I was at that dinner as a guest. No official capacity. I was an E-3 at the time, enlisted less than a year. Gerald served with my uncle, my mom’s brother, who died in combat with him. He helped me during my enlistment process, and encouraged me when I went through Security Forces training. I’d signed four years over to the Air Force, a way to help my mom and my sister with additional income.
She fled an office and barreled into me. I was used to being in control, confident in all I do. But one touch from her . . . I was gone.
You okay?” I grip her arms, steadying her.
“I’m fine.” Her eyes wander my uniform. She’s trained to recognize who is who, and I hope she isn’t disappointed in finding herself locked in my arms.
“Heading back to the dinner?” I can’t force my eyes from her beautiful face. Her pale skin is in direct contrast to the sparkling depth of her eyes.
“Yes.” I offer to escort her, praying she accepts. As her tiny fingers wrap my forearm, she stumbles. I’m thankful her reaction to me is just as strong. I escort her to her father and notice the tension immediately.
“Brody. Thanks for finding my wayward daughter.” Gerald greets me and ignores her. I want to shield her from his annoyance, stand toe to toe with this man, but I refrain. Calling on my training for combative situations comes in handy.
“No problem, Sir. She was just coming from the ladies room when I bumped into her. Powdering her face, I’m sure.” The lie tumbles from my mouth. I’d tell a million untruths if it meant protecting her. If her father knew where she was, or what her friend was doing, it’d be ugly.
“Emberlee, this is Brody. Brody, my daughter.”
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice slithers over me like velvet. I’d love to hear it moaning in my ear.
“Brody’s uncle served with me in Desert Storm. Fine man.” I see him swallow the lump in his throat and watch Emberlee’s eyes cloud. In clarity. With disappointment.
Her body turns to me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Your dad has been instrumental in helping me along.” Her lips purse, and she steps back.
“That’s what he’s good at. Career motivator and mentor.” Her tone is acidic. “Shall we take our seats?” Her false platitudes make my displeasure more apparent with the way she’s treated by her father. The fake smile, the demure personality. It isn’t the girl I glimpsed a few moments ago. I want to grab a napkin and wipe the counterfeit lift of her lips and replace it with the one I saw in a moment I intruded on. The one she shared with her friend . . . prior to the bottle being cracked open and Emberlee freaking.
The night ends too soon, and I’m left wanting.
Glimpses of her.
Conversations with her.
More. Always more.
My days consist of drills and strenuous training. Gerald has invited me for dinner; it’s an unusual circumstance for an airman to be in the graces of a four-star General, but it isn’t work related, so it’s not prohibited. A family friend type thing.
Sitting across from her at the table, I don’t taste the food. I smell her floral scent and inhale. Every thing fades. Her words, her demeanor— it all infiltrates my system. “Did you get your homework done?” General Winchester is brisk with her— at best.
“Yes sir.” Homework? “Exams are next week, and I’m prepared.”
Natalie, Emberlee’s mother, speaks soft yet proud. “Emberlee is a straight A student. If she keeps it up her junior year, she’ll be Valedictorian.” The satisfaction is evident on her mother’s part.
“High school?” I choke.
“Yes.” Natalie beams. Emberlee’s cheeks redden as she stares down at her plate. I should abort this mission.
I should walk away— I can’t. I won’t cross any lines, but I have to know her.
Resisting was futile. Each moment spent with her made me crave her. Each stolen caress made me burn. Each touch of our lips made me weak. I caved.
Her virginity was a gift. One I’ll forever treasure. Her tight heat convulsing was bliss. We were scheduled for mission training the next day, but I promised her I’d figure out a way to solidify us.
And I would have.
Except the call that changed my course. My outlook of her. Of us. I went to her father.
“Sir, I need some help.”
“What can I do Brody?”
“I need emergency leave. My sister. She’s been hurt.” He did what he promised, and I was home within four hours. Twenty-one days after I promised a future I couldn’t deliver. Three weeks after I’d left her in bed— naked, satisfied, and tainted by me.
I stare at my sister’s amethyst eyes, blackened and swollen. “I’m fine, Brody.”
“Brecklynn, you’re fifteen. What were you doing at a college party?” Her innocence hits me in the gut. Emberlee was this innocent until I entered her life. My selfish ways ended that. That revelation is like a kick to the gut.
“It was just a party. I didn’t know.” Her voice soft, cracking as she acknowledges the repercussions of what could have happened. Inexperience. Almost lost for Brecklynn, ruined for Emberlee. I realize what I should do— I just don’t have the guts. Until the bedroom door opens and Melody walks in.
I’m startled from the worst memories of my life— war doesn’t compare to losing Emberlee. Clarice stands in front of me. “Where’s my niece?”
“She needed air.” I flinch with the daggers she’s shooting me.
“You have something to do with that?”
“Yes.” I can’t lie. I can’t hurt her anymore and being a pussy three years ago caused her more pain than any one person should endure.
“Fix it.” Her tone biting . . . she’s more like her brother than I gave her credit for.
“I’m trying.”
“Not sitting here, pretty boy.” She grabs the bottle of wine and disappears back outside. I stand and follow the path to the front that Emberlee took. It’s vast and open with a forest to one side. I’m sure that’s where she went, and I pray she stayed on the trails.
Quickening my pace to reach her faster, I can’t stand the thought of her being alone and upset. Each tear she bit back sliced me. I wanted them. I wanted her to give all her pain to me; make me feel it while erasing it from her. It’s what I deserve . . . nothing less. I see her crouched down, sitting on a rock, body heaving, keening wails, and I collapse in front of her. On my knees, ready to beseech, pray, anything to make it stop. Enemy troops and rifle fire have nothing on seeing the woman you loved —
the one you still love— crumbling . . . breaking in front of you. My hands roam every inch of her, trying to hold her together, stop the unraveling from happening. It’s in vain. She’s gone. The despair has overtaken her body. I watch, helpless, never severing our bodies’ contact. I’d fuse us together if I could.
Together. That’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It wasn’t the right time when we met— now; I won’t stop until I get what we both need.
“Embe,” I implore in her ear. My heart needs her to heal. My soul needs her to mend.
Her body becomes rigid in my hold. Her eyes flash to mine. She’s looking at me but isn’t seeing who I am. “Don’t call me that.” Her hands slap, push, lash at me. She’s attempting to erase every place I’ve touched her, breaking any connection we share. “Let go. Stop. Leave!” Her body seizes in turmoil once more, and it’s up to me to stop the siege.
I won’t step back. I can’t. I let her small hands pummel me. I let her words filet me. I’ll take it all— anything but her rejection. “You called me that the night you fucked me.” Her words halt the warmth in my heart.
“I didn’t fuck you.” She’s bringing my anger to the surface with the demeaning of what we shared. I’ll be damned if she cheapens it.
“You sure as fuck did. Don’t pretend. I’m not a naïve girl anymore. I know what it was. You. Fucked. Me.” Her stubbornness and defiance in the limelight. I’m tempted to break that trait.
Gripping her c
hin, I pull her face to mine. “Watch your mouth. I didn’t fuck you. It may not have been making love, but it sure as hell wasn’t fucking.”
Her smirk appears in a flash. “It was fucking. Can’t say it was the best I’ve had, either.” Not only do her words tear me up, they ignite the need to erase them.
“Quit goading me, Emberlee. You’re acting like a child.” She’s testing my restraint, and if she weren’t so fucking vulnerable in this moment, I’d do something to shut her up.
Those green eyes that express so much narrow and go from pale to spring grass in seconds. I know this look, and I’m rendered defenseless when she looks at me like this. My traitorous body knows it. Biting her lip, she drops her gaze to my dick and gleams. “Doesn’t seem to bother you too much.” Her foot grazes up the inside of my leg and comes to a stop beside my rock hard cock. Letting her toes graze the length, I suppress a moan.
I grab her foot, halting the motion — not sure if she’s going for seduction or unmanning. “This how you want to play it?”
I don’t get a verbal response. Her head drops to mine, her lips snake up my jaw, and her teeth follow. Nibbling, tantalizing me with her scent. My earlobe is trapped between them, as are my protests. I don’t know why she’s doing this, and I should stop her – but I can’t. She renders me incapable with one touch. One look. The hands that were slapping and lashing out at me are the same ones caressing and pulling me closer.
Kismet.
Beyond my control.
He created a void in me that I wasn’t able to fill.
He’s here in front of me, and I’m determined to replenish the empty space. Taking from him what I need.
Punishment be damned. Heartbreak will be endured. I’ve done it for years— but this time I’ll be the one leaving when I’m done.
“We need to talk.” His words mumbled against my collarbone.
“Talking’s overrated.” I nip his lobe. I feel him retreat, so I act, letting the need inside me guide my instincts. “After. We’ll talk after.” I lie. “I need this. You’re the only one who can make me whole.” It may be the truth, but I’ve never admitted it out loud — or to anyone.
His hands stop resisting.
Mine grip his shoulders— grounding me to him.
His lips descend.
Mine open to welcome his assault.
His tongue dashes out to lick my bottom lip.
My teeth latch onto his tongue.
It was futile to resist.
It was wasted time to try to deny this.
Our hands are everywhere, making sure to not linger in one spot. Three years of pent-up longing is working against me. I jerk his shirt over his head, breaking our kiss. I press myself against his chest, but I need to feel him. Ripping my shirt up over my head, I press tighter, chest-to-chest. The heat radiating off him warms me to the core. His hand snakes into my leggings, gripping my ass, anchoring me to him. “Fuck.” He rumbles. Pushing back, he stands and shucks his shoes, pants, and boxers. As his dick springs free, bobbing in front of my face, I become wanton.
My lips latch to the head, sucking, and I’m rewarded with a deep groan of pleasure. Taking more of him in my mouth, I lick the vein underneath, tasting the saltiness of his skin and arousal. I can’t take him all the way, but I try. Each inch I get in my mouth causes me to open wider, work harder until I feel his tip hit the back of my throat. Relaxing my throat, I swallow and feel his cock twitch in my mouth. His hands grip my scalp, tugging my hair and guiding my mouth how he likes it. With every shallow thrust he gives me, I greedily give him more.
More pressure.
More suction.
More of me.
There’s not much left, but he can have all of it.
Pulling himself from my mouth, I allow my teeth to graze his length; his body shudders, and as he looks down at me, the desire in his face is no match for the pain in my heart. He’s over me in a millisecond, both hands working my pants and underwear down. As soon as they’ve reached my knees, his mouth hits my core. Inhaling deep and releasing his warm breath against me has me opening my legs as wide as I can. One swipe of his tongue and I’m lost in ecstasy. He doesn’t stop. Using one hand to open me wider, his tongue becomes persistent. His lips draw my clit into his mouth, his fingers enter me, tapping the inside walls, curling and bringing me to the brink. Vibrating against my pussy forces my back to arch, pushing me farther into his mouth, my toes curl, and I splinter into oblivion.
He doesn’t stop his assault; playing a tune only he knows the composition of. “I can’t take it.” I cry.
“You can.” He shows me I can as his tongue works me over; fingers work me up— again. Before I go over again, he moves up my body and enters me in one long, hard push. His thumb remains, putting friction and pressure against my clit, my hips buck up, and he’s fully inside me. Stretching, burning pain elicits a whimper, but it’s all pleasure. “Feels so good.” His words whispered against my neck.
Our bodies create a rhythm. His leads. Mine follows. “Fuck me, Brody.” I need to feel the climb. I need to feel his body and ignore the emotions he provokes. Just sensation. Mind numbing release. His hips piston in and out, picking up strength and speed. His thumb presses and rubs, but he’s stopping me from cascading into oblivion. Holding me on the brink, thrusting shallow and denying me the last piece of the puzzle I yearn for. “Brody—” My wail echoes off the trees, telling a fable of its own.
“Tell me nobody’s made you feel like this. Tell me you’re mine.”
“No.” I refute his demand. That won’t fucking happen. I lift my hips, making him surge deeper and contract my muscles around his dick. He falters and snaps.
“Tell. Me.” Each word is punctuated with him hitting the spot that makes me fly over the edge and convulse, gripping him tight. His thrusts become deeper, harder, near punishing as I feel him swell inside me and release. His head is buried in my chest, his hips gliding, extracting every ounce of pleasure from both of us. “Tell me,” the wounded sound from his throat threatens to break me.
Almost.
It reminds me of how I felt the day I met Melody. How I felt each day with no word from him. No explanation. No excuse. Nothing to ease the bone-crushing pain he inflicted. “You didn’t use a condom.” I push him up. His eyes catch mine, and I squeeze mine tight.
I wiggle to get free. I’ve just fucked a stranger in a forest. This sure isn’t Sleeping Beauty playing out in front of me. I may know Brody, but he’s still an enigma. He tries to help dress me, but I move from him. I can’t have his hands touch me, or I’ll give in to this crazy pull to him. It’s my turn to end this on my terms. I pull my pants up, shake the debris from my shirt, and work my fingers through my hair. Standing up straight, hiding the shame and hurt surging through me, I stare directly into his coffee-colored eyes. Mustering every bit of raw emotion and confidence inside me, I spit the words I’ve waited three years to say. “Fuck. You.”
Simple.
Self-explanatory.
Sometimes a good fuck you is all it takes.
I ignore the bile in my throat.
I ignore the choking sob threatening my farewell.
I ignore the pain that slices through me when I see the confusion and panic shining from his eyes.
I ignore the crushing feeling in my chest.
I ignore it all— turn on the balls of my feet, and haul ass to the safety of a locked bedroom door and witnesses to shield his pursuit of me.
I wake with red-rimmed eyes and splotchy skin. I’d prefer to hide in my room all day, but that’s frowned upon. Instead, I drag my ass to the kitchen and help my mom and aunt with dinner preparations— while my father and Brody armchair quarterback the games their engrossed in.
“Those potatoes piss you off?” Clarice quips.
“No.” I’m lost in my misery and wish I had my friends to commiserate with. They wouldn’t understand, and they’re all preoccupied, but they bring me a comfort I’m craving. Deacon’s wrapped up in J
ulie and Saylor. Avery is concentrating on school and art. Mason and Caden— if it’s not baseball it’s skirt chasing. Adriane wouldn’t understand, but she’d help me forget without using Brody’s dick again. Or Mason’s.
“Well, you’re supposed to boil them prior to mashing them, sweetheart.” I’m wielding a knife, and she’s being a smart ass. I raise my eyebrows at her as she laughs. “Just sayin’ sweet pea.” I bring the knife down with exaggerated force, and my aim is off.
“Ouch!” Her slate grey countertop is covered in red, and with each heartbeat, blood pumps from my hand.
“Holy shit.” Clarice stares in horror. I don’t want to look. I’m pretty sure my fingertip is amid the potato cubes. Wonder if having nine nails will be cheaper when I get a manicure. I hope it isn’t my middle finger— that would be a piss poor way to flip someone off. But it may work in my favor . . . sort of like you aren’t worth the whole finger so you’ll get half of one.
“She’s so pale.” My mom’s voice is so slurred in my ear. “Gerald!” Footsteps. Shouting. Son of a bitch, that hurts. Pressure and squeezing my finger. Oh, it feels like my ring finger. That’s good. The cheap bastard I get stuck marrying can buy a small diamond and with half a finger it will look ginormous. “Something’s wrong. She’s falling.”
Strong arms.
Familiar chest.
Delicious scent.
I’ve died and gone to my heaven. Brody’s embrace.
Jesus. That’s cold. “Here’s another one. Put it under her neck.” If this person doesn’t quit squeezing my fucking finger I’ll kill them with the other nine I have. It only takes one to pull a trigger, and I’m a damn good shot. When did I close my eyes? It’s so dark and cozy here . . . I should take a nap.
Swatting at the hand stroking my cheek and interrupting my dream, I encounter pain. Holy fucking pain. I’m having quintuplets without an epidural pain. “What?” My voice is groggy.
“You feeling better?” Him. Of course it’s him.
“Fine.” I roll over. It’s dusk, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I didn’t eat. “Wait. What happened?”
His breathy chuckle makes me want to hit him. So I will. Until I ball up my fist. “Oh, shit. I remember.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I cradle my bandaged hand, trying not to cry.
KISMET Page 2
