control.
Matt released my hair, his hands gripping mine, yanking my arms over my head, my wrists against the wall, arching me forward. He held me there with one hand, my body anchored between the wall and his. So fucking good. I met him each time he raised the stakes, wanting, needing more, pushing him further.
His free hand came down, flicking across my nipples, stroking the curve of my breasts, his mouth following the path his fingers had taken as he kissed his way down my body, as he nipped and sucked on my skin.
Holy hell.
Goose bumps covered me, his lips brushing my belly button as he released my wrists, kneeling down in front of me, his breath on my skin.
Yes.
He stroked me, his fingers digging into my thighs and widening my stance, and then his head came between my legs and his tongue found my clit. His hands rested on my hips; he held me in place while his mouth ravaged me, as I trembled and shuddered, his tongue teasing my arousal from me with each lick.
And then I felt it building inside me, my skin warm, my body writhing over his mouth as he laved my clit again and again. My legs sagged beneath me as the full force of my orgasm racked my body. He held me against him, his mouth resting on me as the last remnants of pleasure seeped from me.
“I want you inside me,” I whispered, my breath shaky.
“Turn around,” he growled.
Yes.
I turned, my legs wet noodles, my palms against the wall, bending at the waist, my body automatically settling into the right position for our height difference, muscle memory taking over.
I heard him rustling around, heard the sound of a foil package ripping. I turned my head and watched as he rolled the condom on, and then I felt him at my back, his cock brushing against my ass, his hands reaching forward to cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers in a move that had another set of shudders tearing through my body, my skin electric from the recent orgasm. His hands slid down, molding, shaping my curves, settling on my hipbones and holding me in place.
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