by Brynne Asher
Her face falls. “Were you ever captured?”
I sigh and take a step closer, needing to touch her. Needing her to let me touch her. I reach out, dipping my hand around her neck and give her a squeeze when I soften my voice. “No. I was very good at what I did.”
She doesn’t pull away from me—which is a good sign—even if she still looks confused and surprised. I go on, hoping she’ll let me explain more.
“My dad was killed in an explosion. Police were called to a home in a run-down neighborhood in the District where citizens reported unusual activity. Three other officers reported to the house with my dad. When they started to investigate, a bomb went off. The area was booby-trapped, most likely to protect whatever was going on inside. Killed three of the four, one being my dad. Later, they proved it was terrorist recruits, building shit to plant here in the States.”
She reaches up, grasping my forearm, her face pained for me, for my loss. I hate that look on her face, but I keep going.
“The story was huge in the media—a fallen officer always is. Multiply that times three and throw in terrorist activity, it was off the charts. The families were thrown into the public eye—the funerals were enormous and there was no privacy. I was twenty-three, fresh out of college and following my dad’s footsteps in law enforcement. I was made to be the perfect son by the public, comforting my mom and younger brother. I was forced to be in the limelight, something I loathed. I was even fucking celebrated because my dad was killed in the line of duty and I was carrying on his legacy by serving myself. I fucking hated it.”
Her brow furrows and she takes a step closer, placing her hand on my chest over my heart, just like she did at the White House. Even with what I’m rehashing, it feels just as good as it did then. If possible, it feels even better. Anxious to finish this for good, I keep talking.
“The network of people I worked with recruited me a couple months later. They targeted me because of what happened to my dad and because I had skills they wanted. I’m a good shot, Addison. Even back then, I worked the roof of the White House because I was the best. Now, after years of training, I’m even better. They taught me hand-to-hand combat, how to disappear in a crowd, surveillance, how to survive in any and every condition. I’m fluent in six languages. They taught me everything, but that was only for backup. I never needed it. My shot is that good.”
“You…um, only…” She bites her lip, trying to find her words. “Targeted…bad guys?”
I grimace and squeeze her neck. “Fuck yes, Addison. I’m not gonna kill the good guys. Holy shit, who do you think I am?”
She tries to pull away but I hold steady when she brings up her defenses, turning frustrated. “I’m just making sure. Don’t talk to me that way. I’m sorry to offend you—I’ve never heard of a Fortune Soldier before, let alone met one. How was I supposed to know?”
I look down into her pissed off face, her dark brown eyes narrowed. Cupping the back of her head, I fist her chestnut hair and slowly close my eyes, tipping my forehead to hers.
“Baby,” I whisper with nothing but relief. “It’s Soldier of Fortune, and even I don’t call myself that. You make me sound like a Fortune Teller.”
“Sorry,” she lowers her voice and I open my eyes to look at her. “If you have a business card, I’ll try and get it right when I introduce you to people.”
I narrow my eyes at her sarcasm.
“It was dangerous?” she asks. I purse my lips before answering, wanting to be as vague as possible when it comes to the details of my past life. Impatient, a new look falls over her face, a look mixed with panic and concern. “It was really dangerous, wasn’t it? Of course, how could it not be?”
“Sometimes,” I answer quickly, wanting to put her at ease since it doesn’t matter anyway.
“But you’re done?” she pushes. “Done with it for good?”
I take a breath before explaining. “I’ve retired, so yeah. I’m done. I could officially retire and never work another day, but that’s not me. I can’t not work—I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. The people I contracted for don’t let you out easily. My way out was to train others to do what I did.”
“You’re training killers,” she states, her eyes going big as if she’s trying to get a grasp on all I’ve just told her.
I give her a squeeze. “Yeah.”
She pulls her soft lip between her teeth again, mulling all this over. Then, quickly, her eyes dart back to mine and her voice comes out in a rush. “You’ll never go back, right?”
My voice drops hearing the fear laced in hers. “I’m done.”
“I’m glad you’re done.” She gives me a squeeze. “Not because I’m judging what you did, but because of the danger. I think it would make me crazy to think about you putting yourself out there like that now. I don’t know if I could handle that, Crew.”
She exhales and relief spreads over her beautiful face. That look settles in my gut like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Not only for her to know the truth, but to accept me, and now I don’t have to worry about keeping anything from her.
“You see what’s happened here, right?” I start.
“What?”
I turn her, walking her backwards to her bed. “I’ve given you what you wanted—I trusted you. You’ve got complete control over me now. I all but disappeared for ten years. I was a ghost. I wanted to be after what happened to my dad—I had to be. There’re people in this world who want me dead for what I’ve done. I’ve crippled organizations, taken out entire cells, broken up networks. I told you everything because I want you.”
“I can’t say it doesn’t kind of freak me out, but you can trust me, Crew.”
“Because of what you’ve been through, the way you’ve had to live your life, and from what I’ve seen of you the past week, I don’t doubt that. I never would’ve told you otherwise.”
I’ve got her pinned against her bed when she smiles a small smile. “I’m glad.”
“Now I need something from you.”
Her smile disappears. “What?”
I look intently into her eyes, wanting what I’m about to suggest to happen more than anything. I even need it, but more, I want it so she can let go. I want to do it for her, give that to her, and make it great for us.
“I want you to give up another kind of control, Addison. I want you to give it all to me, completely and wholly.”
Chapter 15 – Comply
Addy –
I inhale deeply.
“What are you talking about?”
He looks at me, his body flush with mine. With his hand buried in my hair, he tips my head farther, looking deep in my eyes. “When we’re like this, you and me, I want you to give you to me.”
Confused, I insist, “I’m here aren’t I?”
“No, Addison.” His voice dips and his deep dark eyes flare. “I want you completely.”
“I don’t understand.”
His hands start to roam my body as he gently tugs, untucking my blouse. “You were wrestling me this morning.”
“I was not.” I slap his hand away, because now he’s pissing me off. I was only doing what I wanted, he was the one who made it wrestling.
“You were,” he keeps on, ignoring my slap. “I want you to let go, let me handle it, and when we’re like this, comply.”
Wait. What?
Comply?
“Comply?” My body goes stiff and I manage to stop his hands this time. I’m even able to push him back a step.
“Comply,” he confirms.
My eyes go big, because I cannot believe what I think I’m hearing. Shocked, I keep asking for details. “Do you mean…submit?”
The side of his mouth tips, giving me a hint of the dimple. “Now you’re just getting technical, baby.”
I put my hand up, palm to him and say firmly, “I’ve read about that shit and I am not a submissive.”
His brows rise, the full dimple appearing when he replies, “Oh, I know you’re not.”
“Then what are you asking?”
He takes my hands in his, closing the distance I managed to create. Ever so gently, he pulls my hands behind my back, closing in on me. Holding me tight in this weird hug where it’s clear he’s proving I can’t move—my heart picks up speed.
“I’m asking you to try,” he whispers. “Try and give me that control when we’re right here. When it’s you and me and I’ve got you bared. I can take care of you, Addison, but you’ve got to hand it over. Let me take over.”
My breath comes quick and my nipples harden listening to him speak so softly, so gently, about something so foreign. I don’t understand it or why he wants it.
“Do you,” I pause, searching for the words since I’ve never talked about this before with anyone. “Do you want to hurt me?”
He shakes his head. “Trust me—I don’t have to hurt you to make you feel good. Later, you want to explore and add some kink, we can talk about that. Even then, I’d never hurt you.”
Well, shit. For some reason I believe that, down to my bones. Oddly enough, tingles slither over my skin just thinking about this. I’ve worked hard to keep my mind in control all these years. I don’t think I can turn that off.
Still, it makes me crazy he’s asked me to trust him. Again. It’s getting old.
“How many times have you asked me to trust you?” I spout, if for no other reason than to change the subject.
He tips his head and I see a smile in his eyes. “How many times are you gonna make me ask you?”
With my arms still pinned, I slowly shake my head and close my eyes. Letting my face plant in his chest, I mumble, “This isn’t me.”
He transfers my hands into one of his, holding firm when the other comes to my face. “It can be. I’ll show you.”
His touch on my face disappears, moving down, nimbly unbuttoning my blouse. I drop my head, barely catching a glimpse of his large hand working the delicate buttons before my lids drop. Trying to breathe deep to control myself, I do my best to get it together.
He releases my hands at the same time I feel a wisp of material falling down my arms. My skin is heated, but the silk brushing across my skin gives me goosebumps. I open my eyes when his fingers unbuttoned my pants. My room is silent and the air around us is thick. When he pulls on my zipper, it breaks through the quiet like a freight train.
Followed by my very audible exhale.
Bringing my hands up to his abs, I fist his shirt. “Crew?”
“Shh,” he tries to quiet me with his lips on top of my head.
I ignore him. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
His chin, with new scruff, grazes across my temple. He hasn’t shaved since he took me to the White House dinner. Even though it’s still short, I like it and it feels even better.
He bows his head, putting his lips to my ear at the same time my slacks fall to the floor. “You can. I’ll prove it to you.”
I pull on his shirt, trying to bury my face in his chest. At that same instant, my bra goes slack and his fingertips scarcely drift over the bare skin of my back.
Holy shit, how can a barely-there touch feel more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced?
He pulls away and slides my bra down my arms with his eyes on his task. Never looking up, he bends a little to reach my now very wet panties. Hardly touching me, he hooks a finger into both hips and pushes until gravity takes over, dropping them at my feet.
Now my breath is shallow. I’m no prude, but no one’s made such an event of undressing me before. Especially when he’s standing in front of me fully clothed, down to his clompy boots. It’s all I can do not to cover myself. I’m not inexperienced in the least, I am thirty-one. He’s not even the first man to take my clothes off. He is the first to do it so gently and methodically, it would appear he had all the time in the world.
Crew’s not even pretending to make me feel comfortable. His eyes are moving over me slowly. It’s all I can do to stand still in front of him and I have to squeeze my legs together, looking for a bit of relief. I’ve never been turned on like I am now. I’m sure my nipples could cut glass.
“Fuck,” he mutters. His eyes finally meeting mine. “Didn’t think it was possible to want you more, but I do. Worth every fucking minute of ten years.”
Then his arm comes up and reaches over the back of his head. I lose his eyes for a mere second while he rips his t-shirt off and tosses it to the floor. My eyes immediately lower when he reaches for the button of his jeans. He lowers his zipper but stops when he reaches in, adjusting the very large bulge in his pants.
That’s when I hear, “Turn around.”
I look up, surprised, thinking he was about to join me in my birthday suit. Finding it rather awkward standing here totally naked, I clumsily try to cross my arms and frown at his directive.
He tips his head and gives me half a smirk.
Lowering his voice, he tries again. “Turn around.”
I roll my eyes, making him narrow his. Then, for some reason unbeknownst to everything I am—or everything I thought I was—I kick my pants and panties to the side and turn. I do, however, peek at him over my shoulder to see what he’s going to do next.
He shakes his head as he steps forward, his chiseled chest warming my back. I feel his hands, low on my hips, wander up my sides when he states, “You’re not used to takin’ it slow.”
I breathe out quickly and don’t answer. He should’ve figured that out this morning.
“It’s gonna be good in every way between us, baby. But after this morning, I want to give you something different.” His hands glide on me light and easy. “And I want you to let go.”
His hands separate on my front, barely stroking my nipple and stomach. I think his idea of slow is going to be my idea of torture.
All of a sudden, he grabs my hips, lifting me. “Knees to the bed.”
Startled, I yelp. My knees come to the edge and he quickly steps in between my calves that are thrusting out behind me. His hand at my stomach pulls me back against his chest. I feel the scruff of his jaw at my temple this time where he presses his lips. With one arm locked around me, his other hand is stroking the inside of my thigh.
“Spread your legs.”
Oh my.
I inch my knees out.
“Addison.” My name comes out as a warning.
I inch farther.
His hand comes up the front of my thigh to cup me firmly between my legs.
“Mmm,” I mew.
“Baby. Farther.”
I spread, as far as I can. I’m open and exposed, desperate for his touch.
His arms constrict around me as his fingers barely tease. I grab hold of him as my heart starts to race when I realize there’s no way I can close my legs. As much as I squeeze my thighs, it’s to no avail. I’m cemented.
“Crew?” I call for him, my voice clipped as I try to calm myself.
His fingers shift to my breast, twisting my nipple, making me exhale. It’s the most he’s given me since he stripped me bare.
His gravelly voice vibrates down my back where he holds me tight to his chest. “Yeah?”
Instinctively, my body is desperate to shift, to turn, to do something. At the same time, I crave his touch in a way that’s foreign to me. Leaning my head back on his shoulder, I whisper, “I can’t move.”
His lips meet the area below my ear, his whiskers scratching my sensitive skin. I feel his tongue dart out tasting me, sending tingles down my spine.
I thought those tingles were intense until his lips come to my ear where his next two words reduce me to mush.
“I know.”
Oh. Well, then.
Shit.
“Grab hold of me.”
I do, desperate to hold on to something. This pushes my breasts out and he takes advantage, working my nipple, massaging, groping. His hands are rough, callused, and abrasive. I knew he worked on his property, but now I feel it on my sensitive skin. And I love it.
> His fingers glide over my clit, but it’s not enough. The only thing I can do is arch my back, searching for more.
“You see?” His lips come back to my ear, pulling my hair through his scruff. “When I have you like this, you can let go.”
His hand reaches farther and he slides a finger inside.
“Just you and me.”
He squeezes my breast as he replaces one finger with two.
“You don’t have to pretend. Hide. Be someone you’re not.”
I say nothing, but turn my head, pressing my forehead in his neck. This is too much, his touch, his words. His fingers keep on, in and out, his thumb circling my clit.
“You’re what I get. After ten years of doin’ what I needed to do, I settle next door to you.”
My breath is coming in short pants—I don’t have goosebumps anymore. I’m warmed all over. He’s giving me just enough to keep it at bay, my orgasm close, yet nowhere near. I’m heated, rocking against his hand, searching for more as his words cut through me.
“You hand over that control—you don’t have to be anyone but you. You don’t need it. I can give you back to you. With me, baby, you can be Abby.”
I whimper at the sound of my real name, pressing my face tighter into his neck. Even in my frenzied state, my eyes well.
“My Abby,” he whispers into the top of my head.
“Crew,” I call for him. My voice chokes with a sob and I don’t know what I want more, to cry or for him to let me orgasm.
He presses harder on my clit, finger fucking me more vigorously than before.
“Just you and me, Abby.”
I arch, pressing my head into his neck and shoulder. It’s never been like this before. Ever. I hang on at the same time I search for it, because I’m pretty sure it’s going to wreck me.
His arm across my chest turns to a band of steel, holding me steady when he gives me what I want. What I need. What I’ve never had before.
He was right. I’ve never had it slow. I’ve never had it focused on me, and I’ve absolutely never let go.
