Tears grow in her eyes until she collapses her body against mine, wrapping herself tightly around me, swallowing me with her sorrow. But, that's OK. I wouldn't have it any other way. She's mine to save.
“I know you miss them. I know it's unbearable at times, but I swear, you're not alone. And you never will be again. I promise.”
Sniffling, she rests her head on my chest, “You can't make that promise.”
I lift up her chin up, “A Marine is only as good as his word.”
“And you're a damn good Marine.” Her eyes search mine, and she lets a faint smile of relief come across her face. “You're a goddamn good Marine, the best.”
My forehead comes down on hers, pulling her in even tighter. She's damn right. I'll die before ever letting her go through anything remotely close to that hell she encountered again.
29 Days Till Deployment
She's nineteen. She finally made it. These past few weeks have been long and excruciating but worth it for her to feel what she's about to. What she deserves to. What she's been waiting for since she escaped that death trap she might have called home for the last four years. There's a slight tug at my heart watching her sleep. It's not like I haven't done this a million times before, but this moment seems too special to ruin, even though I know, if I don't, I'll hate myself for it.
Leaning down, I lightly toss her hair out of her face and brush my lips against hers. She moans softly. Wiggles. Plants images of things I can't wait to do to her when the right moment comes.
“Angel,” I whisper, my lips still hovering right above hers.
She moans again, tilting her head up, so our lips meet. I sink and moan in return. Fuck, that's good. Not why I'm waking her up, though. Focus, Clint.
I pull away. “Baby, I know you were sleeping.”
She opens her eyes to smile up at me. “I'll gladly wake up for that.”
Holy hell. I try to continue, “I know you were out, but I didn't think you'd want to miss the sunrise on your nineteenth birthday.”
She flies out of bed, yanking my hand in hers, dragging me to window we've watched the sunrise come through from her first morning with me. My arms slide around her waist as she leans her body against mine. With my face nestled in the crook of her neck, I watch the morning light touch those hills like the angels are crawling behind them, the tips of their halos being all we can see. There's a certain level of tension that leaves her body as if it's never going to return. I can feel it. I can hear it the way she breathes. A newfound peace. And the best part of that peace is that I helped bring her to it. I helped protect her. I helped rejuvenate God's fallen creature, and she in return recreated me. Win. Win.
My lips press on her collarbone, her neck, the side of her forehead, before I whisper, “Alpha, Ms. Haven Davenport. Alpha.”
“Thank you, Clint.” She hums sweetly at me. My lips find another location, her cheek. “For rescuing me. For taking care of me. Fighting for me. Giving me a new start. A new life.”
“So I win automatically for best birthday present?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh, thank God. That pack of bubblegum I got you was starting to concern me.”
Her elbow playfully lands in my gut, and I fake a grumble. The action spurs a playful fight between us. She pretends to spar, boxing at my stomach, her delicate fists never capable of so much as a drop of pain, and I pretend to be injured by each blow, eventually moving backward, falling onto the bed.
“Birthday champ!” She giggles, that sound pumping life through my veins.
I reach up and pull her down on top of me, arms wrapped around her.
“My birthday champ.”
She attempts to smile, but my lips reach her first, replacing it. Her lips relax against mine, and I immediately enter ecstasy. How the hell does she do that? Just the feel of her tongue wrapped around mine, and my solider below the belt is ready to report for duty—report for duty and never leave, might I add. I'm sure the kiss is enough to make that happen alone, but the added pressure that he hasn't seen the outside of my pants prison since we met probably adds a bit to it, too. The kiss speeds up, and I can feel her hips grind into me, forcing me to grip her tighter as a moan seeps out of me. I've never been a moaner, but with this girl, my body seems to have a mind of its own. Suddenly, her hand slides under my T-shirt. I do my best to control my excitement, but I feel the hard-on in my pants knock against her, urging me to slide my hands down her back to grasp her ass, so I do. One good squeeze, and she lets out a sound so euphoric, I think I might just come in my pants. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not a horny fourteen-year-old. Despite my actions most recently, I am not some virgin desperate to get my V-card removed. I can have more control of my body than this. At least, I think I can. I mean I should.
Her fingertips are getting braver now, running alongside the elastic of my boxer briefs, only a mere inch away from the boner that's calling for her touch. I have to stop this. There are too many things that lie ahead today. We can't do this right now.
“Haven,” I manage to break my lips away and pant. Not taking the separation the way I expected, she lowers her lips to my neck, swirling her tongue around. God, where'd she learn that trick? “Haven, I—I—I.” Her tongue pushes rougher, hungrier than before. My cock jumps, wanting to feed that hunger. Damn today and all the plans. “Angel, pl-pl-pl please b-b-b-believe me w-w-when I-I say there's nothing more I-I-I want than to k-k-keep going.” Through the grace of God, I manage to lift her lips off mine, “but what I want to do is gonna require time we don't have right now.”
She seductively bites her bottom lip, and I feel myself immediately regretting those words. I'm about thirty seconds from saying “fuck the world” and handling business. Over and over again. “How much time are we talking?”
“Hours.”
“You know,” her soft fingers tug a bit at my waistband, “a Marine is only as good as his word.”
My eyes roll back into my head as those same fingers brush the skin closer to my pelvic bone.
“And I'm-I'm-I'm a damn good Marine.” The words barely leave my mouth as her fingers give a soft touch a centimeter above the point of no return. So close are her fingertips that I can feel their warmth. I'm not sure if I'm at the gates of heaven or hell. I want her hands wrapped around me, stroking, massaging, and I wanna be deep inside her, creating a heavenly experience, but knowing her hand is right there and that we have places to be, and I have to make her breakfast feels like I'm at Satan's front doorstep, a tortuous kind of hell.
With two hands, I grab her and toss her off onto her side. Aggressively, I pounce her lips, give her tongue one push because that's all I can manage with the little brain I have left that's not turned to mush, give her butt one more good squeeze, and pull away.
“I'm going to take a shower, and you, you get dressed, please. Mindy is expecting you.” I hop to my feet and quickly adjust the hard-on that's evident.
“For what?”
Distract yourself, Clint! Grabbing jeans and a shirt from the closet, I mumble, “A birthday surprise.”
I have to get away from her. Between the sweet smell of vanilla she radiates and the unmistakable smell that she's turned on, if I don't walk out of this room now, I may die in it. A happy, sweaty, sticky death.
In a seductive voice, she asks, “Is that a hot shower for two?”
You have got to be fucking with me. Who is this girl, and where is my sweet, didn't even think about more than a make-out session girlfriend? Don't get me wrong, sexed-up Haven is something that I definitely want to explore in many ways, for longer periods of time—I'm talking days—but did she have to come out right now? I look back at her as her tongue wets her lips slowly. Yup. She's trying to kill me.
I bite my bottom lip, back hitting the doorframe to brace myself, “A very, very cold one, alone.” I turn to slip out, dick so hard it hurts. “Unfortunately.”
After an ice-cold shower, which honestly doesn't help much, I fumble down
stairs to start prepping breakfast while she's in the shower. Sadly, while this was supposed to be a sweet sentiment, it's turning into a fire hazard and a complete disaster. If I don't burn the house down first, I know the food won't be edible.
With my ear pressed against my cell phone, I complain, “What do you mean the shell isn't supposed to go into the pan?”
“Clint, please tell me that's a joke,” Mindy's voice scolds on the other end. “Who makes your eggs?”
“IHOP.” I try to pick out the little bits of shell that are left in the liquid. “Or you.”
“Lord, help me,” she mumbles. “Did you add seasoning and butter?”
“I did.”
“Did you add some milk?”
“Yes.” I flick the last pieces in the trash and ask, “How do I know when they are done?”
“What do they look like?”
“Still pretty liquidy.”
Another sigh. I hope she knows not all of us were born with a giant spoon, aka a ladle, in our hands. “Slugger, did you turn the burner on?”
Feeling like a complete idiot, I turn it on. I'm not that great in the kitchen. Toss me to the grill, and I can handle it, but Basic Cooking 101 is not in my cards. I'm thankful for Mindy and microwaves. I should've known to turn the stupid thing on. Guess there's not enough blood rushing to the right head.
Giggling to herself, Mindy asks, “Any more questions? Did you burn the toast?”
“Just the first four pieces,” I grumble, seeing Haven head down the stairs for me. “Gotta go. She'll see you soon.”
Hanging up, I watch as Haven glides across the living room right toward me, disabling me from continuing to stir the eggs. She looks amazing in her loose-fitted jeans and fitted, long-sleeve black shirt. How one person can look so amazing in anything that drapes her flesh still amazes me.
“What are you doing?” She looks suspiciously around to where I may be burning the eggs. Do eggs burn?
“Shit,” I gripe and turn back around, feeling dumber than before. I focus back on the task at hand. You can do this, Marine. They are just eggs. You've taken down how many in combat but can't cook eggs? Shutting the heat off, I transfer what's left of the eggs into a small serving dish. With the dish in my hand, I grab the plate of bacon I managed to burn and relocate it to the bar table, where there is a vase full of sunflowers waiting for her. “I tried to make you breakfast and . . .” My face tilts toward the food. “This happened.”
“Aw.” Her hands fly over her mouth, and she looks touched at my efforts. Next to the eggs and the plate of bacon is a plate of toast with jelly, jams, and spreads beside it. There's also a small bowl of strawberries and cherries mixed together, something even I couldn't screw up. “This is so sweet.”
“It's a complete disaster is what it is,” I nervously scratch the back of my neck, knowing she's masking her disappointment. “And don't feel bad about not eating it. I just . . .” My voice trails off as my shoulders slump, “Wanted to do something special for you.”
Haven strolls around the table, lifts my face with her mocha hands, and gives me the sweetest smile in the world. Even if I did everything in the world wrong, that smile could make it right. God, when the fuck did I become such a sap? I wish someone would punch me. I wanna punch me.
“Thank you.”
“Happy birthday.”
Her lips land on mine again, and I feel the tension inside fade away. Amazed how they seem even softer, though a bit sticky from her lip gloss, I pull her body into mine. My tongue wastes no time tackling hers, slaving it, weakening her knees, informing me that I'm not the only one suffering. She wraps one arm around my neck and runs the other down my white T-shirt, sending a very distinct jolt straight to my crotch. Yeah. Looks like I'm going to have to limit just how often I kiss her today.
I manage to slip my mouth away from hers. “Will you at least have some toast?”
She giggles and pulls me over to sit with her at the bar table. Haven puts a little bit of everything on her plate while I merely watch, knowing it's hard to be hungry watching her eat. All my attention is on her warm mouth and the places I would rather it be on my body. As if sensing my thoughts, she runs her hand along my thigh right on top of my hard-on. God, this day may be the longest yet.
A long day of prepping for Haven's party didn't leave much time for anything else. I'm thankful. If there was more downtime, chances are I’d either be fighting off a raging boner or letting the fact that I can't stop time from moving forward gnaw at me. The notion that deployment is coming full steam ahead has been keeping me up at night since she found out. I don't want to think about life back in the field. Stiff orders. Cold conversations. Even colder nights. I used to wish for Spec Ops on every shooting star, but now, I find myself wishing for more time here, in this small corner of the world with Haven.
I knock on our bedroom door before entering. Sure, I was being polite, but I also know that, if I get a glimpse of her in anything else than I normally see, we'll be skipping the party we worked so hard on.
She slowly strolls toward me, her hips demanding my attention. Who am I to deny them when they ask so nicely? Her hands roam up my chest. “New shirt?”
I always thought I’d die in the field, not here in my room because a female touched me. Doing my best to focus on my dark-yellow Michael Kors polo shirt Mindy bought for me during our shopping trip, I manage to say, “It is.”
“It's yellow.”
“It is.”
“Hm,” her voice whispers as her hands now travel downward, creating a map in my mind of what I want her to do without this fence of jeans between us. They stop on my hips, “You look amazing in yellow.”
“Not as amazing as you.” I kiss the back of her hand and try to change focus. Though in her light-yellow, off-the-shoulder sweater that's bearing what I pray are straps to a spaghetti top, it's damn near impossible. “Are you having a good birthday?”
“So far, so perfect.”
Loving how her voice pours out innocence and the beauty of life, I smile, “And it's gonna stay that way.” When I lean down to place a simple kiss on her lips, she grabs the collar of my shirt, yanking me back to the very thoughts that have been marching in the forefront of my mind. All. Fucking. Day.
I get caught up in the kiss, almost forgetting there is a party of people in the yard next door waiting for us. Slyly, I pull her into my body by her belt loops, nipping just a bit at her bottom lip, a small mew of pleasure escaping her. Holy shit, that was hot.
“You're going to kill me—you know that?” I say when I manage to drag myself away from her. She smiles like she's pleased, which only turns me on more. Frustrated, I grind my teeth before finally being able to say, “Let's get you to your party before we never make it.”
Arriving next door at Felix's place, hand in hand, we stroll through the house and past the buffet feast I helped prep in the kitchen. Within a matter of seconds, we're surrounded by guests to mingle with, but the only thing that has my attention is her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her glance. Between the sensation tugging at my heart and the one tugging in my pants, I'm most likely to be torn to shreds before we ever make it back to our room. At least I’d die happy—sexually frustrated as shit but happy. Haven being happy ultimately makes me happy.
“Grim!” Glove's voice interrupts Mindy, who’s about to launch into another nature story about squirrels. Great timing, too. If I had to hear another word about how those rats of the trees are just so precious, I might have tried to swallow an arsenal of acorns for a humorous death.
The two of us excuse ourselves and cross over to Glove and Lordy. Like the brothers they are, they listened when I demanded they bring gifts. Let's just hope they don't throw a wrench in this moment with her like they did the last time.
“Hope you don't mind that I invited them,” I pre-apologize, guessing she secretly wanted them around. Haven wants to be a part of that part of my life, accepted by it as well. To be honest, so do I, but having her know the Grim
side in me more in-depth still scares the shit out of me.
“Of course not.” Both guys receive small hugs. I wish she wouldn't hug them, at least Glove. No telling if that asshole showered or not, even though I told him to. “Thanks for coming!”
“Yeah,” Glove responds. “Any time. I love to party.”
“That's an understatement,” Lordy chuckles.
Shrugging that it's true, Glove continues, “Happy birthday, Haven! I would've never guessed you were turning nineteen.”
“I thought twenty-two at least,” Lordy compliments, a box wrapped in pale-yellow paper shifts around in his grip.
I used to wish she was the same age, but being around her has taught me that age is a number. Maturity is what matters. Take Glove, for instance. I'm convinced he's thirteen with a growth hormone imbalance.
“We brought gifts as instructed,” Lordy pushes his toward her. “I mean as suggested,” he amends when he sees my expression.
She gives me glance, and I appear that I have no idea as to what he's talking about. Her giggle seeps out, and I feel the day get even better.
“Hope I did OK.” Lordy got her a navy-colored oven mitt with white words, “There's no such thing as an ex-cook.” Clever. Seeing she missed something, I offer to hold onto the box while she examines a small, folded piece of paper.
“It's a recipe for my grandma’s peach cobbler. It's been in the family for generations. I—uh—don't get to go home often, so maybe when we get back from deployment, you could make it for us. I hear you're one hell of a baker, to put it mildly. And well, we're all family now, right?”
I should punch him for assuming my girlfriend would or should be obligated to cook for him, but something tells me he was trying for a different message. He was trying to welcome her to a deeper side of him, the one Glove ignores and I empathize with.
“Thank you.” Another hug. I try to refrain from tensing, being too jealous over the simple action. “I'd be honored. And yes. We're all family now.”
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