by Teresa Hill
As his fingertips trailed lightly along the neckline of her nightgown, he asked, "How was your bath?"
"Good."
He patted the empty spot on the bed beside him, an invitation that filled her with a kick of nerves she hadn't expected now that she had gotten past the first time.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I was just... thinking about how good you look, and about touching you, how good it feels."
"And why does that make you nervous?"
"It doesn't. It—"
"Amanda, don't lie to me. I can see it," he said easily with no heat. "Just tell me. It's fine. I told you that you can have anything you want, and I meant it."
"I... I guess I was thinking that the idea of touching you doesn't scare me."
"Okay. What does?" He held up the hand that had been playing with the neckline of her gown. "This? Me touching you?"
"It shouldn't."
"Honey, there's no should or shouldn't to how you feel. It is what it is. Feelings don't always make sense. Believe me, I wish they did. I'd understand them a lot better. And we don't have to do anything you don't want—"
"But I do. I swear. I want to touch you."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
"Let me."
"That doesn't quite seem fair to you," he said.
"But it's what I want. Really." Touching him was an absolute pleasure for her, and she wanted to please him, to make him happy.
"Okay. You can do that. But you look upset. Will you tell me what that's about first?"
Her bottom lip started to tremble, and she was so frustrated, so mad. "I thought if I could get through the first time, everything would be okay. I'd know I could do it. I could have sex and not freak out. I could feel almost normal."
"And did you?"
She shook her head. "I was so happy that we did it. And it didn't feel bad. Not exactly. God, I'm sorry. I—"
"Amanda, it's okay. Tell me. I want to know. I want you to have whatever you need to make this easier for you. Tell me what to do."
"You did. You did it all. You were perfect. I knew you would be. I knew you'd do anything you could to help me through this. Thank you. I feel so lucky that it was you."
"You're welcome, but it's not exactly torture, getting to be with you—"
"Maybe not torture, but not... normal. Not... what you're used to, I'm sure, when you're in bed with a woman, you don't usually have to be so careful, to worry that what you'll do might scare her."
"Hey, there's no one else I want to be with right now. Just you."
"Will, I'm a mess."
"Yeah," he said easily, as if it didn't mean a thing, what a mess she was. "Do you think men only want women who are perfect? Because I've got to tell you, I've never met one."
"Ever met one as much of a mess as me?"
"Oh, yeah. Some of 'em are outright crazy. The drama? Fake drama, I should say. I hate that. Selfish, full of themselves, fake everything, liars—"
"You're saying you have lousy taste in women?"
"I'm saying I think you, as a mess, are pretty close to perfect, as far as I'm concerned. Just the way you are. So, tell me. Let me help. What do you need right now?"
She almost started to cry right then.
"Shit," he said softly, cupping her face with his hand. "What?"
"I just walked into the room and saw you, and I thought... I want to touch him everywhere—"
"Which is not a problem. What is?"
"I thought I'd just jump into the bed with you and wake you up and... jump you. No nerves. No fear. No odd sense of dread, lurking around the corner of my mind and ready to jump out and take over. I thought it would be gone, if I could just get through that first time."
"Is that the way it works usually?"
"No. Emma told me so. The things I read said no, too. Wishful thinking on my part, I guess. I just thought... maybe it would be easy now. Something could be easy, you know?"
"I know, baby. I'm sorry. What can I do? Want to get out of this room and get some dinner? Want me to just hold you? I'm fine with that—"
"No, I'm going to do what I wanted when I first saw you here." She reached out a hand to his knee, which was drawn up at an angle in front of him on the bed. It was as warm as his whole body always was. She could feel the muscles of his thighs right above the knee, the slight roughness of the dark hairs. Man-skin. Will-skin.
He pulled his arm back, bent it at the elbow and curled it under his head, showing her he was willing to let her have her way with him, while he watched every move she made with a heated gaze.
She ran her hand up and down his muscular thigh, and then, because she really wanted to, put her mouth to his knee, tasting some of that masculine skin, feeling the heat of him anew.
He shuddered, gave a little start of surprise, a low chuckle. That was nice. That made her feel good.
So she ran little kisses up the outside of his bent thigh, to his hip. His other arm was resting on his side atop his hip, his hand down on the bed in front of him, propping himself up on his side. She went to that next, touching up the muscle of his bicep, tracing the eagle tattoo, using her mouth, too.
He tried to roll over to give her better access to any part of him she wanted, but she stopped him. He looked so good this way, lying on his side as she sat on the bed beside him. She stroked his head, down his neck, over to his stubbly jaw, his chin, his mouth while he watched. She liked the little hitch in his breath that came with her touch, the flare of heat in his eyes, the little moans and groans. She loved having his voice in her head, anchoring her here in this time with him.
Leaning over, she kissed him, and he responded eagerly, hotly, devouring her. She stroked a hand down his back while she took her time enjoying his mouth on hers. His hand went to her back, holding her there, reassuring, not moving, not asking for anything but to be there.
When she let herself sink back into the heat of his body, she could feel his erection, thick and hard, against her hip. She broke off the kiss and sat up.
He waited, not moving, looking patient and understanding. Clearly, this was her show. It helped.
She let her hand move over the flare of muscles in his chest. Her fingertips found and teased one nipple, and he bit his lip, laughed, his breathing not nearly as steady as it had been a few minutes ago.
She leaned back experimentally, her hip pressing against his cock. He sucked in a breath.
"Is this hard for you?" she asked.
"Obviously."
She laughed, too. "I mean, is this difficult for you? To let me do this and you not do anything?"
"It's not easy, but I'm not complaining. If my choice is you touching me or not touching me, I'll take this, please. I'm not sure how much of it I can stand without—I don't know—something happening. Eventually, I'm either going to come or I'm going to beg you to stop, but it'll be your choice."
Hmm. She wanted him to come, wanted to take him to that point and then watch him tumble over, completely at her mercy.
"How do you want to come?" she asked. Her hand? Her mouth? Inside her?
He grinned so big. "Honey, I'm easy. Take your pick."
She decided on her hand. She wasn't scared of him, pulsing hot and hard in her hand, she decided. Inside of her... that wasn't so easy. But in her hand, that was fine. Satisfying and sexy, even.
She used a firm touch, her hand wrapped completely around him at the base of his cock, squeezing, milking him.
The sounds he made, practically purring, the way he thrust so subtly into her hand, the strength she knew was in his body, all held in check. For her, because that's what she'd asked him to do.
It made her trust him even more, and she leaned down and took him in her mouth, found she wanted that, too, that power. He seemed completely vulnerable to her then, to her power over him. As big and hard and strong as he was, she had him trembling and swearing, like her mouth was the control switch to his whole body. He was hers.
"Ahh, God, Amanda."
A hand rested on her head, and she could feel the effort it took him to do nothing but let it rest there, keep his body almost completely still, take what she was giving him and not do anything else.
She loved the taste of him, how big he was, how soft his skin was here, how his whole body shuddered with one long drag of her tongue up the length of him or one long suck.
A few minutes of that, and he said, "Honey, if you don't want me to come in your mouth, you need to move now."
Desire hummed through her. Her body opened up a space inside that felt empty, wanting him. There.
She took one last, long draw on his cock with her mouth, one last squeeze of her fingers around the base, then raised her head.
He looked completely lost, like he thought maybe she was going to stop right there and leave him like that. She laughed and grabbed a condom from the box on the nightstand and handed it to him.
"You're sure?" he asked.
"Yes." She turned her back to him, worked up some courage she wasn't sure she had and pulled the nightgown over her head, throwing it to the floor. She felt so very exposed, but she did it. Then she got into the bed, her back to his front, leaning in for a whole body embrace.
Oh, that was good.
All that heat, the bulk of the man, the strength as he fit his chest, his abdomen, his hips against her. One of his thighs nudged its way between hers. His arm came around her, hand flat against her belly. It warmed her entire being. His mouth was on her neck, his tongue, even his teeth ever so lightly.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Mmm. Yes."
"How we doing here?" His hand slid down into the curls between her legs, dipping into the narrow channel, rubbing up and down and then finding her clit and circling gently.
She wasn't exactly dripping wet, but she wasn't bone-dry either. He could hold her like this, and it would work. She'd have all his heat, all that hot, male skin, his gentle, ruthlessly controlled strength to make her feel safe, and he wouldn't be on top of her.
"Tell me what you want, honey."
"Go ahead," she said, arching her hips against his. "Do it."
She opened up to him, and he took her thigh in his hand and draped it over his. His cock rubbed against the opening of her body and very slowly pushed inside.
She closed her eyes, kept thinking about the wonder, the reality of being here with Will, in this bed, his body moving into hers, and it was okay.
She could do it, arching against him as he thrust gently.
Yes, she could do this.
He moved ever so slowly, an inch back and forth, maybe just a centimeter. It was interesting, different. He kept it up until every little movement felt... bigger, like it meant so much more than it was. Until it seemed exquisite, each tiny thrust, the gentle friction it caused, the way she could feel all of him inside of her. Maybe it was more than okay.
Every muscle in his body was hard, and he was barely breathing, and yet his touch, the way he held her, remained so gentle.
She turned her head around to kiss him urgently, and his hand slid between her legs again. He wanted her to come, too, but she didn't think there was any way it was going to happen. She didn't want to think about that, the things she couldn't do, couldn't give him.
She pulled his hand away and put it back flat against her belly, because she loved how big and warm and gentle it felt there, and thrust back against him, the movements deeper and harder, the strokes longer.
"I want to feel you come inside me, come apart," she said.
Clearly, he wasn't a selfish lover. It didn't sit well with him, taking and not giving, but he'd given her so much, been so understanding, so careful with her. She wanted to give him even more.
And then she remembered one more thing she thought he'd like.
"I forgot to tell you. I've been trying to get ready for this, Will. Emma gave me homework."
"What?" He groaned.
"To get used to being touched again." She put her hand over his and guided it up her body to cup her breasts, one and then the other. "Like this, me using my own hands, all over my body."
He got it then, went still against her, and then threw his head back and groaned, then made a sound that was half-choking, half-laughing, his hand warm on her breast, stroking softly, easily.
"You've been practicing?" he asked finally.
"Uh-hmm."
"All by yourself?"
"What was I supposed to do? You weren't here."
"Yeah, I'm an idiot," he admitted. His hand ran up the outside of her thigh and settled low on her belly again, his fingertips barely brushing the top of the hair between her legs.
She kissed him again, thinking he felt so good, his whole body pressed against hers, even having him inside her. She wanted to make him feel really good, too.
So she put her lips to his ear and whispered to him, "The thing I wanted you to know is that while I did it, the whole time, I imagined my hands were yours."
He came almost instantly. It was a whole-body shuddering, his cock pulsing deep inside of her, as his hand went to the side of her hip, holding her steady as he moved deeper yet still with a kind of control she had to admire. He groaned, like she'd well and truly tormented him, and she loved that she could do that to him, please him in that way.
Her breathing wasn't quite steady, and her breast felt full and tingly. She took his hand from her hip and brought it up to cup one of her breasts. She still felt pleasant heat between her legs, not overwhelming, not commanding all of her attention, not asking for more. But it was there.
He was still inside her, and she didn't hate it. She wasn't scared. It was more a vague disconnect between what it should have been and what it was.
But it wasn't awful, and she was in bed with him, in his arms, as close to him as she could get physically. His body now was so loose and easy, his breath deep but not slow, not yet. She could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her shoulder, nuzzled his nose against the side of her face. That wonderful, post-sex lethargy rolled through her body and his, that beautiful emptying of the mind where nothing existed but the pleasure they'd given each other.
She grumbled as he got up to get rid of the condom, murmured happily as he came back and pulled her into that same spot against him. Then she closed her eyes, more relaxed than she'd been since it happened.
And woke up screaming.
* * *
Will thought something exploded and someone was dying.
It sounded like the chaos of combat.
Although screaming wasn't the worst part. When someone was screaming, they were usually going to live. Mangled, maybe minus body parts, but alive. It was the really quiet ones who died, the ones who couldn't make a sound.
He was on his feet, moving toward the screaming before he was fully awake, before he even knew where he was. A man like him was taught to react. It could be the difference between life and death.
So he got to the screamer, his hands, hard, hanging onto...
Her.
He wasn't in a war zone.
He was in Cincinnati in a hotel room with Amanda.
She screamed and fought him for all she was worth, kicking, trying to claw his face.
What the fuck had happened?
She'd had her hands all over him and her mouth—he groaned, even now, just thinking about it—and then tried to get back to the moment, to figure out what happened. They'd had sex. It had felt so good for him and, he thought, okay for her.
She'd fallen asleep in his arms. He'd slept, too.
And woke up to this.
He let go of her and backed away, hands held up in front of him, palms up, no threat here. She didn't seem to believe him. He didn't think she even knew who he was, and he'd heard these sounds from her before.
In Buhkai.
"Amanda," he said, trying talking to her instead. "It's me. It's Will. We're not in Buhkai anymore. You're safe. With me."
She backed herself all t
he way into the corner and then, still wild-eyed, stopped screaming.
"It's okay," he said, taking a step toward her.
She moaned and tried to press herself harder back into the corner, and he backed up again.
Jesus, he wanted to touch her. He needed to. To hold her, to make this okay.
Had he done something in his sleep that scared her? If he'd gotten his arm locked around her and she couldn't get loose, that would likely terrify her.
So he stayed away and kept talking to her, trying to de-escalate this. He was trained to do this, to deal with people having flashbacks. It was just so hard to see her so scared, especially scared of him, and not be able to fix it.
He shouldn't have brought her here. He should have refused. She wasn't ready for this. They'd done too much too soon. He should have known better. He beat himself up while he kept trying to calm her down.
Finally, she looked like she actually saw him, like she knew who he was, at least, if not where they were and what had happened. Although, they were both naked at the moment, in a hotel room. He hoped that didn't make it worse, make her remember what had terrified her in the first place.
"What happened?" she whispered finally.
"I don't know. I woke up, and you were screaming. I think I made it worse by grabbing you and trying to... help, but obviously, I didn't. I just... I don't know."
She grabbed a pillow off the bed and used it to hide herself as best she could from his gaze, and because he thought it would make her feel better, he did the same.
"I don't know, either," she said, looking heartbreakingly sad.
"I... Amanda? Can I come closer? Can I hold you? Would that help?"
She shook her head, but then she started moving. He thought she'd changed her mind and was coming to him. Instead, she bolted into the bathroom and just made it to the toilet before she started retching. He could hear it, but he couldn't see her, because she'd pushed the door closed.
And locked it, he realized, when he tried to open it.
Jesus, what had he fucking done?
"Amanda? Can I—"
"Go away!" she cried. "Go!"
So, he did.
He went back to the bed and sat down, but that was too close to all the memories of what they'd done there. So he got up and pulled his pants on.
