That was not what my ego needed right now—or ever.
For a few seconds, it was impossible for me to quench the twin wave of rejection and doubt that cut right through the haze of need, my mind still slow because it was too far in one-track territory to react. Spending weeks with a healthy dose of pep talks, exercise, and step-by-step successes in relearning everything my body had forgotten or needed to compensate for was one thing; feeling my latent insecurity roar to life and do a complete mental reset was quite another. It made me want to cringe, curl up, and above all else, cry, and bless Nate for not being an imbecile and not being aware of that. All I could do to keep myself from doing any of that was to stand there, still as a statue, while my ragged breath hitched. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed my eyes until I felt his hand—the other one, not the one he’d withdrawn from between my legs—gently cup the side of my face, his nose briefly brushing mine as he leaned in for a feather-light kiss.
“It’s not you,” he more exhaled than whispered against my lips. “I swear, it’s not you.”
Maybe it was just the seconds ticking by that finally allowed my intellect to jump-start. Or maybe it was the fact that gentle and soft wasn’t anything either of us usually fell back to where sex was concerned—including before the shit hit the fan. Whatever it was, I was happy to let it tear me out of the deepest levels of misery my ego was still sinking into, allowing me to offer a wry, hard laugh. I opened my eyes and stared into his, too close to really focus on them.
“Yeah, because the idea of a three-fingered hand job wouldn’t send anyone running for the hills.”
Nate pulled back, just far enough so he could read my expression, and I, in turn, his. He looked conflicted as hell, and not in the “how do I break this to her” way that I’d expected. So not a lie on his part. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I watched him bite his lip, casting around for words. If not for his hand still cradling my face, lending warm and stoic comfort, I might have started to freak out all over again.
The breath he finally let out was full of dejection, and I could see in his gaze that he’d decided to cut the crap, including trying to cushion the blow.
“It’s not you,” he repeated—stalling. Or not. Anger flared up inside of me, hot and instantaneous, as if it had never receded into the back of my mind. Deep down, warning bells went off again but this once I chose to ignore them. Stabbing Nate in the chest with my right index finger—had to be the right since I wasn’t equipped with a left anymore—I opened my mouth to let him have it, yet stopped when he caught my hand in his free one and pressed it to his lips, kissing my knuckles and what little remained of my ring finger, before—
“Did you just gnaw on my stump?!”
The grin taking over his face for a second was answer enough, and it weirdly mollified the rage boiling inside of me. I realized he was distracting me and was a little surprised that it worked. He was also still stalling, and when he saw the twist coming to my lips, he dropped it for real, while keeping his fingers wrapped around my hand, his gaze boring into mine.
“Every time I close my eyes, whether I even try to wank or just want to go to sleep, I still feel my fingers contracting around your throat. I see the panic in your eyes when you realize that I am going to choke you to death and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I still feel my body slamming down on yours as I force you across that table and immobilize you, leaving you just enough air to breathe so you won’t clock out because you need to be fully aware of what’s going to happen to you next. And I still feel the conviction that what I’m doing is right; that I will keep holding you down while Hamilton does whatever the fuck he wants to do to you, and a simple order is enough and I will do it, too. So, no, I’m not going soft because the sensation of your hand is familiar yet glaringly different at the same time. Happy now?”
It would have been easiest to snap the “Hell, no!” at him that wanted to wrench itself from my very soul—and I didn’t miss the fact that his previously tender gestures had transformed into vise grips, if controlled enough not to hurt me—but for once in my life I took the one second that was enough to let my thoughts catch up with my impulse control. I forced myself to relax, even though memory-recruited resentment made me want to tense up and push away from him. Yeah, that would have been a brilliant reaction considering Nate’s confession. I held his gaze evenly, doing my very best to keep both judgment that I didn’t really feel and anger that he might mistake for resentment off my face.
“I take it that whatever was in that mind-control shit they shot you up with didn’t just turn you into a passive passenger in your own meat-suit body?” I ventured a guess. So much for trusting anything Hamilton said.
Nate shook his head. “Nope. I was in control, and I knew exactly what I was doing. I was convinced that I was doing the right thing. A very focused, single-minded conviction, but conviction nevertheless. I was following orders and I had no reason whatsoever to doubt them.”
Part of me wanted to scream. Part of me definitely wanted to recoil—thankfully only a very small part of me. I felt like I should give him a hug, but the intensity burning in his eyes told me quite plainly that he wasn’t exactly receptive for gestures like that—probably because it would have made him fold in on himself, and right now we simply didn’t have the time for a good cry. I almost started laughing when I realized that, in many ways, we’d become so damn similar to each other over the past months. Maybe always had been, only that I’d needed to play catch-up with all the shit he’d been through in his life while for me it had been mostly boring sunshine and happiness. Extrapolating from that, it wasn’t that hard to guess what I should—or at least could—do next.
“How about I stalk back down that corridor and finally do what I should have done weeks ago when I had the chance on the destroyer, and fucking castrate that son of a bitch?” I suggested, only half joking.
Nate snorted, that wry kind of amusement exactly the reaction I had been going for—but didn’t offer up anything else. When I raised my brows at him a few seconds later, he finally deigned to answer me. “I can’t find it in me to tell you not to go for it,” he offered, but talked right over me when I tried to interject. “But—and I don’t have to tell you that—I don’t think it would be wise.”
“When have I ever done the wise thing?”
Another amused sound left him. “You’re usually smarter with the big decisions that could end your life within seconds.”
“It won’t kill him,” I reasoned. “And you heard what Elle said. Her doc’s terribly bored at the moment. With her on standby, they’d have a tourniquet tied within seconds and have patched him up in under half an hour. Judging from my own experience, he’d bounce back within a day or two if he didn’t lose too much blood.”
“I love how reasonable you can sound sometimes,” Nate wryly surmised.
I left it at a bright, albeit fake, grin before I made myself back off the warpath. He was right. It wasn’t Bucky who I was concerned about, but his men. I hadn’t just spent half a day slaughtering zombies to show them how much I was one of them only to turn all that around for a moment of endless satisfaction. Even though I really wanted to, with my mind, body, and soul. That realization scared me—and it wasn’t the only one. It was easier to close the lid on the roiling pot of anger now than it had been back when I’d almost lost it after my fight with Hamilton, but it wasn’t easy. Damn fucking hard was more like it.
“Exactly how much is that serum screwing with my impulse control?” I more mused than asked, but the knowing look on Nate’s face told me he had an answer for that. “And I’m way too trusting toward the French. I can’t remember the last time I just waltzed into anywhere and didn’t feel like I constantly needed to watch my back.” And my, didn’t the idea of something screwing with my brain on a more permanent level than those booster shots make me really, really happy.
Nate’s mouth took on a wry twist. “You can’t completely take a soldier’s fear away and
still expect him to perform at top-notch level. But you can make him feel invincible once he’s overcome that initial bout of fear.”
My mind skipped over several options until it settled on the most obvious—and quite disturbing—one.
“Does that shit affect my amygdala?”
He shrugged. “You read the documentation on the project.”
“Yes, the genetic side of it,” I grumbled. “They didn’t include a ‘this is you now’ instruction sheet.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nate offered. “But it’s been known to happen that a lot of us are more prone to take risks and head into certain danger without a second thought. Seeing as that’s usually your MO, anyway…”
He trailed off with a smile when I made a face. “That explains why I thought it was a good idea to go zombie slaughtering. Not why I feel like Elle’s my best friend.”
“I think you’re mostly projecting on her because you spent almost a month in what you perceive as the most hostile environment known to man—men. And your mind might still be basking in the afterglow of one hell of an adrenaline rush. Hence your need to also tear my clothes off.”
“That’s not always connected,” I harped.
“Experience says otherwise,” Nate succinctly provided.
Okay, maybe he had a point there. “I’ve never heard you complain about it.”
“Far be it from me,” he offered, but the following pause was quite the sobering one. “I’m not one hundred percent sure about the trust thing, but it’s likely your subconscious knowing that you’re an apex predator now.” At my confused look, he smacked his lips. “You may still be somewhat off because of your injuries, but what you did today down in that valley was beyond what you could have done at the bat of an eyelash two months ago.”
I felt like that was pushing it, but I got his point. “So what you’re saying is that, deep down, my mind knows I’m awesome.” I got a blank stare back, making me laugh. “Oh, come on! Would it really kill you to, this once only, admit that I’m amazing?”
“I’m more concerned about what it would do to your ego,” he snarked.
“Seeing as survival means modeling myself after you, overinflation might be an issue,” I shot back.
The smile Nate had been fighting finally broke through, and he leaned in for a second to push his forehead against mine, making us share a breath. “You should stop constantly seeking my—or anyone else’s—approval.”
“Not seeking anything,” I claimed, although it wasn’t entirely true. “I just want my husband to admit that I’m a good catch.”
The pause on his side that followed was downright insulting, but finally, he folded, mirth lighting up his eyes. “You’re awesome. Happy now?”
The way he was looking at me made me chuckle, and I did as much of a victory dance as possible, which wasn’t a lot seeing as I was still pretty much trapped between his body and the door.
“It was the ‘awesome’ part that hurt, right? You could have just said amazing. Or wonderful. Spectacular. Unsurpassable.”
“Are you done yet?” he grated, pulling away to create enough space between us so he could properly glower down at me. Like I gave a fuck. As much as I wanted to continue goofing off—and loving that I felt both physically and mentally up to it once more—we still had a mile to go before we were done.
“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on with you?” I asked, trying very hard not to sound as disappointed as I felt at him not letting me know that, well, he was having some issues as well. And I wasn’t even talking about the currently impacting physical limitations that was causing.
Nate gave that some thought, but his gaze never wavered from mine. “And when, exactly, should I have done that? When I was halfway convinced you wouldn’t live through the night? Or when it took all the strength you had left to heave yourself onto unstable feet? When you were so weak that hobbling around was all you could do? When you finally started to recover but it took everything you had not to scream your head off at your own reflection? You had a lot of shit to deal with that was way more important than my shit. I’m smarter than adding to it when you’re just barely hanging on as it is.” He paused, then spilled the rest of the beans. “I know you’re doing a damn good job convincing yourself that you don’t hold any of that against me, but I do. Rationally, I know it’s not my fault. But that doesn’t change a thing about the memories that haunt me. I couldn’t put this burden on you while you were still recovering.”
“What changed your mind? Besides obvious necessity, I mean.”
A hint of annoyance crossed his features. Obviously, I’d used up all the goodwill he’d allowed for because I couldn’t handle shit.
“You got better. And watching you down there today, moving with strength and stamina you’ve never had before, was glorious.”
“Ha, I knew it! You only stayed back so you could watch my scrawny ass!”
Nate chuckled softly at my triumphant crow. “And someone had to keep the undead at bay while you idiots took forever to get to the French,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess our grand gesture wouldn’t have been so useful if they’d gotten eaten in the meantime.”
Silence fell, both of us considering. I could almost see the gears grinding in his mind, and I didn’t like how he started to tense, ready to pull away—emotionally and physically. This was not how I was going to let my first—and maybe only—chance for us to have some alone time go down.
“So, what are we going to do about this situation?” Withdrawing my right hand, I poked his stomach, trying to be at least a little circumspect. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but when I pulled you in here, you weren’t exactly opposed to bumping uglies with me. And while not quite there yet, you were definitely getting there. Until, you know, your mind started getting in the way.”
I got a wry, if somewhat sad, grin back. “How many times do I need to tell you that I get off on getting you off?”
“You do love rubbing it in my face that you’re quite proficient in said aspect,” I groused, then flashed him a bright grin. “What are you waiting for? Worst that can happen is I get off. I think I can deal with that.”
Nate went as far as rolling his eyes heavenward in a silent, “What did I do to deserve this burden?” if there ever was one but didn’t resist when I grabbed his head to pull his mouth down to mine—and then, with determination, grabbed his hands and put them on more interesting places than my cheek. He knew what to do, and thankfully did rather than continue our conversation. I may have exaggerated my reactions just a bit, but within minutes, that wasn’t exactly necessary anymore. Lo and behold, when my hand traveled southward once more, things were looking a lot better. Better still after some well-meaning manipulation. And absolutely great when he picked me up and hauled me over to an abandoned workbench that was close to the perfect height for all things involving bad lighting and the odd giggle in between. If it took a little more time than our usual record-setting be-done-before-the-zombie-eats-us thing, I so wasn’t going to complain.
It must have been close to the allotted time Elle had promised she could get me that found us both panting heavily, sweating somewhat profusely, and equally less wound up than when we’d entered the room. I couldn’t wipe off the stupid grin that had taken hold of me and didn’t even try. “You could have told me that this is another unexpected side effect of the serum,” I prompted, having to stop halfway through the sentence to catch my breath. My, but I might even be a little sore later—ignoring all the scars and bruises and whatnot that had built up too much of a background noise to ignore, even when I was feeling thoroughly… satisfied.
Nate snorted as he stepped away to look for something to clean up with, but I didn’t miss that small smile that he was trying to hide. Three, two, one—scathing remark about to come. “And have you hound me about not getting you shot up over a year ago? Fat chance.” Seeing as there were only oil- and grease-stained rags to be found, I pelted him with my thic
k thermal to use instead. I was hot enough that my tank top would do for now, and the corridor outside had been surprisingly cozy deeper into the base. Seeing as the wall behind me wasn’t ice cold, I figured they must have had some kind of heating system run through the entire complex. Geothermal springs, maybe? Nate expertly caught my shirt, then watched me as I started putting the remainder of my clothes where they belonged. After spending weeks bundled up, it was downright weird to only be wearing a layer or two.
As I straightened, he caught me in a last, lingering, bordering-on-sweet, kiss, but I already knew that what he was about to say next would make me want to punch him. Time for admitting I was awesome was obviously over.
“Bree, promise me one thing.” I raised my brows at him, prompting him to let me have it. “Never, ever even think about producing a sex tape.”
I burst out laughing, incapable of holding back. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last I’d expected. It took me a few seconds to get a grip on myself. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why should I never, ever make a sex tape?”
“Because the sounds you were uttering were the absolute opposite of what anyone would find titillating.”
That got me braying all over again. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
“Because you were annoying as fuck, which served as a distraction,” my dear husband let me know.
Pursing my lips, I wondered if I should tell him that this was not the impression I’d gotten, but left it at something between a leer and a smile. “That’s on you then, isn’t it? Whatever floats your boat.”
He made as if to come after me but—sadly—thought better of it. The frown appearing on his forehead reminded me that the fun time was over now.
Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus Page 3
