The tips of her nails scraped through the short hair on the back of his head, not enough to hurt but enough to sting a little. He fisted his other hand at the base of her neck, remembering her reaction when he’d pulled her hair when they made out in the woods.
“God, you feel so good,” he said against her lips. “Jesus, the way you’re squeezing me.” He dropped his head onto the bed next to hers. “Fuck, Denise.”
“Harder, Chris.” Fingers dug into the soft flesh of his butt, squeezing and releasing to the same rhythm of his thrusts. Her teeth scraped against the sensitive skin behind his ear, right before she sank them into his shoulder and grunted.
Her inner muscles squeezed his cock and he could feel the waves of her orgasm as her whole body clamped down on him.
“Ah, shit.” He pulled her hair and heard her neck crack with the force. Oh, shit. But he was too far gone to stop and ask if she was okay. His whole body shuddered as he came. Her thighs squeezed tight around his waist as her hips rolled up to meet him.
Muscle by muscle he began to relax, small tremors racing through his body. “Are you okay?”
She rubbed the short hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah.” Her legs slowly relaxed from around his waist.
“Are you paralyzed?”
He felt her chuckle. “No, but the tingling in my toes is still a little extreme. And I’ve got a cramp.” She stretched out one of her legs.
Reaching between them, he eased out of her and rolled to the side. “I didn’t mean to pull your neck that hard.”
“It’s alright. It actually feels good. Saves me from having to go to the chiropractor for an adjustment.” Her stomach grumbled and they both looked down at it. “You did bring food, right?”
He brushed a strand of hair off her neck and kissed her softly. “Yeah. Meet you in the kitchen?”
Chapter 10
“What?”
Chris stared at her from where he stood between her legs as she sat on the counter, wearing only underwear and his t-shirt while they picked at the barbecue he’d brought.
“You’re different when you’re not around Bree.”
That wasn’t what she expected to hear. She thought for sure he was going to bring up her self-imposed exile into celibacy. “How’s that?”
“You laugh more when you’re around her.”
She shrugged, trying not to stare so obviously at his chest. “She’s my person. She brings out the best in me.”
“Your person?”
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
His look was the picture definition of skeptical. “You mean like love everlasting, fairytales, and all that crap?”
She grinned. “Kind of, but not really. I mean like there are going to be a finite number of people in your life that are going to get you. They may be lovers, they may be the person you marry, they could be older, younger, or they may be your best friend in the whole world. Bree is my person.”
He held a piece of rib meat to her lips. She pulled her head back, started at the meat, at him, then back at the meat before taking the bite between her teeth.
“Did you think it was going to bite you back?”
Watching him suck the barbecue from his fingers, she said, “The whole feeding each other is one of those romance-y things couples do.” She took a sip of beer from the bottle he’d opened.
He took the bottle from her. “You don’t do romance-y things?”
“No.” She shook her head and pulled off a piece of meat from the ribs. He grabbed her hand and ate the meat, running his tongue between her fingers and sending a pulse directly to her clit.
“So no flowers or chocolates then?”
She scowled at him and tore another piece off, leaning back as far as she could out of his reach to eat it while he pretended to try to steal it. “You can bring chocolates, as long as they’re not in a heart-shaped box, and as long as it’s not Hershey’s. Flowers for no reason are good, but not on a commercial holiday. Then they’re just cliché and an obligation.”
“Is there a reason you don’t like all the romance-y things?”
She picked up the bottle and tore at the label. How much should she tell him? There were only a few people in the world who knew her whole story and she trusted them implicitly. But that’s what it came down to—trust. Could she trust Chris? She’d told Bree to give Jase a chance. No time like the present to take her own advice.
“There was a guy once, who said and did all the right things, back when I took people at face value. None of it was true.”
Chris’s thumbs caressed her thighs where the shirt hem sat. Anyone else doing that would have set her nerves on edge, but right then, she just wished he’d move his thumbs higher.
“He was married?”
“Among other things.” She chugged the remainder of the beer and set the bottle down on the counter, bracing her hands next to her legs, unable to meet his gaze. “He killed someone I cared about.”
His hands stilled on her legs, fingers pressing into the flesh of her thighs, and his whole body became rigid.
Sprocket trotted around the corner of the counter and whined. Sitting as close as she could, she licked Denise’s calf and rested her chin on the top of her foot. Denise rubbed the underside of the dog’s chin. Chris looped his arms around her hips and laced his fingers behind her back.
“I lost my shit. He was sent back to the States and it was all swept under the rug. I applied to the Cultural Support Team and told my command if they didn’t approve my transfer, the situation wouldn’t stay under the rug. I left for training two months later.”
Taking a chance, she peeked at him from under her lashes. Anger and disbelief flashed across his face. She could tell he had so many questions he wanted to ask. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Is he the reason for your seven-year streak?”
Her heart felt like it double-thumped in her chest, grateful he wasn’t going to ask any further questions. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out and she didn’t know if she was prepared to share the whole story yet. Maybe he could see that. Maybe he was willing to let her tell it in her own time. “Partly. After I left the Army I was…angry…for a long time. It got— I was—” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I was suicidal.”
“What happened?”
“Bree convinced me to check myself into an inpatient treatment facility with the VA.”
He pulled her hips closer to the edge of the counter, closing the distance between them. “For how long?”
She traced the whorls and shading of the tattoo on his arm, needing something to do with her hands. Who was she kidding? She needed to touch him. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she wanted to touch someone intimately and draw comfort from their presence. “I lasted two weeks. My therapist and I agreed it was not the right setting for me.”
“Why’s that?” His voice was soft. Encouraging. She could count on one hand how many people knew what she’d been through. It helped he knew where she was coming from. He wasn’t asking out of some perverse curiosity to hear about the poor veteran suffering from PTSD.
“The group therapy was making me more angry instead of less angry.”
“Why did it make you more angry?”
“There were people that had never left their base—never saw direct combat, but they were in the same program I was. I was angry that I was dealing with all that crap and they couldn’t handle a little indirect fire.” She shook her head. “What I thought wasn’t fair, but at the time I couldn’t see that. We all have different experiences and deal with things in different ways.”
His bright blue eyes shifted between hers. The rough pad of his forefinger traced the small scar high on her temple, then moved down her cheek and across her bottom lip. “What happened after two weeks?”
“We agreed I would do better as an outpatient with daily, one-on-one therapy. I got Sprocket. And Bree didn’t leave me the fuck alone for three months.”
&n
bsp; His smile was quick but sad. Her story wasn’t a new one. So many others had been in her position. Were in her position. She was one of the lucky ones.
“Have you had enough to eat?”
She glanced down at the to-go container on the counter. “Yeah, for now. Why?”
“I figure with a seven-year hiatus, you’re out of practice.”
His biceps were warm and hard under her hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders. She wanted to stop talking about her past. It was something she still struggled with, but it wasn’t who she wanted to be anymore. Protecting herself hadn’t gotten her anywhere but by herself. It was time to take a chance on trusting someone again.
“Hmm. I could be a little rusty I suppose, although I always thought it was like riding a bike.”
“True, but even if you remember how to ride a bike, you’re still a little wobbly until you find your balance again.” He ran his hands down her legs until he reached her knees and wrapped her legs around his hips.
Sprocket huffed and snorted at them, turned her huge body around, and lumbered out of the kitchen. Seemed her dog agreed it was time to do things differently.
“How do you suggest I get my balance back?”
He wedged his hands under her ass and pulled her off the counter, hefting her up to get a tighter hold. “First thing I’m going to do is bend you over the bed and explore that tattoo on your back.”
She grinned. “Does that mean I get to explore all your tattoos?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Chapter 11
Dinner?
Denise smiled down at the text and her fingers flew across the screen.
Brunch
What?
I thought we were texting random meals.
LOL. No, can you do dinner tonight?
Oohh. Sorry, taking my cousins out for dinner & a movie.
What about tomorrow?
I can probably fit you in tomorrow. You coming here?
Sure. Don’t suppose you want to make that chicken in the slow cooker again?
She pressed her lips together. I can probably make that happen.
Awesome. See you tomorrow.
“Who’s the guy?” Dr. Tailor asked, coming out of her office.
Denise’s head snapped up. “What guy?”
Dr. Tailor smiled her annoying, knowing smile and motioned for Denise to follow her into her office. Even though she was only a few years older than Denise, getting caught texting Chris by Liana Tailor still felt like she’d been caught by her mom sexting a boy when she was supposed to be doing homework. This was going to be an interesting session. Sprocket huffed at her.
“Don’t you start.” She pushed up from the chair and followed Dr. Tailor into her office, closing the door behind her. Taking her normal seat on the end of the couch, she kicked off her shoes and folded her legs under her.
Dr. Tailor sat in the chair perpendicular to the end of the couch with her notepad and crossed her legs. “So? Who is he?”
“How do you know I wasn’t texting Bree?”
“Because you would have just told me it was Bree if it were.”
Damn it! She felt like snapping her fingers and saying curses. “He’s someone I met through Bree and Jase.”
Dr. Tailor consulted her notes, flipping through a few pages. “Is this a friend of Bree or a friend of Jase?”
“Jase.” She and Bree had an agreement they could talk about each other with Dr. Tailor, something that made their sessions easier than trying to talk around things.
Dr. Tailor released the pages of her notepad. “Tell me about him.”
Denise took a deep breath. “He’s…not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Well, he’s former Special Forces. Definitely an alpha-male, but at the same time he’s funny and doesn’t seem to take himself seriously all the time.”
“In what way?”
She chewed at the dry cuticle around her thumb. “He can laugh at himself and make fun of himself, but he’s got that…something…under the surface that you know he can go right to serious if he needs to.” Sprocket hefted herself up on the couch and rested her head on Denise’s hip. She scratched the dog behind her ears.
“Why does talking about him make you nervous?”
She glanced at Dr. Tailor, who pointed at Sprocket. Damn dog gave her away to anyone who knew what she did.
“He’s everything I swore I would stay away from and…” She shrugged. “I like him.”
“And that makes you nervous?”
“Things didn’t go so well with the last guy I liked.”
“You realize that he is not indicative of every man you will ever meet?”
“Intellectually, after many, many years of therapy, yes I realize that. But that stuff in here?” She made a small, uneven circle over the center of her chest. “Not so much.”
“So it’s your own judgment you don’t trust.”
“My own judgment didn’t serve me so well the last time.” Sprocket shifted her head higher against her hip and licked her chops.
“You’re a different person now.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound very confident, Denise. That isn’t like you at all.”
“It’s just…if I let myself get involved with him… If I let this be more than sex…” She couldn’t finish her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to articulate.
“You might feel something for him?” Dr. Tailor prompted.
She pursed her lips together and nodded roughly, staring blankly at the tissue box on the low table in front of the couch.
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“With losing Sarah, I don’t know if I have the energy or capacity to add someone else to the mix.”
“How is she doing?”
Oh, goody. Something else she didn’t want to talk about. Therapy was awesome. “She’s in hospice.”
“Have her doctors said how much longer she has?”
“Anywhere from six days to six months. It depends on the day. And the doctor. It seems like there’s a different prognosis every time I go to see her. The worst part is she’s starting to push Kimber and Kaden away. Mom and Dad and I make sure we take them with us as often as we can, but she tires so easily.” Her eyes stung and she reached forward for a tissue.
“How are Kimber and Kaden taking it?”
“As well as can be expected. They’re going to need someone to talk to. I’d planned on asking you for recommendations for a family and grief counselor.”
Dr. Tailor scribbled a note. “I’ll have Ruth Anne send you a few recommendations.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d like to see you on a more regular basis for the next month or so.”
“Why?”
“You’re coming in on an as-needed basis, which has been working for you. You found your niche and your purpose and you’ve been settled. But you have a lot of turmoil happening around you. We haven’t discussed how you’re handling Bree’s issues, but I know that’s probably adding a decent amount of worry and stress on top of everything else you have going on with Sarah and the kids and now a new guy.” She paused. “Which means the f-word.”
Denise blinked in confusion.
“Feelings, Denise.”
“Oh! That f-word.”
“Yes, that f-word.” She raised her hands and made air quotes. “Liking this guy, means you’re having feelings.”
Her lip curled up in disgust and she growled low in the back of her throat. “I don’t do feelings.”
“You’ve been stingy with your feelings for the last decade, only doling them out to a very small, select group of people. Mainly your family and Bree, who you consider your family. Which is one of the reasons I want to see you more frequently for a while. You’re going to be dealing with a lot of emotions and reactions you’ve been suppressing. I haven’t pressed this issue before because you adapted in a way I felt was healthy for you, but if
you get serious about this guy, it’s going to bring up a lot of things you’ve been ignoring.”
Closing her eyes, Denise took a deep, steady breath and released it slowly. Fuck. She didn’t know if she was ready for this. Having everything that was going on in her life listed out just made it seem like a soup sandwich. Doc Tailor was right, though. If she didn’t get a handle on everything, it would all come crashing down on her and bury her—something she’d learned the hard way in the past.
“Alright.”
“Good.” She made some more notes. “Set up the next four appointments with Ruth Anne before you leave.”
“Okay.” She scratched Sprocket’s head. Feelings. Blech. Bree was never going to let her live this down when she found out.
Chapter 12
“What’s this one? It looks like a peacock.” Chris traced the swirls of color in the partial sleeve tattoo that covered the upper half of her right arm.
“A Japanese phoenix,” she said.
“When did you get it?” His fingers swept softly down her arm to her fingers.
“After about a year after I began therapy.” Her own fingers followed the dark lines of the traditional American eagle tattoo that stretched across his chest. “What about this?”
“That took a few sessions to complete.”
“I can imagine. The detail is fantastic. Why old-school?”
“My old man owned a tattoo shop. His expertise was old-school, Sailor Jerry tattoos. Most of his customers were military and bikers. He gave me my first tattoo.” He was quiet for a moment. “He was killed during a robbery. Some junkie looking for money figured my dad would have a lot of cash in the parlor.”
She pressed her lips against his pec muscle. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.”
“Do you have any other family?
“An older sister and a younger brother. You?”
“Only child, but my cousin came to live with us when I was fifteen, so she’s more sister than cousin.”
His hand followed the faint lines of gray on her ribcage to her back and he pressed her toward him, pulling more of her weight onto her front. “What about her?”
Half-Broke Heart (Combat Hearts #1.5) Page 7
