by Kaylea Cross
When he shut it behind her, the ache in her heart increased tenfold. An overwhelming sense of loneliness crashed over her. Followed immediately by the knowledge that when Victoria left, Oceane would truly be all alone in this world. She would miss her friend terribly.
She blew out an unsteady breath and struggled to get hold of her emotions. She wasn’t useless. And she was still here when her mother was not. No matter how bad the guilt got, no matter how heavy the burden she carried became, she couldn’t forget that she still had an important purpose to fulfill.
Oceane would find justice for her mother. Her life only had meaning now if she made sure her father paid for what he’d done to them both.
So no matter how long it took, she would do everything in her power to help the DEA capture him.
Chapter Six
All things considered, for the most part Victoria had held it together pretty well until now. But there was something about Brock that reached past all her hard-won defenses and left her a quivering mass of emotion, exposing her tender insides like a raw nerve. Now that they were alone, the yearning to let down the walls she’d erected for the sake of self-preservation grew with each passing second.
The understanding in his eyes as he’d walked toward her just now, the way he pulled her to him and wrapped those solid arms around her, broke something inside her. Resting her cheek to his chest, holding onto him tight, she swallowed and just…felt. Allowed herself to accept the silent comfort he offered.
Hitching in a shaky breath, she held on tight. God, she’d missed this. The simple embrace of someone who gave a shit about her. A gesture of comfort and protection when she’d been alone for so long. Her entire extended family had been physically affectionate. She’d been starving for this for almost a year, and worse whenever she was around Brock. But him holding her now made the wait a thousand times sweeter.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Much better now.” He was a good man, committed to serving his country and looking out for the people who counted on him. It had been a long time since she’d known someone like that.
Her heart twisted as she breathed in his scent and savored the feel of his strength surrounding her. Today marked the beginning of the end of their time together unless something important came up that she had insider knowledge about with the Veneno cartel in the next few days. She was going to miss Brock like hell when things ended, which of course they had to.
He continued to hold her close for another minute, then held his hand out for her to take. When she did, he led her into the living room. He sank onto the leather couch, drawing her sideways into his lap.
There was no mistaking the feel of his erection growing against her bottom, but thankfully it sparked no fear or dread, only a mild anxiety at the thought of him seeing her body for the first time. Though the scars she bore inside were far worse than the ones marking her skin.
She half expected him to pounce now that he’d moved them here but he merely cradled her to him for a while, seeming in no rush to take things to the next level. Victoria rested her head on his sturdy shoulder, allowing her body to relax. He ran his fingers through her hair, combing through it from her nape to the ends at her shoulder blades in a soothing motion.
It was bliss. She was like a wilted, drought-stricken flower, soaking up every bit of affection and reassurance he offered like rain.
“Tough day for you, huh?” he asked quietly.
She nodded against his shoulder. “I thought maybe I would feel a sense of closure once the verdict came down, but I don’t. All I feel is empty.” And also sad that she would be torn away from her one source of comfort so soon.
“I think that’s pretty normal.”
Well it wasn’t normal to her. Before Ruiz’s attack, she’d had a full, rich life. What she faced ahead looked like a barren wasteland by comparison. “I guess.”
“What have you decided to do with the next phase of your life?”
“I want to make a difference.” That was all she’d ever wanted, and why she’d gone into journalism.
He made a low sound of acknowledgment. “You will.”
He sounded so certain of that. His faith in her buoyed her flagging spirits a little. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I was thinking either going back to school to become a counselor, or writing a novel.”
“You’d be great at both. I read your books when I was at Bagram, by the way.”
She smiled. “You did?”
“Yep. And I was damned impressed. I bet you’d write great fiction too.”
The praise warmed her. “Thank you.” Her therapist thought it was still too soon to be thinking about taking on a new career, but what choice did she have once she left D.C.? She had to find a way to make money and support herself.
“What else, though? Any dreams or bucket list items you want to make happen?”
“Too many to count.” A lot of them for her dead family members. Things they’d never had the chance to do. Trips they’d never be able to take. “All that’s going to have to wait until I’m settled in my new life.” The WITSEC people were going to let her know her destination sometime in the next few days.
He squeezed her tighter, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter what you do next, as long as it makes you happy.”
She wasn’t sure if that was even possible now. Part of her wanted to stay hidden, to remain isolated, while the other craved social interaction again. “Maybe I’ll volunteer at a library or something to start.” That way she could be surrounded with books and be able to do research for the book she’d been toying with at least. Maybe she could even inspire a new generation of children to be readers.
He chuckled. “Oh, man, now I’m picturing you in sexy librarian mode.”
She snorted softly. Sexy? Not anymore, with her physical and mental scars that had left her apprehensive about physical intimacy. Speaking of which…
She curled up closer to him, bit her lip. He was still hard beneath her, but not doing anything about it. His restraint boosted her sense of safety and courage. Her security was coming for her at six. That didn’t give them a lot of time to work with, and since he seemed in no hurry to get things going, it was up to her to be the instigator. He was holding himself in check out of respect for her, because of what she’d been through.
Angling her head to nuzzle the edge of his jaw, she breathed in that delicious, clean scent and forced her mind to go blank about everything but him. The bulge under her bottom hardened even more. Again, she wasn’t afraid. He made her feel safe and protected and cherished, was nothing like the men who had brutalized her.
Encouraged by both their reactions, she kissed just below his ear, trailed her lips toward the corner of his mouth.
“Tori.”
Yeah, she really liked how it sounded when he called her that. “Hmm?” She nibbled at the spot gently, the first tendrils of arousal blooming inside her. Fragile. Hopeful. Like a brand new flower unfurling its tender petals toward the spring sunshine.
His fingers speared into her hair, cupped the back of her head as he turned to meet her eyes. “Don’t force this if you’re not ready.”
“I’m not.” Not forcing. More like jumpstarting. She wanted him, was attracted to him.
Once she got past the insecurity and anxiety, maybe it would be okay. Maybe she could enjoy him like her old self would have, because it wouldn’t be just sex. They both cared about each other. She just needed to be careful she didn’t let things go farther than that, because her feelings were already leaning toward much more.
Brock didn’t answer, merely searched her eyes as if he was trying to decide whether or not she was being truthful, even though she’d already made her intentions plain the other night and granted her consent. She was definitely consenting now, too. And if things had been different, if he didn’t have to be so careful of her, she knew without a doubt he would have taken charge from the start. That kind of control and consi
deration was hot in its own right.
She shifted on his lap, a tiny thrill shooting through her when his body tensed subtly, the slight hitch in his breathing when she rubbed over his erection. She loved knowing that she held the power to turn a sexy man like him on. Sliding her hands up his neck, she wrapped them around his nape and leaned forward to press her lips to his.
He made a low, soft sound and angled his head, taking over the kiss. He nibbled at her top lip, then the lower one before stroking his tongue across it.
She opened immediately, gliding her tongue along his. The sweet, slow caress sparked a fire low in her belly, made her breasts tingle and swell. Awakening her arousal by degrees, her position on his lap giving her a sense of control—because he was giving it to her. And he would stop if she wanted him to.
It made her braver. She couldn’t catch her breath, aware of the ache gathering between her thighs. Amazed that she could feel this way again after everything she’d been through. But only because it was Brock’s hands on her. His mouth on hers.
“God, you feel good,” he murmured, one hand at the back of her head, holding her still for the kiss she had no desire to pull away from. The other smoothed up her spine and down again before dipping low to wrap around her hip and pull her center tighter to his erection. Wanting more, she set her hands on his shoulders and scrambled up to straddle his thighs.
Heat coiled deep inside her the moment her denim-covered core made contact with the hard bulge in his jeans. She moaned into his mouth, letting him know she was into this, how good he was making her feel. This was what she’d needed, been hoping for. To forget everything else for a little while and simply lose herself in him.
Those big hands curved around her hips. Squeezed gently as his tongue teased hers. Testing. Asking.
Yes. More.
“So soft.” He kissed the edge of her mouth, working his way across her jaw. She gasped and closed her eyes, let her head fall to the side as his mouth nibbled to the sensitive spot beneath her ear, down her neck to the top of the turtleneck collar.
But when he reached up to pull it down, she froze, her eyes popping open, the spell she’d been under shattering like a crystal vase dropped onto a tile floor.
Out of nowhere, shame and embarrassment swamped her. She grabbed his hand to still it, ducked her chin and shook her head, a tight motion of denial. Her scars were so ugly. Humiliating. A constant reminder of what had been done to her that she would carry with her for the rest of her life.
Brock stayed exactly where he was but didn’t push her hand away, the warmth of his breath on her neck sending a wash of goosebumps over her skin. “I’ve already seen them,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to hide from me.”
Something hard and angry formed in the center of her chest. Bitterness. He had seen them, on the night she’d been rescued. But that was different. They’d been strangers then. They were far more than that now. It was bright in here, the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window to her right. Exposing her scars to him now during this kind of intimacy—especially this scar—was distressing.
“I hate them,” she whispered back, her pulse hammering in her throat, unsure if she meant the scars themselves or the men who had locked that fucking metal collar around her neck.
She still woke up sometimes with the feel of it there, squeezing, choking her. Holding her prisoner by the chain anchored to the floor in that decaying shed while they’d done whatever they’d wanted to her on that filthy bare mattress.
She shuddered and ducked her head into his neck, clenched her eyes shut as she fought to banish the memories.
“Hey.” Brock splayed his hands across the middle of her back and pressed her close once more, angling his chin to murmur against her temple. “They don’t define you. You’re beautiful and strong and brave. Let me show you. Let me make you feel good.”
Victoria kept her eyes shut and sucked in a steadying breath, belatedly realized that she was digging her fingers into his shoulders. With effort she relaxed them, focused on his scent, the way he was holding her. Brock had seen terrible things over the course of his career. He knew about her scars and still wanted her anyway. If she stopped this now, she was admitting defeat and letting those bastards take something else from her. Letting them win.
No. No more.
Though she was afraid of continuing, she was more afraid of letting him go. Of losing this chance with someone who valued and respected her. Someone who would protect her and keep her safe.
Screwing up her courage, she allowed herself to be even more vulnerable and whispered, “Help me through this.”
SHE WAS COMPLETELY rigid in his arms as she said it.
Brock stilled, suddenly feeling out of his depth with her and this entire situation. The possessive, protective parts of him howled in outrage and agony at the way she’d been hurt. At not being able to help her let go.
He’d never felt like this about anyone before and he wanted to help give her confidence back, give her pleasure to hopefully begin replacing all the pain. A good memory to take with her into her new life. Far away from him.
The thought of never seeing her again sent an arrow of something uncomfortably close to panic through him, increasing the need to strip her right here and now, cover her and slide deep inside her warmth, claim her in a way no one else ever had or ever would again.
But that would scare the ever-loving shit out of her.
With a mental groan he fought back the hunger and possessiveness raging inside him. Maybe it was better that she not realize how into her he was. He’d meant everything he’d just said. He really did see her as all those things.
She was beautiful to him. He was in awe of her surviving what she had, and still having the strength to help the investigators secure the verdict that ensured Ruiz would die in prison.
Fuck, he wanted her so badly, wanted to erase everything in her head with pleasure. What the hell was he supposed to do? He should stop this, but the rawness of her plea ripped him up inside.
Before he could say anything else, she took him off guard by sitting up and crushing her lips to his. He groaned when she slid her tongue inside to curl around his, sucking on it for a moment before she straightened to stare into his eyes. Her breathing was erratic, a slight flush on her golden skin, her dark eyes blazing with a mixture of desire and determination that made his heart squeeze. But what she wanted was clear.
Okay, angel. He would take it from here.
“Lie down,” he managed, stealing one last kiss before wrapping his arms around her back and turning her to lay her lengthwise on the black tufted leather couch.
With one hand he grasped the back of it and pushed down until it was flat, doubling the surface area. Tori lay there watching him, her body language relaxed but her eyes telling a different story.
She was nervous, and it was making him nervous too. He didn’t want to fuck this up. Couldn’t, without risking further damage to her. And he refused to do that.
His instincts had never led him wrong where sex was concerned, but this was different. More than anything he wanted to unwrap her like a present, lay her out and enjoy every part of her, find out what made her feel good and then give it to her until she shattered in his arms. But damn, he hated the added pressure of working against the clock.
Remembering how she’d reacted when he’d tried to pull the neck of her top down, he got up and crossed to the window to lower the blind. Moments later the room was dim, and he swore he heard her sigh of relief as he went back to her.
Rather than climb onto the couch and cover her with his weight as he was dying to, he went down on one knee beside her instead and ran a reassuring hand over her hair. “Okay?”
“Yes.” She gave him a smile and reached up to curl a hand around his neck, tug him toward her. He went willingly, bracing one hand beside her head as he poured himself into the kiss, telling her without words how sexy she was, that he cared and would treat her gently.
; When she began moving restlessly on the leather, he risked taking things a little farther and gently cupped the side of her breast in his palm. She gasped against his lips, then arched her back, pushing into his hand.
In answer he reached down and slid that same hand beneath the hem of her top, spreading his fingers out as he glided up her stomach, her sides. With an impatient sound she suddenly twisted up to grab the material and peel it over her head. His eyes locked on the small mounds of her breasts encased in black lace, the nipples pressing against the sheer fabric.
He also saw the marks on her pale golden skin. Most of the scars were round. Small circles scattered over her stomach and the tops of her breasts. Some larger, about the size of a quarter.
A sickening wave of helpless anger crashed through him when he realized what they were. Cigarette burns. The larger ones were no doubt from the Cuban cigars Ruiz supplied his men with.
Masking his response before she could see it, he cradled her breasts in his hands and gently ran his thumbs over the hard tips. A soft, aroused sound came out of her. He gave her more, bending to press a kiss to the shallow valley between her breasts and working his way up to her throat, past the scars ringing that delicate flesh. Wishing he could heal her with his touch.
Tori sighed and tipped her head back, gripped the back of his head when he dragged his tongue against the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. Sucked gently, giving her the faint edge of his teeth and reveled in the shiver that sped through her, the goosebumps that scattered across her skin. He was hard as stone in his jeans, his cock aching for her touch, but he was damn well going to see to her pleasure before even thinking about moving to the next step.
He trailed kisses across her collarbones, down to the tops of her breasts, waited with his lips a breath away from the lace-covered nipple until she made an impatient sound and tugged his head to her breast. Pulling the lace aside, he lowered his head and gently ran his tongue over one hard nub.
