by Dani Wyatt
“I want you to kiss me.” It’s a whisper, but it’s the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard.
She doesn’t look away, those swimming-pool blue eyes as steady on me as mine were on hers.
“What else do you want? What is most important to you?” I ask.
Fuck, you idiot! Just kiss her.
No, I don’t want to just kiss her. I need it all.
She becomes stiff as a board under my fingers, but I need the answer.
“To not be afraid.”
A silent thunderclap deafens me. My sixth sense that knows the truth when I hear it just sent the needle into the red.
And I want to give you that. I’ve always wanted to give you that, even when I didn’t know what it was I wanted.
Her lips aren’t just soft. They don’t just taste good. They are uncharted territory in some pleasure center in my brain. She drifts into me when I bring my mouth down. I leave my lips hard and unmoving on hers for a long moment.
I feel the tension drain out of her, and something else comes in its place—a lightness that is somehow pulling in my gut, like a long dormant sickness beginning to rise and rule over everything that came before.
Her fingers are digging into my shoulders.
She’s not trying to pull me closer; she’s trying to hang on. There is a desperate child inside her, and I’m only beginning to realize what it feels like to be responsible for someone again.
I taste her, her tongue moving with mine now as gasped, tiny breaths come out of her, my hands covering her cheeks, willing her to stay right here, to decide I’m the one she’s needed.
I need more. My arms are around her waist, lifting her in one, smooth motion to sit on the counter in front of me. An explosion of some crazy desire heats my skin as her knees open, and I center my body between them, our kiss turning our heads one way, and then the other, then back, and I draw her lip into my mouth, holding it there, so she knows I have her.
A drawn out moan escapes her lips and I almost freaking lose it.
I made her do that. She moaned for me. It’s going to be one of the first of millions of the best moments of my life with her.
I hope. But how can it?
I’ve got her caged and the rampant blood flow down into my dick is making my damn eyes water. I don’t remember ever having this kind of hard-on for someone before. And, it’s not just the relief I want, it’s something new.
Something so much more encompassing.
Her hands are on my hair, eyes studying my face, and I want to give her all of me.
“Do you want to know?” I ask because she is clearly staring at my scars.
I’ve lived by a lot of rules.
They keep as much order in my life as possible. And, one standing order has been to never tell any woman or girl what happened to my face. My SEAL brother’s know. Louis of course knows.
Dad.
No one else. I don’t share that shit. I lock it up and seal it in a cinder block room with deadbolts and razor wire. I don’t go there, especially not with a chick.
But, Promise is not a chick. What she is, I’m not sure, but she’s not even close to anything I’ve had before.
I’ve heard dudes talk about owning a woman. That shit always sounded like a load of elephant crap to me.
But, not anymore. Sometimes you have to see the color to understand, and that is exactly what this feels like—a new dimension that exists for two people somewhere beyond any place you’ve been before.
A simmering need to consume someone else. To claim them in front of the world as yours. As a possession so precious you vow to protect and cherish them like nothing else that came before or will ever come after.
“No. Not now. Maybe someday, but not now.” Her eyes turn to wells of sadness, and her fingers trace from the top of the scar where it just touches my hairline. She’s moving them like she is reading a beautiful book in braille.
She pauses at my eyebrow. The glass cut deep there, the scar thicker.
The delicate dance of her fingertips is only throwing kerosene on the flames that feel like they are consuming me.
If she only knew how much effort it’s taking to hold back right now. To not subjugate and tear at her like a beast.
She moves right down over my eyelid, across my nose. I’m watching her eyes as they follow her fingers. Inspecting me, like she’s learning something unique about me from every nuance of the jagged, silver skin.
She stops where the deep line intersects with the pulled mesh of burns that begins at the top of my cheekbone and courses down under the collar of my shirt.
She pulls back, and I feel a sense of loss when she takes her fingers away.
The pulsing in my cock is about to drain the blood from my brain, but I’m giving her whatever she needs from me.
You can’t give her everything; you know that.
I ignore the voice in my head. Some things you have to ignore. You have to find a way. She doesn’t need to know, and I’ll never tell her.
My hunger for her consumes me, and it is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Moving on their own, my hands fall to that amazing part of a woman where her back swoops inward just above where the swell of her ass starts.
Only on Promise, that amazing part is magical. I’ve watched her ass move under her scrubs and her jeans like it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Now, imagining my hands only inches from getting myself a glorious handful, I’m damn near heaven.
God, my head is spinning as her hand stills on my face. I take my chances and drag lower, then tug her entire body forward, spreading her legs until I feel her heat.
My cock is fighting the good fight below as the kiss is more electric than earlier. She is making those wind-chime sounds, and her breaths are coming in little starts. The stunning swell of her chest is pressed against me, and her lips are utterly irresistible.
I’m under the hem of her sweater, the first brush of my thumbs on her flesh sending a concussion force boom into my core. I want her.
Like, I’ve never wanted before.
Like, I didn’t know the meaning of that word before.
I want her.
A desire so raw, I’m scared because I don’t know how to stop it.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s mine.
In a way I didn’t know existed before, I want to bend her to my will—take and take and take from her—until she is not sure who she is anymore. Then, give it all back to her in such pleasure, she will never understand what it feels like to hurt ever again.
It’s just a kiss. Don’t lose your shit man, it’s a kiss.
I’m pulling her against me, spreading her legs, and I know she feels the hardness of me.
I give her a moment to protest, to show any sign of fear, and I sense only the way she’s willing herself to be closer to me, to curl into me like she wants what I want.
For her to be part of me.
I need to see her face, to look at her eyes, and as much as it pains me, I pull away from our kiss, both of us taking in a deep breath.
A smile curves her lips.
Beautiful is the only word I know right now. And, it’s my new favorite word.
“Is that the first time you’ve gotten paid to kiss someone?” It’s the only other thing I can think to say besides the words ringing in my head, I hope you’re ready.
“What does that mean?” Her smile turns to a giggle, and my favorite word is playing over and over in my head like a song to the melody of her wind chimes.
“Well, you are kissing me, and I’m still paying you. I have two more minutes of pre-paid time.” I cock my head toward the clock above the sink. “So, technically I just paid you to kiss me.”
I slip my hands up under the back of her sweater, feeling what has to be the softest skin in the world on my palms. I let the sensation of that wash over me even as I try to follow her eyes as they are dancing over my face, then down where our bodies touch.
She wiggles her glorious ass on the
counter and gives me a playful push against my chest, but I’ve got her on lockdown. My hands press into her back and draw the magic of her open legs even closer.
She’s not going anywhere for a very long time. Maybe sixty or seventy years from now, I’ll give her a weekend off. Maybe.
“You know, has anyone ever actually told you you’re funny? Because I can tell you think you are, but . . .”
“What? Do I not amuse you? Hmmm, maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you after all.”
“Maybe not.”
She’s looking up, and she’s so close I can see her right eye dilate, but her left remains frozen. It’s also speckled with tiny, black dots in her iris, making it look like stones in the bed of a flowing river.
Her skin is somewhere between alabaster and snow, and I wonder how a mirror can reflect back such shocking beauty and ever recover.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Ever.”
I’m babbling, and I don’t give a shit. She needs to know, and I’m going to keep telling her until it becomes part of her. I need her to understand it down into her soul.
“I want to know everything about you.” And I do. Everything.
My hands are grazing up and down her back, brushing against the next layer of clothing that holds what has been captivating me since I walked into Windfield and found her again.
The other times when I was younger, and I saw her, it wasn’t like this. It was something more akin to a knowing.
Something that told me this other human being was part of my life, even if it hadn’t happened yet. That first day I saw her in the courtroom, I was engulfed as if a sudden fever overtook me.
I wanted to run and hold her hand, to push away the fear in her face and light up anyone that came close to her.
It was that strong, and I’ve never been able to shake it.
But . . . it had never been this kind of desire, this type of desire.
Now, I am consumed with a lust that only she can take from me, and I want to give her parts of me that I didn’t know existed before.
“You don’t want to know everything. No one wants to know everything because there are parts of us even we want to forget.” She dips her chin to her chest as her soft voice fills my ears.
I can’t resist kissing her forehead, the top of her hair, slipping down to whisper in her ear.
“I do. I want it all.” Her neck is under my tongue, my lips, and she shifts her head giving me more, and it’s almost enough for me to lose myself right here.
“You don’t even know me. Don’t you think we should—”
“I know you. I always . . .” I stop myself.
“Well, I don’t know you. Sorry, but I don’t.” Her voice has a harshness to it, and I feel like I’ve pushed too far.
She turns her face from mine, pulling away.
“Wait . . .” I’m not letting her go, not like this. “I get it. I understand. That kiss was maybe more than you bargained for. I am an amazing kisser, but trust me, if you are scared of getting pregnant, I have a secret.” I swivel my head around in faux paranoia then continue in a hushed, dramatic whisper. “You can’t make babies with a kiss. You can’t. Trust me.”
I wait to see if she is either going to completely lose her shit and push me away or if my moronic, defensive humor will soften the moment and get her to settle back against me where she belongs.
Her eyes narrow. She pulls her lips to the side.
I’ve annoyed her.
But all is not lost.
Her eyes sparkle, then she rolls them back.
Win. The god-you-are-stupid eye roll.
I’ll take it because her body just softened under my hands which are settled very close to the clasp of her bra which I have been working on undoing inside my brain for the last five minutes.
“I stopped believing boys who said ‘trust me’ a long time ago.” Her voice is light, but I hear the truth there.
And you should.
“I know we are not all like me. Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll reserve my judgment a bit longer if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. You know why?”
“No, why Captain Confidence?”
“Because you have no idea how long I would wait for you.”
I don’t give her a second before my lips are back where they belong, and she’s kissing me with something more than before.
“You two should get a room.” Dad’s grumbling voice interrupts.
We both jump as the old man's voice echoes in the giant space, and I throw my hands up and look at the ceiling.
“Dad, man, seriously . . .” I can’t help but laugh as he is wheeling himself closer to us.
“Is she still on the clock?” He wants something. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come out of his apartment. It must be important.
“What do you need, Mr. Fitzgerald?” Promise clears her throat and pulls her knees together as I side step away to lean my ass into the counter and talk my dick down from the ledge.
“Uhh, I just didn’t know if you were going to finish the damn reading or what,” he grumbles, stopping about ten feet past the open door of his room.
“Sure, I can read some more.” Her eyes lite up, then shift to mine. “Why don’t you come sit with us?”
What the hell, now she’s pushing it.
“No, I’ve got work to do.” I start taking a step toward the long tables. “You guys go ahead. But, you are technically off duty, so you don’t have to.”
She hops off the counter, smoothing her clothes and giving me the stink eye. It’s the most beautiful stink eye I’ve ever gotten.
“Come on. You’re coming, too.” She gives me a wink, and I suddenly have nothing else important to do.
Fuck, I’d do almost anything for her right now.
Promise
So much for not being his friend.
I leaped right over friend and ended up with him planted between my legs. And, from the enormous pressure against the front of his jeans, he is clearly not thinking just friends either.
I’m drawn to him, and at the same time, he’s scaring the shit out of me.
But this guy, from the moment his eyes knocked me nearly off my feet at Windfield, I knew there was trouble brewing in my little, walled-off world.
Over the years, I've reinforced my walls. Put sharks in the moat. Topped the turrets with armed guards.
And this mountain of a man with a wacky, horrible sense of humor walked straight through all my defenses, draped in some sort of magical Kevlar, and before I knew what had hit me, I was lip-locked.
And, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a kiss.
The soap opera, open mouth, hands-on-my-ass kind of kiss. Then, I was feeling things.
Nice things.
Wonderful things.
Dangerous things.
I was as much relieved as disappointed when his father interrupted us, but it was probably for the best. I mean, what was I going to do? How far was I going to go?
The truth is, I’m not technically a virgin.
But, in some ways I am.
I’ve never consented.
I’ve never wanted.
Not like this, not how I just felt when he pressed something very big and very hard between my legs.
Steven took my first time, I didn't give it, and those are very different things. I thought I loved him. He had said he loved me. He was an excellent liar.
“You sit there.” I point to the small sofa in the efficiency apartment, ignoring the feigned irritation on Beckett’s face, then turn to his Dad. “Do you want to get in your recliner, Mr. Fitzgerald?”
Mr. Fitzgerald’s face screws into a knot as Beckett settles—legs wide, hands behind his head—onto the sofa. Whatever simmers between the two of them runs deep and dark because clearly, Mr. Fitzgerald would prefer Beckett be elsewhere.
Mr. Fitzgerald shrugs and spins his chair away from Beckett, facing me as he settles back into his wheelc
hair.
Okay then, one big happy family.
I gently sit in a ladder back chair, turned away from the dining table, and pick up the copy of Gulliver’s Travels.
“Okay, everybody comfortable—”
“Wait. What happened to the books I bought? James Michener and Leon Uris?” Beckett interrupts.
“They’re over there.” I point to the kitchen counter. “This is better. It’s a classic adventure.”
“Be quiet.” Mr. Fitzgerald waves his hand at Beckett. “I like this book.”
“See? You pay me to take care of your dad, not you.” I glance over at Beckett and can’t help but grin as he is clearly still fighting with something uncomfortable in the front of his pants.
I jump in and within ten minutes, both of them are listening intently as the villagers are bringing down the giant.
Five more minutes and I can hear the muffled buzz of a text message from my phone stuffed in my backpack.
I keep reading.
Two more messages buzz, and then it starts to ring.
No one ever calls me. Bruce does, but I have a ring tone for him. It’s either a wrong number or Jeremy. But, what could be so urgent?
“Sorry, let me turn that off.”
I can see Beckett’s interest. It’s not overt, but I can almost feel that he wants to know who it is.
I rummage around and just as my hand is on the phone, it rings again.
“Hello?” I recognize the number and swallow hard.
“Where are you?” Jeremy’s voice is calm but concerned.
“I’m at a side job.” I see Beckett tip his head at my choice of words, and I raise my free hand and shrug at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you. It’s important. I’ll meet you at your apartment.”
He clicks off before I can ask any questions. My stomach sinks. There is only one thing that could be important, and his voice didn’t sound encouraging.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” I set the book down, and I’m on my feet.
Beckett’s on my heels.
“Where do you need to go? I’ll drive you. You’re not taking the bus. What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”
He is genuinely concerned, and I can feel he wants to solve whatever the problem may be.
