by Sabrina York
“Yes. Oh yes. Please.” She tried to stop his retreat, clenching around him, closing in as though she could not bear to lose the delicious contact.
But he wasn’t going anywhere.
Before he fell free, he reversed direction and sank into her again. Slowly. Carefully. It nearly killed him.
“Yes!” she huffed, sinking her nails into the fleshy globes of his ass.
She probably was not aware how tightly she was gripping his ass. He didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything. Not his scars, not the past, not the future. Buried deep within her, he dipped his head and suckled her breasts again. Excruciating ripples massaged his cock. He loved her reaction, so he did it again.
He could have done that all day, enjoying the fiendish pleasure, but a stronger urge rode him.
The irresistible urge to fuck. To fuck her.
Hard and hot and fast.
Slowly he eased out again, shivering at her resistance. And then he plunged deep. And again. And again. Picking up the pace, going faster, wilder, and deeper with each manic thrust. Her body tightened, quivered, peaked. He knew when she came. Knew the look, the feel, the tenor of her cries. But he didn’t stop. He drove her higher and higher still. Ruthlessly, he pummeled her with pleasure.
But he tormented himself as well. He wanted to come. Wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted. Wanted to empty in her. Fill her. Give her his all.
It was too good to let it end.
He fought. Fought against himself. Denied his release. Reveled in the burning agony of want.
His cock swelled. His balls tightened into hard little nuts. Anticipation sent shivery prickles down his spine. His thrusts became shorter. Deeper. Desperate.
Beneath him she wept. Wailed. Voraciously kissed and nibbled his neck as he worked within her.
And then she did something that unmanned him. Her fluttering fingers traced the crack of his ass and dipped in.
Holy. God. Her finger in his ass.
Frissons of bliss snarled through him in a swell of sensation so powerful, he lost all control. He felt as though his soul separated from his body at that moment, soaring free and flying high. Entangled with hers.
An unstoppable wave erupted from him. Not just his seething cum flooding her welcoming body. Everything. Everything he ever was and always would be, he gave up.
To her.
And she took it. Took it all.
Breathless and bare, shuddering with a rapturous delight of her own, she took it. Took him.
It wasn’t until much later—when they lay, wrapped around each other, cocooned together on the sofa, watching the fire and slowly returning to sanity—that the sickening realization hit him.
He’d forgotten protection.
And he hadn’t thought of Sam all morning.
Chapter Seven
Something had shifted. Lyssa wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew the second things changed. Perhaps it was the infinitesimal tightening of Wade’s muscles, or perhaps it was the shimmy of energy surrounding him. But it was clear to her, something was wrong.
Her heart dipped a little. What they’d shared—this morning in bed and again on the couch—had been transformative for her. Because of her gift, she’d never really been able to relax and be with a man. Something—her partner’s shifting aura, his errant thoughts, wandering dead relatives—had always interrupted her pleasure. But with Wade, it wasn’t like that. When she was with him, when he held her, and when they kissed, everything else faded. All the voices, all the swirly colors, all the distracting energy.
It was as though they were in a bubble together, protected and shielded from the psychic plane. It was like a vacation from her gift, and it was delicious.
But now the clamor had returned.
She glanced up at his face—what a beautiful face. She loved it all. Even the scars. He did not meet her gaze. A muscle ticked in his cheek, confirming what her senses told her. Something was wrong.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He flinched and met her eyes then. She did not like the shadows she saw.
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
A lance to the heart. It took everything in her to keep her expression bland. “No?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Goddamn it, Lyssa. I fucking forgot to use a condom.”
She knew that was not all of it, but decided to pretend it was. She cuddled closer and patted his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m on the pill.”
“I’m glad.” He didn’t sound glad. “But an unwanted pregnancy is only one reason to use protection.”
Her heart stilled. “Is there…is there something you want to tell me?”
He blinked. “Me?” She nearly laughed at the offense flaring in his eyes. “No. I get full medical work ups every three months. I’m clean.”
She sniffed. “Well, I’m clean too.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Again, he didn’t sound glad.
“Good.”
“Fine.”
He went back to staring at the fire, and she went back to staring at him. They sat like that until Biby jumped onto her lap, and then Bo hopped up next to him and tried to hog the sofa.
Wade didn’t say anything else, but Lyssa knew something dark was nagging him.
And she knew what it was. And she knew, if she brought it up, the moment would be shattered.
So she didn’t.
Cowardly of her, yes. But her time with Wade would be short. She only had him for a while. And she didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up another woman. A woman he still loved.
Even though she was dead.
But as the day wore on, and he continued to retreat, she knew she had to say something.
That, and Sam kept nagging her.
Though she knew it was weakness on her part, she put it off, vowing to search for the right time. They spent a lazy morning reading and chatting about nothing and playing cards. He tinkered with the generator on the back porch and almost got it to start.
It was pleasant. Even with the growing wall between them.
After lunch they went out to survey the pile of snow blocking his jeep. The day had warmed and the drifts weren’t as daunting as they’d been the day before, but it still took some effort of wade over to the carport.
Bo came with them, bouncing through the snow like a pup. Wade brought out shovels and even though he grumbled about it, he let Lyssa help him dig. Her efforts were puny compared to his, but together, they made some progress.
They worked until she was breathless, and until he winced with every move.
She would have continued, but she knew if she did, he would as well. And it was clear he was in pain—even if he chose to ignore it.
She blew out a sigh. “Phew. I’m tired. Let’s take a break.”
He glanced at her and frowned. “We’re not half done.”
“We can finish later.”
He hefted another heavy shovelful of snow and cringed. Though it was cold, tiny beads of sweat clung to his hairline. “We need to finish today.”
His urgency baffled her. “Why?”
The way he stilled sent a shiver of trepidation through her. He did not meet her eyes. “We need to finish today.” Another shovelful. And then another.
She set her hand on his arm and he flinched, as though her touch burned him. “Why? Why do we need to finish today?”
His expression was bleak. “So you can leave.”
Oh. Oh dear. She shouldn’t feel such utter desolation. Should she?
“You want me to leave?”
“You should leave.”
So soon? She didn’t want to leave so soon. “Why?”
He hesitated. Myriad emotions flitted over his face. Anger. Hope. Hunger. Regret. His aura swirled—a cacophony of color. Then it settled on gray. “We’re out of bacon.”
Lyssa snorted. She knew, he knew, this wasn’t about bacon. “We should talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk about
bacon.”
She crossed her arms and gored him with a dark look. “Neither do I. Let’s talk about her.”
His Adam’s apple worked. He jabbed the blade of his shovel into the drift. “Her?”
“She has something to say to you.”
He froze, stock-still. “I don’t want to hear what she has to say.”
“You need to.”
“No!” He dropped the shovel and whirled on her, fire in his eyes, his muscles tight. Fists clenched.
Tension hummed between them.
It didn’t help that Sam was in her ear, nudging, pushing, and nagging.
“Wade—”
“No. I don’t want to know. Can’t bear to know. No.” He spun away and stomped back to the cabin. Lyssa followed, with Bo at her heels, but it took her longer. By the time she got inside, he’d gone into his room and shut the door.
And when she knocked, he ignored her.
She hated to think it was over between them so soon. It had been so unbearably sweet.
But it probably was.
She should be used to this by now. She really should. Her gift almost always came between her and someone she cared about. Because they didn’t want to know.
She stoked up the fire and curled up in a blanket on the sofa waiting for him to emerge. And cried.
***
Wade stood at the foot of the sofa and stared down at Lyssa’s tear stained cheeks. Her face was angelic in repose. Her beauty lanced him. He could only allow himself a moment of this. She could awake at any time.
He’d hurt her. He knew he’d hurt her and he hated himself for it. It wasn’t her fault. None of this was. But the fact that he had made love to her and the fact that he’d found such unimaginable bliss in her body, burned like acid in his gut.
Sam had been his heart. His soul. His life. When she’d died—when he’d let her die—he never imagined he could ever find any pleasure with another woman. When he’d been with Lyssa, hell, he hadn’t even thought of Sam once.
It was as though, through his inattention, she’d ceased to exist. As though he’d erased her existence completely.
Guilt had been his constant companion, ever since that day in Kandahar. But it had lost its grip on him, when he’d been loving Lyssa. Now it returned to him in full force. The power of its onslaught swallowed him whole.
How could he have forgotten his vow? How could he have succumbed? And so easily?
It would be convenient to blame her. Lyssa was delicate, adorable, tantalizing. Everything about her spoke to him. And her touch…God. It was a balm to his weary soul. But he had been selfish and thoughtless. He’d taken what he wanted—what he imagined he needed—and forgotten.
It was unforgivable.
He shivered and turned away to toss another log on the fire. His body ached after their shoveling frenzy. He should have known better, but his resolve to dig out his jeep had driven him past all rational thought. Past the rising pain.
All he could think of was packing her up, this provoking bundle of temptation—and her cat—and driving them to the ranger station. All he wanted was to be alone again. And miserable. As he deserved.
“She has something to say to you.”
God. Those words, even now, made his bowels seethe. He didn’t want to think about what Sam might have to say. Couldn’t bear the confirmation of the truth that had haunted him for two years.
She was dead because he’d failed her. He’d sent her into harm’s way, and he hadn’t been there to save her.
Why Bo hadn’t grabbed her, dragged her from the inferno, he didn’t know. Would never know. Bo had been her dog. She’d been his handler since he was a pup. Bo should have saved her.
If Wade hadn’t kept the dog with him, on the other side of the canyon, he might have. Might have been able to save Sam.
He poked at the fire, reliving that day for the millionth time.
Every time he thought it through, he came up with the same conclusion. It was all his fault.
He’d ordered the team in.
He’d sent Sam and Kip to scout the perimeter.
He’d kept Bo with him.
He was the one Bo pulled out.
He’d lived.
They’d died.
Even now, he imagined he could hear her screams, echoing in his head.
Even now—
A hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled with a savage snarl.
“Wade.”
It took a moment for the flames to recede. It took a moment before he could focus. Before he realized he was not in the heat of battle. He was in a cabin. And it was Lyssa’s arms he clutched in a bruising grip. Slowly, he released her and let his hands fall.
“Wade. Stop.”
He scrubbed his face harshly with a palm, scrubbed until the skin was sore.
“Wade.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He should not have let her take him in her arms. Should not have let her hold him. Comfort him. Soothe him.
But he couldn’t push her away. He needed her…needed this, too much.
With a great whoosh of breath, he yanked her closer and clung.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice came to him from afar.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was…shit. I was somewhere else.”
“I know.”
But she didn’t know. She couldn’t know. And he was glad for it. A soul this gentle, this fragile, should never witness the horror of war.
“I know. I know.” She stroked him as she spoke, comforting him, bringing him back to the world, to the bucolic cabin. Where it was safe. Where his friends’ bodies weren’t mangled by shrapnel. Where a woman he loved didn’t vanish in a scorching ball of flame.
They’d found nothing of Sam. Nothing but her melted dog tags and her ring.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Wade stilled. Pulled back and studied Lyssa’s expression. Slowly, realization dawned; something bubbled and spat in his gut. She wasn’t talking about just now, when she surprised him and he turned on her like a surly bear.
She was talking about then. She was talking about Sam.
“Lyssa—”
She put her finger on his lips and for some reason that silenced him. He did not know why. “Wade, we have to talk about this. Sam is getting impatient.”
He shouldn’t have laughed. It was totally inappropriate to laugh.
“What?” she asked softly.
“Sam was always impatient.” The words came out raw and ragged, choked by the ball in his throat. He swallowed heavily. “She…always wanted to plow right in. Never liked to wait.”
He could see her now. The bright light of anticipation and enthusiasm on her face as she prepared for a mission. Checking her weapons, arranging her gear, and even tying up her boots. She did it all with a brash impetuosity.
She’d approached life that way. Diving in and embracing it.
Lyssa wrinkled her nose. “She is kinda…pushy.”
Wade laughed again, a harsh bark. He did not know where it came from, other than the fact that “pushy” described Sam to a tee. Although it was something of an understatement.
Warmth curled through him at the thought. The realization that Lyssa was, indeed, talking to Sam. That somewhere in the mists of the universe, a part of his lover remained.
And she was still pushy.
Pushy to the death, and beyond.
He let Lyssa lead him to the sofa. Sat next to her and allowed her to curl up at his side. He stretched his arm around her and held her close.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” She peeped up at him through the veil of her lashes. He had the sense she was gauging him, analyzing some unseen energy swirling around him.
“No.”
Lyssa smiled. “She’s not going to give up until she has her say.” Lyssa tipped her head to the side, as though she were listening, and then added, “She says she wants to get the
last word.”
Wade’s heart stopped and then set up a frantic tattoo. If he’d had any doubts this was really Sam—that she was here—they fled. “S-she always did want the last word.”
“Also, she was always right.” This Lyssa added with a deadpan expression, although he could tell from the glint in her eyes, she knew Sam was goading him.
He snorted. “That’s debatable.”
“No.” Lyssa grinned. “She says it’s not.”
“God, I miss her.” It swamped him then, the ache, the regret, but also the memories, happy ones of a passionate pair. Her voice, her scent, and her cocky grin. The sharp bite of her wit. All fading, but forever a part of him.
“She wants to tell you what happened that day.”
“I know what happened that day.”
“You don’t.”
“I know it’s my fault she died.”
Lyssa shook her head. The soft strands of her hair brushed his arm. He shivered. “She says you’re an idiot.”
“What?” He did not intend to squawk like a parrot.
Again Lyssa listened to a voice only she could hear. “You’re overbearing, stubborn, and you think far too much of yourself.”
“She’s saying that?”
Holy crap. That did sound like Sam.
“And it’s not your fault, so get over it.” Lyssa narrowed her eyes. “And she really stresses that part. Get over it, Dipwad.”
Wade nearly swallowed his tongue. Sam had only called him Dipwad when she was really ticked.
“I sent her out there—”
“She was doing her job.”
“I kept Bo.”
“She’s glad you did. There…she says there’s no way Bo could have saved her. But she’s happy he saved you. She…told him to save you.”
“How…?”
“She was already dead.”
Bold. Raw. Naked words.
“She was—?”
“She died in the first blast. She says it was her fault. Not yours. So…” Lyssa dropped her voice to a whisper. “Get over it Dipwad.”
Wade had never really wanted to know, never dared contemplate what had happened on the other side of the canyon while he’d been paralyzed in pain. But now, curiosity, and more than that—a confusing swirl of conflicting emotions—burned through him. In that mélange, there may have been a hint of…hope.
