Wild for Him

by Janelle Denison

  "So did Jon and Kevin," he replied good-naturedly as he slipped his hands into his pants' pockets. "They sure kept you busy out on the dance floor."

  She laughed and curled her bare toes into the carpet. "They're nice guys. All of them. And they don't do a thing for me," she assured him. Closing the distance between the two of them, she placed a hand on his chest, her eyes an extraordinary shade of blue. "Except they do make me laugh. A lot. And that's not a bad thing considering my life lately."

  "I definitely agree with that."

  "I hope you don't mind that I invited them to my birthday party at Envy next week. They'll definitely keep the guests entertained."

  He grinned. "I can't argue with that."

  She tipped her head, causing her tousled hair to fall to one side. "How about you? Did you have a good time?"

  "Yeah, I did." He'd spent most of the day watching Christine-mingling with his friends, interacting with the guests, holding Mia's daughter, Sophie. He thought about those high heels she'd worn for hours, her energy out on the dance floor, and the few yawns she'd tried to hide on the drive home, and knew she had to be worn out. "You must be exhausted."

  "My feet are a bit sore, but I'm actually wide awake." She started toward her bedroom, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, a come-hither look in her eyes. "I need a little help getting my dress off. Care to help?"

  Since the dress was made of a stretchy kind of material, and there was no zipper, taking it off was just a matter of pulling it over her head-and that certainly didn't require his assistance. But her sweet smile was filled with the kind of pure, shameless temptation that made him weak in the knees and unable to resist anything about her. Knowing he'd be a fool to refuse since he only had a few more nights to spend with her, he took Christine's hand and followed her back to her master bedroom.

  After today, his emotions felt as though they were in an upheaval that he couldn't quite sort out. He knew and understood that their affair was a temporary deal-she'd made that clear from the beginning. Having just broken off an engagement and still dealing with the wrath of her mother, Christine wasn't looking for anything permanent. And now, she was getting a taste for being independent and out from under Audrey's thumb, and he knew she loved that newfound freedom.

  As for him, he'd never fit into Christine's life long-term, at least not comfortably considering their opposite lifestyles. Hell, he didn't even know if he could give her everything she deserved emotionally from a relationship-he wasn't sure he had it in him anymore. Between the wrenching realization that his mother had walked out on him when he was a boy, never to be heard from again, to losing Kim and even other comrades he'd befriended in the war, he felt all tapped out.

  But he couldn't deny that he wanted her. Desired her. And ultimately, he cared deeply for her, and those were key elements when it came to being with Christine. The bedroom was the one place they were equal and completely compatible, in every way. It was their own private world where no one existed but the two of them and a wealth of passion.

  When they reached her room, she tossed her shoes aside and turned back toward him. With only the soft glow of the nightstand light illuminating them, she met his gaze and silently began unbuttoning his shirt. Needing to taste her, he delved his fingers into her hair and tipped her head back as he lowered his head until their lips meshed and their tongues mated.

  Slowly, leisurely, they undressed one another. Clothing fell to the floor in a haphazard mess, until they were both naked. Between soft, soulful kisses, hands wandered, touched and caressed bare flesh, increasing the level of arousal simmering between them. His fingers glided across her breasts, trailed down her belly, and eventually found their way between her supple thighs, where she was so soft and slick and sensitive. He stroked her, and she gasped into his mouth… moaned her approval as he brought her close to orgasm… then she made a small, mewling sound of protest when he stopped short of giving her what her body ached for.

  Needing to be inside of her when she climaxed, and wanting to watch her expression as she came for him, he ended the kiss, pushed her down onto the bed, and settled to his knees between her spread legs. He glided his palms down her quivering thighs, and slid the pads of his thumbs through her weeping flesh.

  Her hands fisted into the covers, and her hips moved against the feather-light touch of his fingers. "Stop teasing me," she said, half-laughing.

  He grinned, loving how playful she could be, even when she was so aroused. As for him, his erection jutted out from his groin, hot and hard, more than ready to give her what she wanted.

  "I need a condom," he said, and started to reach toward the nightstand, where she kept a supply.

  She grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could pull the drawer open and retrieve one of the foil packets. "Not tonight."

  He pulled back and stared down at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

  "I'm on the pill," she said, and bit on her lower lip with a bit of uncertainty, and a whole lot of vulnerability that told Ben just how much she trusted him. "I know that using a condom is the safe way to go, but I'm good healthwise."

  "Me, too," he said, and moved back to the spot between her legs, his gaze taking in the way she was laid out before him, his for the taking. "Are you sure about this?"

  She nodded. "More sure than I've been about anything in a very long time. I want to feel you inside of me, all of you, without a condom to take away any of the sensation."

  The thought of having all that wet heat wrapped around his cock, with absolutely nothing between them, made him shudder with anticipation, lust, and desire. Crawling up and over her body, he pushed her thighs farther apart as his hips nestled intimately against hers, and the tip of his shaft probed at her damp entrance.

  When she realized what he intended, she splayed a hand on his chest to keep him from making that final downward thrust into her. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide.

  He smiled. "I'm making love to you." The words slipped out of him without censor, but they felt more right than wrong.

  She appeared startled for a moment because they'd always referred to what was between them as sex, but then she quickly recovered. "No missionary position, remember?"

  "Yeah, I remember." He dropped a kiss on her nose, then took both of her hands, entwined their fingers, and pinned them next to her head so she couldn't use them at all. So that she'd have no choice but to just feel. "But sometimes, the missionary position can be good," he murmured huskily. "Very good."

  Her lashes fell to half-mast, and her body softened beneath his. "Show me," she whispered.

  He lowered himself completely over her, aligning them from chest to thighs. His jaw tensed as he slowly slid inside of her, then leisurely pulled out again, until just the head of his penis filled her. He entered her once more, this time all the way to the base of his shaft, and moaned as the slick friction dragging along his bare cock provided the most exquisite sensation-one that threatened to make him come way too quickly if he wasn't careful.

  He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, his breath dampening her skin, and for the longest time he didn't move, enjoying the warmth surrounding him.

  She squirmed restlessly, impatiently, beneath him, a silent plea for him to move.

  "Wrap your legs around my waist. Christy," he rasped into her ear.

  She did as he asked, and he groaned when he felt her soft, slender thighs hugging his hips. The intimate position lifted her pelvis higher, allowed for a deeper penetration that made her gasp. He tried to savor everything about being inside of her this way, but the temptation was just too great, and when she arched beneath him so that he rubbed against her clitoris, which heightened her pleasure, he couldn't stop the instinctive need to push harder, deeper. He eased back, almost to the point of withdrawal, then tunneled his way back inside with a purposeful stroke.

  Their rhythm was slow at first, and he concentrated on the scent of her hair, the heated vanilla fragrance still clinging to
her skin, the feel of her fingers curling tight against his. Anything but the building, pulsing pressure in his groin.

  Hungry for the taste of her, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with aggression and greed. God, she was so sweet, he thought. So beautiful, and generous, and responsive. He rolled his hips hard against hers, then plunged faster, then faster still, until she was moaning beneath the crush of his lips and he knew she was close to climaxing.

  He lifted his head, and as he continued to drive into her tight, moist flesh, he watched her. Pleasure suffused her expression and she looked up at him through passion-glazed eyes, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes rolled back as her orgasm began rippling through her, the feel of her tensing and fluttering around his cock more than enough to finally push him over the edge.

  With a hoarse shout, he came inside of her in a blinding rush of heat that sizzled along his nerve endings. His body shook as his orgasm peaked and then subsided. When it was over, he dropped his head to her shoulder, unable to discount the overwhelming sense of completion washing over him.

  "That was good," she said on a breathy sigh. "Very good."

  Smiling, he turned his head, and pressed his lips to her hair, her cheek, then kissed her slow and deep. He wanted to hold onto this moment, and her, forever… but knew, and accepted, that it wasn't meant to be.

  CHRISTINE was roused from a deep sleep by the violent twitching of Ben's body next to hers, and the awful, guttural sounds coming from the back of his throat. Momentarily confused, she came up on her arm and stared down at him, and when he jerked again and cried out in his sleep, she knew he was in the throes of some kind of nightmare.

  She touched his bare chest and found it damp with perspiration. Feeling his heart racing beneath her palm, she gave him a gentle shake. "Ben, wake up," she said, trying not to jostle him too badly.

  He awoke with a start, anyway. Eyes wild with terror, he bolted upright in bed, his breathing ragged. His entire body was tense and his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was ready to confront some unknown evil.

  She stroked a hand down his back in an attempt to soothe him. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly.

  It took him a moment to realize where he was, and then he raked a hand through his tousled hair and exhaled a harsh stream of breath. "It was a bad dream. It happens sometimes." He shook his head, as if that gesture would dispel the internal demons still lingering in his mind.

  He was trying to remain calm and casual about the entire situation, but she instinctively knew what the dream had been about-something that had happened in the wan most likely pertaining to his fiancée, Kim. And Christine was more than willing to listen if Ben needed to vent and get those bad memories out in the open, instead of keeping them bottled up inside where they could only fester and breed horrific nightmares.

  It was nearly seven in the morning on Sunday, almost time for them to get up anyway. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  His expression turned grim. "Trust me, those nightmares are something I have to live with, but the details of those dreams aren't something you want to hear about."

  "How do you know that?" She wasn't a weak and fragile female who couldn't withstand to hear a few harrowing stones.

  "Because the details are shocking, ugly, and vile," he said, an angry, bitter edge to his voice. "And worst of all, what I dream about is real and something I had to live through and will never, ever forget, no matter how hard I try. There's no sense dragging someone else into my own personal hell."

  There was so much pain and heartache in his gaze, and it hurt her to see him hurting so much. He was doing his best to push her away emotionally, and she just wasn't going to let him shut her out that way. Hopefully, if he talked about those awful memories, maybe he could begin to heal inside and those nightmares would finally leave him alone.

  "What happened to your fiancée. Ben?" she asked softly, persistently.

  Sighing heavily, he lay back down on the pillow and draped his arm over his eyes. "Let it go, Christine."

  He sounded tired and weary-no doubt tired of carrying so many painful burdens and weary from years of holding it all inside.

  "I don't want to let it go." She recalled the picture she'd seen in his apartment of Ben and his fiancée-once very happy and in love. "Tell me about Kim, please?"

  When he remained quiet, she tried to think of a way to draw him out, to get him to talk, and decided to start at the beginning. "How did the two of you meet?"

  He moved his arm to let one dark brown eye glower at her. "You really aren't going to leave it alone, are you?" he asked gruffly.

  She smiled at him, not the least put off by his scowl. She'd learned enough about this man to know that his growl was much worse than his bite. "I'm afraid not, so you might as well start talking."

  A deep breath unraveled out of him, and then he spoke. "We met when we were both deployed to Iraq and were stationed at the same Marine base near Fallujah," he said, staring at the ceiling. "We started out as friends, and things progressed from there. We'd planned on getting married as soon as each of our tours in Iraq was over."

  Knowing how that had turned out, Christine's heart twisted with anguish for Ben and what he'd endured. "So, she was a Marine, too?"

  He nodded. "She was a first lieutenant, and was part of the female search force that was used to pat down the Iraqi women for contraband when they came through checkpoints." Turning his head on the pillow, he met her gaze. "It was a job that had to be handled with sensitivity, and since many Muslim women cover themselves from head to toe to avoid contact with males who aren't close relatives, male Marines aren't allowed to touch them, but they still had to be searched to make sure they weren't concealing any weapons beneath their loose garb."

  A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as he remembered, and continued. "She was small compared to a lot of the other female Marines, but Kim was strong and tough when the situation warranted. She dealt with the Iraqi women politely, but firmly, and didn't put up with any shit from anybody."

  Christine settled more comfortably beside him on the bed. "You included?" she teased.

  "Yeah, me included. She definitely kept me in line, but she was also such a kind and caring person, and as soft as a marshmallow inside. She loved giving candy and school supplies to the Iraqi children we often came into contact with, and she taught the young girls to play hopscotch and recruited us guys to show them how to do double Dutch jump rope. That was not a pretty sight," he said wryly.

  She laughed, imagining these big strapping Marines attempting to be light on their feet as they tried to stay in sync with the two turning ropes.

  "Anyway, Kim and I came from small towns and shared the same values and similar family situations that bonded us on a deeper level. Her father was an alcoholic that abused her, and she joined the military right after graduating high school as a way to make a better life for herself. And for the time that she was in the military, she did just that."

  Christine swallowed hard, trying hard not to think about how big the contrast was between Kim's background and lifestyle, and her own. It reminded her too much of the differences between herself and Ben. "She sounds like a wonderful woman," she said, a bit envious of what the two of them had shared.

  "She was my best friend." Shadows of anguish etched his features right before he looked away again. "One night, we were in a convoy of Humvees carrying members of a female search team back to base when we were ambushed. A suicide car bomber drove his vehicle into the second Humvee right in front of ours, which was carrying Kim. The bomb ignited a huge blast that killed the driver and set the vehicle on fire. But that wasn't all. There were about a dozen Iraqi gunmen who joined in on the ambush, too."

  His voice had grown thick with excess emotion and he paused, then cleared his throat before continuing. "Kim and the other women in the Humvee immediately jumped out to get away from the fiery explosion, but as she ran toward our vehicle to take co
ver while we returned fire, she was shot in the back."

  As she listened to his story, Christine's chest grew tight with sorrow and she ached deep inside for the pain and loss he'd endured. She knew he wasn't finished, so she remained quiet, waiting for him to go on.

  "I saw it all happen, and as soon as she was shot and dropped to the ground, I went after her, right into open fire," he said hoarsely as he relived the harrowing past. "She was so vulnerable and defenseless out there, and I picked her up and ran with her in my arms until we were behind our Humvee while the rest of my unit fought off the gunmen."

  He exhaled a shuddering breath and met her gaze again. "I kept telling her to hang on, that she was going to be okay, that I just needed her to hold on until I could get her to a medic. By the time the fight ended, two of the men from my unit, and three of the women, were dead. Including Kim."

  The torment and haunting grief in his eyes was a tangible thing. "It should have been me. I should have died that day, not her! I was there in the convoy to protect her, and instead I failed her," he said angrily, then pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, his bitterness and resentment obviously causing him so much inner turmoil. "She didn't deserve to be murdered in cold blood like that and I would have done anything to give my life for hers."

  Christine hated that he felt responsible for Kim's death, that four years after the fact he was still blaming himself for what had happened-for not protecting as he'd been trained to do. But she also knew that there was absolutely nothing she could say that would make him feel differently about the situation. It was his burden to bear, until he was ready to let it go on his own.

  She blinked and felt a trickle of moisture roll down her cheek. A tear for the woman he'd loved with such devotion, and had lost in such a devastating way. And sadness for the jaded man he'd become deep inside.

  He reached out and gently wiped away the wetness on her cheek, his touch lingering on her face. "Not a pretty story, is it?"

  "War is never easy or pretty." she whispered, and even though she knew her next words weren't much in the way of easing his internal misery, they were genuine and she felt compelled to say them anyway. "I'm sorry, Ben. So sorry."