Forbidden to Taste

by JC Harroway

‘Of course.’ He looks so vulnerable in that moment, I drag him close, wishing we could somehow merge, so I knew his thoughts and there was nowhere for either of us to hide. We don’t kiss, simply stare, our foreheads touching, our soft pants mingling as we breathe each other’s air.

  ‘Drake...’ Forbidden thoughts materialise into words I’m too scared to free. I swallow hard, sidestepping the terrifying admission of emotion I can’t trust. ‘Thanks for bringing me here.’ It’s not what I want to say, but he seems aware of the gravity of the moment.

  His hands trail over my skin with lazy reverence. ‘Thanks for running away with me.’

  I want to ask what he’s running from but refuse to kill the moment. He promised we’d talk later.

  Almost reluctantly, Drake reaches for a bottle of body wash and soaps every inch of my skin, his eyes following his hands as if in fascination. ‘You’re beautiful. Inside and out.’ The husky words scrape my senses like his slightly calloused palms. ‘When you’re ready, any man would be lucky to have you in his life.’ His reference to our earlier conversation hurts my ears.

  Any man but you...

  I almost say the accusation aloud. Instead I slide my soapy hands through his chest hair, over his muscular shoulders and down his back.

  ‘You’re beautiful, too,’ I whisper.

  His eyes flare with heat and his hips flex, pushing his erection into my belly. A swell of emotion builds like trapped lava inside me. I know first-hand the futility of the ‘what if’ game, but for a decadent second I imagine a different life for myself, a life shared with Drake.

  My heart thunders, the realisation as cold as the tiles at my back. I want more than sex. I want the possibility not just of some future man, but of this man. But wanting someone is dangerous. Pain inevitable.

  I focus on the physical so the panic squeezing my lungs abates. I kiss him, pouring my conflicted feelings into the slide of my lips against his and the tease of my tongue.

  Drake groans against my mouth, his hands cupping my backside so he can grind against me. His fingers roll my nipples and my legs grow weak. I curve one leg over his hip, raising my hips to align my clit with his hard length, my flesh sliding over him making us both moan and break from the frantic kiss.

  With a curse, Drake slams off the water and leads me from the shower. We’re sopping, leaving puddles on the tiles, but there’s no time for drying, because Drake scoops the fluffy white towels from the heated towel rail and strides into the adjoining bedroom, dragging me in tow.

  The room is warm, an intimate glow coming from the two bedside lamps. In seconds he’s spread the towels over the duvet and lowered us on top as if he, too, has no patience for the trivial.

  Drake licks the droplets of water from my breast, his mouth sucking hard on my nipple until I cry out, throw one thigh over his hip and lift my pelvis towards him, seeking the friction I need.

  ‘I want you.’ All of you. I clamp my lips closed on the latter and tug his hair, cradling his head so he continues the delicious torture that’s almost too good to trust.

  ‘I want you, too. So fucking much. You have no idea.’ Need brands his features, as if he’s reached his limit. His fingers slide through my slickness as he plunges two inside me and thumbs my clit.

  But I want more.

  ‘Give me everything, then.’ I grip his erection, pumping him until he growls, rises up to kiss me, his teeth scraping my lip.

  ‘Don’t say that.’ His tongue delves into my mouth, his eyes wide open to capture my reaction to his touch.

  I pull away, panting, staring, provoking. Because he may not give me his confidences, but he’ll give me his trust this way. ‘I mean it. I want everything you’ve got.’ Does he feel it, too? That it’s no longer about sex? That every touch, every look, every word tonight seems amplified, bigger than either of us, as deep as the ocean outside our hideaway’s windows.

  ‘Kenzie...’ His gruff voice holds a note of warning, but he kneels between my thighs, spreading them wide with his big hands.

  I roll my nipples, because I’ve seen what it does to him. ‘Drake, you’ve given me so much...don’t hold back now.’ I sit up on my elbows and we watch together as he angles his cock to my entrance with one hand and slides inside me, skin to skin, his beautiful, earnest stare and the low growl in his throat giving me everything his words can’t.

  It’s so good, I want him to both hurry and slow down at the same time. But then he’s gripping my hips and pulling me towards his thrusts, his lip trapped between his teeth as he watches himself plunge inside my body.

  I’m jealous. I want the view he can’t seem to drag his eyes from, but then his thumb finds my clit once more and I’m past caring, too focussed on the last ascent and the almost euphoric possession on Drake’s face.

  I spread my thighs and hook my legs around his hips. He sinks lower, coming to rest fully on top of me, his weight crushing me into the bed and his mouth on mine in kiss after breath-stealing kiss.

  ‘I’m going to come so hard for you.’ His fingers lock with mine, squeezing as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

  ‘Yes!’ I buck my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  ‘Kenz, come for me.’ His eyes cling, pleading something I long to grasp. But his request is easy to grant, because he’s powering into me, his thrusts deep and fast and his kisses pushing me over the edge.

  ‘Drake...’ My nails dig into his back as the orgasm takes me. But he’s only seconds behind me, his groan, buried against the side of my neck, almost feral and his arms banded so tightly around me, for a second I think he’ll never let me go.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kenzie

  WEARING ONLY DRAKE’S T-SHIRT, I pad on bare feet down the hallway, my steps hesitant as I balance the contents of the tray—what’s left of the wine and doorstep sandwiches. I expected him to come looking for the post-sex snack I’ve made, so loud was the rumble from his stomach only five minutes ago.

  I pause outside the room, hoping he hasn’t fallen asleep. The bedroom door is ajar; I peek through the gap, an indulgent smile on my face.

  He’s not asleep.

  He’s perched on the side of the bed, dressed only in his jeans, his attention focussed on the object in his hand—Sam’s coin.

  The smile slips from my lips.

  The expression on his face, like a harsh slap across my own cheek, makes me certain all his previous expressions up to this point have been masks. Defeat drags at his broad shoulders and his teeth scrape repeatedly at his lip as he flips the coin over and over between his fingers.

  I’m frozen, my pulse leaping. Interrupting feels intrusive.

  I grip the tray, backing up a pace, desperate not to rattle any of the contents and give away my position. And then my feet stall, shocked still.

  Drake’s face twists with disgust.

  He hurls Sam’s coin across the room before plunging his hand into his hair with a curse.

  The blood drains from my head. I’ve never seen controlled, caring Drake so upset. My heart thunders, slinking away undetected now the priority, because if he looks up, sees me snooping, he’ll know I’ve just witnessed his outburst. But worse, I’ll want answers I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.

  Is he angry with Sam? With me? Has my gift slashed open painful memories?

  With a frustrated hiss, he jerks to his feet, turns his back to the door and strides in the direction he threw the coin. While he drops to his knees, his hand searching the floor under a chair, I seize my chance.

  I scuttle back to the living room as quickly and as quietly as I can. I place the tray on the low coffee table with trembling hands, dragging the whole thing aside so I can spread one of the throws in front of the freshly banked fire and finish the impromptu carpet picnic with a handful of the brightly coloured cushions.

  I sit on the throw and pour myself a bolster
ing glass of wine, the whoosh of blood through my head deafening.

  This is how Drake finds me, moments later.

  ‘Food looks delicious.’ He helps himself to a glass and joins me on the rug. He’s donned another T-shirt along with a fresh mask and I wish I’d taken the time to dress properly. I, too, could use the armour.

  ‘It’s just sandwiches. I think the gourmet fairies have visited, because the food in the cupboards resembles the selection at your place.’ I force a smile and hand him a plate. He selects a sandwich, taking a massive bite. He grins but he’s too busy eating my pulled pork and watercress to speak.

  Perhaps he’ll be more talkative with his belly full.

  What should I say? He won’t want to talk about whatever momentous thing just happened in the bedroom. But I can’t ignore his pain. I need more than the parts he’s willing to share when we’re naked. I brush a crumb from his chin and cup his cheek, seeking his stare with mine, hoping to find the answers I need.

  His chewing slows, his hand coming up to cover mine and holding it against his face while he finishes his swallow.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ He washes down the mouthful of sandwich with a hesitant sip of wine and I take a drink of my own, although I want a clear head for the conversation to come.

  I lie. ‘I ate one while making them.’

  He accepts my answer, but he must sense my change of mood, because he pushes his plate aside, settles back against the mound of cushions and tugs me between his legs so I’m resting on him, back to chest. His arms encircle me and his chin rests on my shoulder as we stare at the flickering flames for several silent minutes.

  ‘What is it?’ he murmurs against my temple, his lips whisper-soft.

  I draw a deep breath. The last thing I want is to spoil our romantic getaway. But this has moved past casual. I care. A part of me always has.

  I clear my throat. ‘That was going to be my question for you.’

  He stiffens.

  I’m done letting him run. And the first thing that springs to mind is something I’ve often wondered—that Sam must have confided in Drake about his indiscretion. If Sam told anyone, it would be Drake.

  ‘Did he tell you?’ I whisper. ‘That he’d cheated on me?’

  He holds his breath because his chest stops moving at my back. I stroke his arm with my thumb, letting him know I understand his torn loyalties. ‘It’s okay. It wasn’t your place to tell me.’ Shooting the messenger is unfair for both of us.

  ‘You knew?’ His breath ruffles my hair as he presses his mouth to my temple with almost punishing force and sucks in a deep breath. ‘He told you?’ His arms tighten around my waist.

  ‘No. But I’m not stupid—he’d grown distant, cagey, always checking his phone. Sam was a crap liar. And now you’ve confirmed it.’ Of course, the part of me that had lost my parents had somehow expected his desertion; I just hadn’t anticipated the permanence of his death to rob me of closure.

  Drake’s soul-deep sigh reverberates through my bones. ‘I only found out at the end. I swear.’ He grips me tighter. ‘We fought about it. I made him promise he’d confess when we got home.’

  I nod, the uncertainty I’ve carried all these years slipping away. ‘I saw a text on his phone before you left on that final tour.’ I twist my head on his shoulder to press a kiss to his lips, free at last to kiss him with a lighter burden of guilt at betraying Sam.

  He frowns, his eyes stormy, as if he’s just been told Father Christmas doesn’t exist. ‘But you didn’t confront him?’ A hint of accusation sharpens his tone.

  I look back to the fire, the memories of that horrible time, Sam’s unfaithfulness and then the finality of his death rising up afresh to burn and shame. ‘I didn’t want him leaving me feeling guilty or defensive. He needed focus. I thought there’d be time to confront him later.’

  We fall silent, the tension in Drake’s muscles telling me we’re both processing.

  Drake’s loyalties would be divided between Sam and me, a no-win position. Is that why he threw Sam’s coin? New resolve thrums through my veins. My fresh start and any future Drake and I might have is dependent on letting go of some ties to the past. For both of us.

  ‘I know it’s not fair to ask,’ my voice wobbles, ‘but would you tell me...about that day?’

  He knows what day I mean. The day Sam died.

  Half of me wants to know what Drake went through, the other half curls into a ball at the idea of hearing, from the horse’s mouth, how my husband, an imperfect man I loved, died. But perhaps it’s a conversation we both need.

  I place my hands over his, my fingers tracing the strong tendons and smattering of dark hair on the backs of his hands.

  His stillness is ominous, but he says, ‘Didn’t the army fill you in at the time?’ His voice is quiet, measured, as if he’s afraid to reveal too much. For a minute I think I’ve imagined our closeness, because this is distant, disciplined Drake talking.

  ‘Yes, they told me it was quick...that he wouldn’t have felt any pain.’ I turn my head to the side, pressing my mouth to his. ‘Please, Drake. Don’t shut me back out.’

  He stares at me for so long I think he’s going to refuse. His eyes reflect so many emotions—a kaleidoscope. But what comes out of his mouth forces a gasp of air into my lungs.

  ‘It should have been me.’ It’s barely a croak, rough with emotion.

  I turn, facing him so I can see the truth of his words pass over his face.

  But my reason fights for him. ‘It wasn’t your fault. What do you mean?’ It was an accident. An act of war. No one was accountable, least of all Drake. ‘Tell me how.’ The shock on my face must convince him. He’s kept this from me for three years.

  His jaw hardens. ‘It was a routine patrol. We’d done the same thing a hundred times. There was a car alarm sounding down the street. We ignored it for a while, waiting for someone to silence the damn thing.’

  His harsh swallow shows what this costs him. I reach for his hand.

  ‘Sam, as usual, was in a playful mood, calling me “old guy”—he never let me forget our age gap. Then this kid alone started crying not far from the car.’ He hesitates, his chest working hard while he grapples with the emotions his confession releases. ‘“Heads I’ll go, tails you’ll have to drag your old arse down there,” he said.’ His tortured stare slays me and his swallow distorts his next words. ‘He threw the coin and I caught it.’

  I’m struck dumb.

  Sam died over a coin toss.

  It could have been Drake instead.

  He grips my chin, his eye contact fierce, penetrating. ‘I should have ignored him. Ordered him to leave it. It was my patrol, my responsibility.’

  ‘You didn’t know what would happen.’

  His stare grows distant and he releases my face with a shake of his head. ‘We saw similar scenes ten times a week.’ His breath shudders out, and I feel the blades of his anguish slice my insides.

  I want to hold him, but I stay still, waiting for more.

  ‘Something felt off. I should have sensed it sooner, called it in, stopped him...’ His throat bobs as he swallows hard. ‘I was too far away. The hairs on the back of my neck started tingling and I called out...too late. I came to, deaf, my eyes and mouth coated in dust and Sam’s coin still clutched in my hand.’ His face is so haunted my eyes burn.

  They could have gone together. Died together.

  ‘Sam died instantly. An IED.’ He pulls the coin from his jeans pocket, holding it up between us. ‘But for this, it would have been me instead.’

  My heart must have stopped beating somewhere along the line, because it restarts with a violent jerk behind my ribs. I can’t compute his account beyond one clear fact—he may not have placed the explosive device that killed Sam in the road, but he’s carrying the guilt.

  ‘You’re right to be angry.
I stole him from you.’ He grips the back of his neck.

  My head pounds. I sift my feelings, teasing them apart. ‘I’m not angry. I...I didn’t know...about the coin. I never would have given it to you.’

  He shakes his head, pain evident in the lines around his dulled eyes. His hands rise to touch me and then fall back to his sides, listless. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I cup his face, forcing him to keep my eye contact. ‘Drake, it’s not your fault.’ He’s carried this for three years. This sense of responsibility. No wonder he stayed away. He couldn’t face me.

  He nods, eyes tormented. ‘I let Sam down. I let you down. You lost him.’

  My eyes burn and I look away from his gorgeous face, the strength and pain I see there suffocating. I lean my head on his chest, dragging comfort from the steady beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breath sounds.

  With a final shudder, my weary soul accepts that ahead lies a dead end.

  Drake only wants sex, and I’m the last person he could consider loving, not when he’s carrying the blame for what happened to Sam.

  There’s no way past it.

  We sit in silence, his strong arms a cocoon around my body, which is trapped somewhere between the languid weight of comfort and the icy shivers of doubt. But now I have new resolve—convince Drake he wasn’t responsible, so when this, us, is over he can move on without regret.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Drake

  KENZIE’S COLD HAND in mine as we walk along the beach fills the aching void in my chest where last night’s sleepless hours of replaying our conversation over and over while she slept at my side failed. Her passion, her honesty, her trust rubbed at the angry scab of my self-doubt, even as I did my best to hold on to my secrets.

  Although she woke as the weak dawn light pierced the curtains, turned to me and wordlessly kissed me with growing passion that quickly turned into more, she’s been quiet since. We both have. There’s a lot to process.

  And processing hurts like fucking salt on an open wound.

  She knew. About Sam’s affair.