The whimpers contain words, but I can’t make any of them out. None except for a single word:
“Brent.”
That’s when I figure out what’s happening. This isn’t some covert perversion. It’s a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s the reason he was so adamant about getting out of town this weekend. The fireworks. Damn. It’s just not fair that a holiday meant to celebrate our independence has to be capped off with mini explosions that cause the ones actually defending our nation to have breakdowns.
When I duck down beside Roy, placing a hand on his back, he tenses but doesn’t look up. That’s fine, I think. At least he’s not reacting as though I were part of his perceived danger. I read on some forums that soldiers who come back with PTSD can sometimes attack their own family when they’re going through an episode. It’s like they’re sleepwalking through the worst nightmare of their lives, and though their eyes are open, they can only see the past trauma that started them on this sad road.
When Brent came back after his first tour without any problems sleeping or functioning in society, I figured that all those hours spent scouring the Internet for tips and stories of how to help soldiers adapt to regular life again were a waste. But with Roy before me now, everything I learned comes flooding back.
First I need to isolate him from the trigger. There are bound to be more fireworks set off through the night. And though I can’t block off all sounds, I can get rid of the glare from outside. After closing the curtains, I move to my desktop computer. A quick search on the web yields a video caressing the air with the gentle sounds of rain.
With a pair of pajamas in one hand, I prepare to hop into the bathroom just long enough to change when another volley of fireworks bursts somewhere in our neighborhood. It’s one of the big types that launch from a cardboard tube and erupt with a percussive explosion you can feel in the soles of your feet.
Roy whimpers and tries to bury himself under my bed.
Without bothering to change out of the single towel I’m wearing, I leap back to Roy’s side, rubbing my hand down his back, whispering soothing words again and again as I try to remember what I read in those Internet forums.
“Hey,” I say in my most calming voice. “Roy, it’s going to be alright. Just try to breathe in nice and slow. Deep breaths from your diaphragm. Can you do that for me?”
Two sharp nods from Roy tell me that he’s listening, but his breathing doesn’t change. I need to get him out of whatever he’s replaying in his mind. Get him back to the present. There was this sensory exercise I remember reading about that I’ve actually used myself a few times when the weight of loneliness threatened to crush me into a fine powder. The exercise is simple enough. Name five things you can see. Then four things you can hear, three things you can feel, and two you can smell, ending with one positive area in your life you’re grateful for.
“Roy, can you do me a favor?”
Another quick nod.
“Do you think you can tell me five things you can see right now?” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “I know it sounds silly, but just do this for me.”
His breathing is still racing so that even I feel myself getting lightheaded, like the secondhand feeling of dizziness from watching someone else spin around. I’m about to ask him one more time, when he finally says, “There’s a Hello Kitty sticker.”
I smile at this. “We got the furniture from Goodwill. I kept saying I was going to peel off all those stickers, but I never got around to it. What else do you see?”
“The baseboards need to be painted.”
“Good.”
“There’s a knot in the wood flooring that looks like Garfield.”
I actually snort at this. “Really?”
Roy finally lifts his head. Takes a deep breath that steadies him. Now he’s looking around the room. “I see someone I don’t deserve trying to take care of my stupid self.”
I’m thankful the room is dark. Otherwise he might see my blush. “That’s four things. Just one more.”
I can barely see more than his silhouette, but I feel his hand come to my cheek. “I see you.”
I bite my lips but don’t pull away from him. “I see you too.” Taking his hand in mine, I pull it from my face, but I don’t let go. “Now, what are four things you can hear?”
Before he can answer, another volley of fireworks bursts with light that illuminates the room even through the curtains. Roy curls into himself, hands over his ears, screaming into his chest.
I have to get him out of here. The white noise and the curtains are doing nothing to keep the fireworks out. Where can I take him where he won’t be able to hear or see anything? I look up, as if the answer is simply going to fall out of the sky. That’s when I see myself in the mirror. The towel around me, my cleavage too prominent and my hair still sheening from the shower.
That’s when I have my answer.
Chapter 6
Roy
Deep down, I know the explosions outside are nothing but fireworks. They aren’t IEDs meant to take out Humvees. Nor are they ground-to-air missiles. There aren’t rifles aimed at my bedroom windows. Enemy squads are not infiltrating the perimeter of Brent’s old house.
I’m safe. That’s how the rational zone of my brain reassures me. At least it would if the more panicky area of my brain—the one responsible for my fight-or-flight response—weren’t screaming orders. Telling me to duck and cover. That this is the end. That I’ll never escape the warzone I thought I’d left thousands of miles away.
When Penny enters my room, I don’t even notice her. Even when I do, she’s only on the periphery of my consciousness, like a dream slipping away as I wake to this living nightmare of lights and sounds and fear. But there are other sensations too. Her hands rubbing down my back. Sweet words I hear but can’t focus on. And her wet hair tickling at my neck.
She asks me questions and I answer automatically. She’s pulling me out of the darkness, inch-by-inch, but it’s too heavy and she loses her grip. I fall back into myself as the night sky erupts in muted colors and sounds.
Her hands grip my arm, urging me to stand. I resist. It’s not even a choice I make. I may as well be a statue covered in pigeon shit. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. This is where I live now. This is where I may die.
When hands come at my face, I slap them away at first. Penny lets out a light hiss of pain, but her fingers come back to my cheeks without hesitation. She’s holding my face between her hands, angling it up so I’m looking at her. This is the first time I notice what she’s wearing—or more accurately, what she’s not wearing. Her breasts are nearly falling out as the towel wrapped around her slowly loses its fight against gravity. My eyes dart away from her chest and to her eyes. She’s so close that I can feel her breath and smell her freshly washed hair. It smells of coconut.
“You have to stand up,” she says, her breath a wave of mint washing through the air between us. “Come on.”
This time I allow her to pull me up though my body feels unbearably dense, like I’ve been transported to a planet with stronger gravity that Earth’s. At the doorway, another explosion rocks the windowpanes. I nearly fall to my knees, but Penny hugs me, holding me up as I curl around her. Then, as though we were reenacting an intimate but awkward dance, we edge into the bathroom. She sets me inside the bathtub where I once again curl up around myself. The window is out of sight, but I can still imagine the sounds and lights sparking in front of my mind’s eye.
“Give me just a minute,” she says and lets go of me. Then she turns on the shower, keeping the water warm as it falls around me, soaking through my clothes. The white noise of the water drowns out the world around me. Then she lights a single candle, placing it on the closed seat of the toilet before turning off the main light. We’re swathed in the dancing light now, the only sound that of the water and the light music she has playing on her phone. Then Penny’s back at my side, sitting outside the bathtub, rubbing my back as the water
pours over both of us.
“It’s going to be alright,” she says among other soothing words. She reminds me where I am. Who she is. Why we find ourselves in each other’s company. “Just breathe a little slower, okay?”
She’s leaning over the side of the tub, the water pouring down both of us.
Ever so slowly, I regain control of my racing heart, tame the fear jolting through my nervous system, and break free of the haze that has been hanging over my thoughts. I’m back in the present, far from the battlefields of the past. I can finally recognize the song playing on the radio. It’s a slow, acoustic number by Norah Jones. The candle lends just enough light and shadow to illuminate the silhouette of Penny kneeling beside me. When my eyes turn to hers, she smiles.
“Hi there, stranger.”
“Hi.” That’s all I can muster when I realize she has just been witness to the absolute worst side of me. The weakness that reduces me to a blubbering puddle. But she took that puddle and brought me back to life. “Thank you.”
She shakes her head lightly. “I read quite a bit about PTSD before my brother came back from his first tour. I wanted to be ready for anything. I hope I did alright.”
“You were amazing.” I take her hand in mine, not really sure what I’m going to do with it once I’ve got ahold her fingers. But that’s when I see the bruise on her forearm. “When did this happen?”
But even as I ask, I know exactly when and how it happened. Worse yet, I know who inflicted the wound.
“It’s nothing—”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, grazing my fingers over the dark patch of skin. She winces, and I feel even more stupid. Suddenly, energy courses through my body. I need to do something to help her like she helped me. So I stand up in an instant, pulling Penny up too.
My clothes threaten to fall off of me with the weight of all the water soaked through them. Penny has the same problem with the towel wrapped around her, only her towel isn’t as secure. So when she stands, her towel follows, but only for a second. Then it slips down her body, revealing gorgeous, naked curves.
Chapter 7
Penny
Calm.
I’d finally gotten him calm. In fact, the sound of the shower and the light music playing over my phone, added together with the gentle light of a single candle, had worked its magic on me as well. Since Brent’s death, I haven’t been truly content. Not even with the right food in front of me or the perfect movie on the TV. There was always this guilty thought that Brent should still be able to enjoy life. That somehow my being alive was unfair.
But through focusing on Roy, on getting him through this rough patch, I’ve somehow pulled myself out of the thick of my own darkness.
Roy isn’t a bad guy. In fact, he’s been the perfect roommate so far. Maybe it’s down to his military training, but since he’s moved in, the house has never been cleaner. His early-to-bed, early-to-rise habits have even begun rubbing off on me. Whereas before I was simply floating through my existence, aimless and numb, now I’m beginning to reach out little feelers. I’m contemplating possible courses for my future. Plus, I’ve actually been considering going back to school full time. In short, Roy’s presence in my life has not been the daily reminder of Brent’s absence I feared it might be. Instead, he’s slid right into my life like a missing puzzle piece.
My only confusion has been how that puzzle piece relates to me. Roy is three years older than me, so very nearly the same as Brent. He could possibly fill the big brother role, but I can’t ignore the other feelings brewing unbidden under the surface. The side glances I can’t help but give him. The way I sometimes lie awake in bed, wondering if he’s staring at the ceiling, thinking of me like I’m wondering about him. I even had a dream the third night after he showed up, in which he hopped in the shower with me and we made love.
It’s strange how fiction sometimes manifests itself in reality.
When the towel slides down my body, I immediately go to cover myself up. While my left hand goes down to my crotch, my right forearm supports and hides at least part of my breasts. It’s dark in here, but there’s no way Roy didn’t see something. Maybe that fact should bother me, but it has the opposite effect.
Roy, in a similarly involuntary reaction, turns away from me. But that’s all he does. He doesn’t let go of my upper arms that he still has a hold of from when he helped me rise. And I don’t go to grab a new towel to cover myself up. We each freeze. The only sounds are the shower, the drifting tone of the mix I found online, and our breaths steadily picking up pace.
Roy mumbles something, but his face is turned away, and I miss the words.
“What was that?”
“I said I want to kiss you right now.”
A thrill runs up my body, spreading down my arms and legs, tingling at the base of my brain. This is not where I saw any of this going when I decided to help him. It is where I’ve been secretly hoping we might reach ever since that dream though. And now that we’re here, I’m not about to turn back.
“Okay,” is all I manage to get out. I still haven’t moved from my defensive posture. Now I’m waiting, eyes wide and shaking as Roy turns to meet my gaze.
“Hi there, stranger,” he says with a half smile, repeating my words back to me.
Before I can get out a ‘hi’ of my own, his lips connect with mine in what starts as a curious kiss that lingers, wondering how to continue. When he pulls away, I unconsciously lick at my lips, relishing in the feeling his leave behind. There’s a pause, during which both our breaths hitch. The air stills between us. Then, without any thoughts or plans, a magnetic force draws me back to him, where I dive into a much deeper embrace.
Roy’s arms go around me, his wet sleeves slopping on my skin, sending goose bumps down my arms. He’s pulling me into him. Something possesses me, and I reach for his shirt, fighting to peel it away from his skin and over his head. He joins in the struggle and also fumbles to step out of his pants. All the while we refuse to break contact, our lips finding each other each time a movement pulls us apart. When his hands are free, he runs his fingers up and down my back, stopping only to pull me down to the floor.
The bathroom isn’t big, but if we don't straighten out our legs, we can both lie on the ground. However, the cold tile is far from comfortable. It’s for this reason, I’m sure, that Roy takes the bottom position. But just because he’s on bottom doesn’t mean that he’s leaving all the work to me.
Roy hugs me against his chest, moving his kisses from my lips to my neck. At the same time his hands are exploring further down my back and to my ass. When he squeezes me, I smile into his neck and let out a satisfied sigh. This is all the encouragement he needs to keep going. I bring my hips up slightly, creating a small gap between our pelvises. My hope is that he’ll take the hint and slide his hand down there.
Lucky for me, Roy isn’t slow on the uptake.
His fingers are soon grazing the skin along my inner thigh. I suddenly wish that I had taken the time to shave, but I haven’t exactly had cause for such precautions in a long, long time. The state of my pubic hair does nothing to dissuade Roy as he find my clit and moves around it in delicate circles.
My moan this time is guttural as I press against his hand, wanting more. Needing more. When he inserts one finger inside me, I bite down on his shoulder. It's been a while, so everything is a bit tense and the sensation is both wonderful and slightly painful. Roy is taking his time though, relishing in each sound of satisfaction he manages to pull out of me.
With him rubbing me inside and out, it doesn’t take long for me to rocket up the notches of ecstasy until I’m breaching the edge, falling into a sea of ecstasy as I quiver against his touch.
As my orgasm subsides, I melt like putty against him. I’ve been satisfied, but not fully. There’s this ache inside of me. A desire that will not rest until it’s filled.
When I pull away from Roy, I’m sure he thinks that the experience is over. That I’m going to leave him hanging.
I can feel his quizzical gaze on me as I reach into the medicine cabinet. When I come back holding a thin square package though, he’s definitely figured it out.
Chapter 8
Roy
Penny sits on my thighs, placing her breasts right in front of me. I can’t help myself.
“Someone can’t keep their hands to himself,” she says and flicks my hand away. Then she lowers her head, taking all of my length. My head thumps on the tile floor when I throw it back at the sudden sensation.
“Are you okay?” she asks in alarm.
I rub at my head. It’s definitely going to leave a knot. “Never been better.”
Still, she stretches over to pull a dry towel from the rack on the wall. This puts her in the perfect position for me to admire the contours of her body.
She’s perfect.
“There you go,” she says, placing the folded towel under my head as a makeshift pillow.
I’m expecting her to go down on me again, but she seems to have moved on from that plan. Instead she slides the condom on me, squeezing my dick once it’s on for good measure. Then she leans over and dives right back into a deep kiss. The length of her naked body is across mine from her thighs up to her breasts.
“It’s been a while for me,” she says when she pulls away.
“Let’s take it nice and slow,” I say with a peck on her lips. “It’s not like we have anywhere to go.”
With this she reaches down and grabs my cock, angling it up. Even as my tip just barely penetrates her, she groans, but this is not in ecstasy as before.
“We can stop if you—” I begin to say, but her answer is a swift shake of her head.
I let her lower herself onto me, but it’s slow and I can tell that despite how wet she is, the stretch is a bit much for her. But she’s not giving up and the squeaks of pain are soon fewer and farther between.
A Sweet, Sexy Collection 1: 5 Insta-love, New Adult, Steamy Romance Novellas (Sweet, Sexy Shorts) Page 23
