by Sybil Bartel
My chest rose and fell once. Then, because I had not completely let go of my past, I told her. “Hero.”
Shock made her look like a doe in spring. “Hero,” she whispered, saying my name with reverence.
My eyes closed, and my nostrils flared with a telling inhale.
“Hero,” she said again, softer, needier, her hands landing on my chest.
My eyes opened, I gripped two handfuls of her hair, and I kissed her. Hard, desperate, selfish, I stroked my tongue into her mouth and took the past back. I kissed her as the man who carried the name Hero for twenty-seven turns around the sun would kiss a woman.
My tongue tangled with hers, her trust in my arms, I did not want to be a completely new man. The sum of my experiences, I wanted to be her hero.
Fighting to keep from pushing her to her bruised back, I stroked into her mouth deep like I wanted to stroke into her body.
She moaned, and I swallowed her desire. She could have Hero. She could have all of me. But not right now.
With effort, I pulled back. “I am Hero. To you. Only you.” The world could have Callan Anders.
Her bottom lip still wet from my kiss, she touched the soft flesh, but she said nothing.
“Speak,” I demanded.
She cast her gaze down and inhaled sharply. “I would like that.”
I sensed her reticence. “But?”
“She called you that,” she barely whispered.
I grasped her chin and brought her face up. When her eyes met mine, I gave her the truth. “I was not her hero.” Not in any sense of the word.
“But you’re mine?”
I searched her face, looking for misplaced gratitude, but she was not asking about Mexico. “If you will let me.” I was under no illusion it would be any other way.
Pulling out of my grasp, she looked down as she hesitantly touched the Latin words I’d had permanently inked on my chest five months ago. “What does it say?” she asked quietly.
I gave her the words in Latin. Then I covered her hand with mine and said them in English. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Her throat moved with a swallow. “It’s beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.” I reached for the zipper on her sweater. “I want to see how badly you are injured.”
She pulled back, and nervous words tumbled out of her mouth. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“I am not going to force myself on you.” I traced the discoloration on her jaw. “I will never take what is not freely given.”
“I know,” she offered as a response, but the words were said too quickly.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No, no, I’m not.” Her head was shaking no, but she made no eye contact. “I know you wouldn’t… I mean, I know I’m….” She inhaled. “I know I’m safe.”
“Do you?” I would never let anything happen to her again.
She brought her gaze back to mine. “Yes.”
“Then why can I not see you?”
She pushed off my lap and moved to the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the floor, but she did not flinch. She moved two paces to a darkened window and looked out. “I don’t have a body like yours.” Her words were barely audible, even in the small space.
“I am glad.”
She turned to face me. “You don’t understand.”
I understood perfectly. She thought she should look like the women in the fancy hotels on the beach who lay in chairs by the pool.
I stood and took one step, closing the distance she had put between us. “I am going to show you.” I fingered the zipper, but I did not pull it down. “You have nothing to fear. Do you trust me?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
I stepped back. “Undress.”
Her head dropped, her chest rose and fell and she stood perfectly still.
I waited.
Slow, like a winter chill, her hand rose and she took the zipper.
My heart sped up.
Inch by inch, the sound of the metal clasp releasing its teeth filled my quarters as she brought the zipper all the way down.
Her sweater parted, revealing the sides of her bare, full breasts. The nipples hardened under the soft material, and she paused.
My gaze intent, my sex more than ready for her, I said nothing. I waited.
Inhaling, my strong, beautiful angel pushed the sweater off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
My heart pounded, the blood in my veins heated, and my mouth watered. No undergarments, her full, heavy breasts gave way to her small, feminine waist, then her womanly figure swelled again into the perfect curve of her hips.
“Pants,” I demanded, my voice rough with desire.
With shaking hands, she slipped her thumbs under the waistband and pushed it down over her hips. The material pooled at her feet. Despite her skinned knees, she stepped out of her pants with grace.
I throbbed.
She had the face of an angel, but the body of a woman. I had never seen a more beautiful female.
Ignoring my own needs, I moved behind her. Her long hair fell down her back in waves of rich brown, and I brushed the locks off one shoulder. My breath fell on her neck and gooseflesh rose across her skin.
I touched my lips to the top of her shoulder. “Do you know what I see?” I did not wait for an answer. “Proud, strong shoulders.”
She shivered.
“Do you know what these bruises say?” I sifted my hand through her soft hair and traced the edge of the bruise on her back, over her ribs. “They say you are a survivor.”
“I talked back,” she whispered the confession. “I shouldn’t have, but they had taken children.”
I ran my hand over the small of her back and gently pressed the ribs under the marred flesh, feeling for broken bones. “I am proud of you for fighting.”
“He was going to….” Her breath hitched. “He was going to rape me.”
My jaw clenched, and I closed my eyes. I did not want to hear the words again. I did not want this moment clouded by rage for her abductors, but I would not deny her need to speak the words and release them.
Stepping against her back, I gave her the truth. “I would have killed him twice.” I took her hips in my hands. “I will never let anything happen to you again.”
“Hero,” she whispered.
I brushed my palms over her full hips and skimmed down her thighs. I wanted her to forget about the dead sex trafficker. I wanted her to think of me touching her body, and no one else. “Every curve of your body entices me.” I pressed my hips into the small of her back. “Do you feel what the sight of you does to me?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
I dragged my palms up and over the soft rise of her stomach. “I want to swell your body with my seed.”
Hopefulness colored her tone. “You want children?”
I stepped in front of her so I could see her face. “I do with you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you are strong.” I traced the edge of the bruising on her ribs. “I know you are kind and love your family. I know you took care of a child that was not yours like he was your own.” I ran my hand down her arm and took her wrist. “I know how you make me feel.” I placed her hand on my arousal.
She sucked in a sharp breath, but her small fingers grasped at my hard length. “I’ve never done this,” she whispered.
“I know.” Pulsing in her hand, wanting nothing between us, I cupped her cheek and tilted her face up to meet mine. I kissed her once. “I am not taking you tonight.”
“What if I wanted you to?” She licked her bottom lip. “What if I asked?”
Brave angel. A dozen ways to take her raced through my mind, making me harder. The scent of her desire, her shampoo, the soap she had used, it filled my head and my body with a yearning I had never known. “I would say no and make you feel good in other ways.”
She squeezed me harder and whispered, “How?”
I took her face in both hands and kissed her.
I kissed the carefree girl in the gas station. I kissed the female who had fought an abductor, and I kissed the woman who’d come home with me. I stroked through her mouth as if she were already mine and I was hers.
OH MY GOD, HIS kiss.
His huge, hard length pulsed in my hand, and he grasped me tighter. Angling my head, taking my mouth, dominating every single breath between us, he didn’t kiss me, he took me.
Just like he said he would that first night we saw each other again.
He took my reason. He took my fear. He took my inhibition and he made me feel more loved than I had ever felt in my entire life. His arms caging me in, his body curled around me, he consumed everything. Musk and desire mingled with the scent of his soap, and I was surrounded by man and forest. But not just any man. Hero.
My Hero.
Gentle, coaxing my tongue to meet his, then thrusting to dominate as he pulled me harder into his kiss, only to ease back and suck my bottom lip, he made my head spin. Hard, soft, strong, subtle, he kissed me like every nuance was a moment etched in time I would never forget.
I wanted him in my hand, and I wanted to feel every pulse of his arousal, but I wanted my arms around his neck. I wanted to feel the soft buzz of his short hair under my fingers as I grasped on to him. I wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and feel him between my legs. I wanted more, so much more.
Moaning, my mouth open against his, I begged. “Please.”
One hand left my face, and a second later, a rough, calloused finger circled my aching nipple.
I sucked in a breath and arched into his touch, but he’d already moved to my other nipple.
Never imagining how sensitive that part of my body was, wanting more, but afraid of it, I’d barely had time to think the thought when his mouth left mine and hot lips closed over the first nipple.
“Oh God, yes.” I didn’t realize I’d let go of him until my arms were gripping the back of his head as he pulled my flesh between his teeth. Sharp, painful desire shot to my core. “Oh my God, Callan.”
He cupped me, hard, and his lips were instantly back against mine. “Hero,” he growled, stroking through my wetness.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God. “Yes,” I panted. “Hero.”
Slow, deliberate, his finger circled my most sensitive spot. “Always Hero when we are alone together.”
“Yes, okay.” I would have agreed to anything in that moment. Nothing had ever felt this good. “Please,” I pleaded. “More.”
“Tell me why,” he demanded, slowly, too slowly, stroking, but not with enough force.
I gripped his wrist and pressed his hand harder against me. I didn’t know the woman I’d become in his arms, and I didn’t care. Hard and rough, I just wanted his hands on me. I wanted all the bad memories of the past couple days to be gone, and I just wanted to feel good. “Because it’s you and because nothing has ever felt this good. Not like this.”
“Hands on your breasts.” His finger coasted lower, circling my entrance.
My mouth felt empty, my core felt empty, and I could feel desire dripping out of me. “Please,” I begged. “I need more.” I rocked into his touch.
His hand left my pussy, and he gripped my wrists. “I said touch your breasts.” He put my hands right over my aching nipples.
I instantly squeezed, feeding the need for more pressure.
“That’s it,” he urged.
I pinched my nipples, the sting shooting to my core.
His mouth captured mine and he devoured me, sinking a finger inside my core as his tongue drove into my mouth.
I saw stars.
Pleasure, pain, blinding rightness, my head spun. Being stretched how I’d never been stretched before, my legs shook, my core convulsed and it happened instantaneously.
I was coming.
Thrusting a second finger deep inside me, he swirled his thumb over my clit.
I came so hard, I didn’t notice him drop to his knees until his mouth took over for his thumb.
“Hero,” I cried.
Hot, firm, exquisite, he licked my inflamed clit through rolling aftershocks that made my whole body shake. Then, without warning, he brought the sensitive flesh between his teeth, curled his fingers deep inside me and bit down.
“Ahhhh!” My head fell back, my legs gave out, and I was coming again.
A strong arm caught me around the middle and lifted me to the bed. Laying me gently on my back, his mouth kissing and licking where no man had ever touched me, he pushed my legs wide.
Shaking, my fingers still gripping my tight nipples, I groaned. “Hero.” Oh my God. “Hero.”
Swirling his tongue through my folds, he slowly eased his fingers out and ran them down the length of my pulsing core until he lightly pushed against my tight opening.
I jumped.
Crystal clear blue eyes looked up at me as his hand went flat on my stomach. Stilling me, holding me captive, with his intense gaze, with his firm touch, he slowly, intentionally sucked my clit. His eyes locked on mine, he pressed against my tight bud again.
Desire and shame raced across my skin and heated my face. “What are you doing?”
He said nothing. His tongue, thick and long like his erection, darted out and swirled over my clit, then he sank inside my heat as his finger eased into my forbidden opening.
Holy fuck.
My hands left my breasts and my back arched. I grabbed two handfuls of bedding. “I can’t,” I panted, grinding my hips into his mouth, not even knowing what I was saying. “I can’t come again.”
He pushed his finger deep and took my clit between his teeth, licking and sucking on the swollen flesh.
I exploded.
Mind blowing, soul shattering, exploded.
Animalistic growls erupted from my chest as the orgasm ripped through me in wave after wave. Tears streamed down my face, and a rush of wetness dripped between my thighs. “Hero, Hero, Hero.” I chanted his name from my sore throat as I shook.
The pressure left my backside as he eased his finger out, then his lips pressed the softest kiss against my drenched sex. Crawling up my body like a predator, his lips lingered on my hips, my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, leaving traces of my desire with every soft kiss. His huge body hovering over me, he pushed my thighs wide with his knee, then settled between them.
An unfamiliar, desperately aching need filled my empty core as his arousal barely skimmed against me.
Sloppy, no muscle control left, I reached for him. “More,” I frantically begged, needing him like I had never needed anything in my life. The need to make the feeling last, the need to forget, the need for more—like an addict, I grabbed his thick length. “Now.” I jammed my hips up into his.
A tight vise grip of a hand clamped down over my grip. “No.”
It was instant.
Overwhelming shame and rage, at him, at myself, at being kidnapped, at going clubbing in the first place, at all of it—it ripped through my veins at heart-stopping speed, and I shoved at his chest. “Get off!”
“Angel,” he warned.
I lost it.
Seriously fucking lost it.
My chest bucked, my legs kicked and I struck him. Fury, impotent and repressed, broke a dam I didn’t know I’d been holding on to and I screamed. “NO.”
His arms flew around me in a vise-like grip. “You are safe.”
The floodgates opened. Crashing and breaking what was left of my dignity, I blindly lashed out.
I hit his chest, I kicked his thighs, I punched his arms. I screamed at him. “No, no, no!” I shoved down into the mattress then reared up with all the rage of having my old life ripped away from me, and I slammed my head into his solid chest.
Horrible, wrenching sobs filled the primitive cabin as huge, strong arms flipped my body like rag doll.
A solid wall hit my back and tight pressure wrapp
ed around my chest as two massive arms locked in my storm. A huge, muscled thigh came down over my legs, and a steady heartbeat hit my ears as a traitorously calm breath washed over my neck and cheek.
“You are safe,” he repeated.
I dissolved into tears.
Every minute of fear in that cargo container came back, and I sobbed for the life I’d thought I’d lost. I cried for the young girls who’d been taken, and I wept at the blood I didn’t get to shed.
“I wanted to kill him,” I bawled.
“I know,” he answered, quiet, calm.
“You took that from me.” I threw down the repressed accusation I hadn’t thought I was holding on to.
“You did not need to carry the burden of taking another’s life.”
Every calm word out of his mouth belied the psychosis of my accusation. I stopped fighting against his hold, but words bled out. “It was my turn to touch you. You were supposed to come. I wanted to make that happen. I wanted you inside me. You were supposed to make me forget.”
“I am not releasing until I am inside you.” He kissed my temple. “You were not ready for that.”
“Yes I was.” Two stray tears slipped down my cheek. “You made me ready.”
He said nothing. He knew I was lying.
“You stopped,” I accused, laying blame he didn’t deserve.
He remained silent.
“Say something,” I demanded.
His chest rose and fell once. “I should not have taken you so soon.”
“Stop it.” I tried to shove against his hold.
He didn’t budge. “You were not ready.”
Shame, so deep it eclipsed my anger, robbed me of all sanity, and I bucked against him. “Let go.”
His hold tightened. “But I do not regret it.”
Panting, naked, sweat slicked, a wet mess between my legs, bruised everywhere, I stilled.
“I do not regret it,” he repeated.
A half sob, half cry of shame escaped from my tight chest and crawled up my throat.
“Stop being ashamed.” His huge hand came up and smoothed my hair from my face. “You needed to get the anger out.”
Winded and spent like I’d run a marathon, the last of my adrenaline released into his strong hold on me, and guilt, stronger than my shame, rose like bile. “I hit you.”
