by S. M. Butler
She stood up and closed the distance, stopping inches from him. Close enough that her breasts brushed against his chest, but far enough that he would have to make a rather dramatic dip to kiss her again. “Will we continue our professional relationship?”
“The mission is the priority,” he replied, his voice low and nearly savage. “You are my mission. I promised.”
Yes, he had, and he remembered, even though she’d not told him the whole truth about her origins. That was what was so unerring about him.
“Let’s see how you do with dinner, then.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. She took the encounter as she saw it, his olive branch. Yes, she’d kept that secret about her father from him. But he understood it. God help her, she was in trouble with this one.
Chapter Fifteen
Whatever Chris was doing in the kitchen smelled heavenly. And it was about an hour before he called her.
He brought two plates over and set them on the table. A large chicken breast filled half of each plate, a side of sliced potatoes with cheddar and bacon, and some kind of mixed vegetables filled the other half. It was simple and easy, and she loved it.
He looked like a big kid as he sat her down at the small circular kitchen table and slipped into the seat next to her. Storm-filled eyes watched her as she lifted her fork. She glanced at him when he spoke. “I’m sure you’ve had better.”
She smiled. “No one’s ever cooked for me before.” His eyebrow rose. “I mean, personally.”
“No boyfriends ever took you to their apartment and cooked for you?”
She shook her head. “You’re forgetting who my father is.” Fuck, why did she say it like that? How could he forget? But his face didn’t change, not even the way the clouds swirled within his eyes. “I mean, any potential date got a background check before they even set foot on my dad’s lawn. Dinner at their place could never happen.”
“Sorry,” he breathed out and looked down at his plate.
They ate in silence for a bit, the sting of their previous conversation still biting through. Not that she expected him to forget it so quickly. But it stuck there between them like burrs, another burr joining it as time went on, and then another until it created unbearable tension.
“What did he do to you?” she blurted out.
He stopped, his eyes flaring with lightning. “Who?”
“Jean Giroux. I know you said he shot you, but it’s more than that. The look on your face earlier… that wasn’t just anger. It was agony. It physically pained you to look at me.”
Chris shook his head and set his fork down. “It’s my hang up. It’s not your fault.”
“But there is something there.”
“It was another life.” His favorite line. He was trying to compartmentalize it, minimize it so he couldn’t be affected by it.
“It was your life,” she replied.
“You should finish eating.” He stood up, his legs banging against the table, and walked to the living room.
Ookay. Subject no longer open for discussion. Got it.
She sighed. Maybe she was pushing too hard. She remembered what she’d been like after her rescue. Panicked all the time, adrenaline pumping constantly. Talking about it made it worse. Maybe it was the same for him. Or maybe she was starting the conversation wrong.
She followed him into the living room, but he very studiously studied the book in his hands and ignored her. “Do you remember that Air Force base in Germany?”
“The one they flew us to after we picked you up?”
Picked her up. That was a nice way to put “rescued from a deep, dark hellhole.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He didn’t say anything, but he did put the book down and focus his gray eyes on her. God, she loved the way he watched her sometimes. Like she had his complete, undivided attention.
She sat down beside him on the couch, keeping some distance between them. “I remember bits and pieces of it. It’s fuzzy in my mind, like a nightmare. White coats, blue scrubs, needles, poking, sharp objects. It’s all a jumble.”
He didn’t say anything, but familiarity in his gaze told her exactly what she needed to know.
“I was scared and alone, and there was no one there that I knew. I was cold. Blankets didn’t help. Even the heated ones. None of it stopped the shivers or the goosebumps.”
“Every time I went to sleep at the hospital, I heard the noises of where I was kept. Men laughing, women moaning or crying. I remember both. I heard the sounds of sex in the bed when he brought other women in. I heard my own screams and cries. All of just… jumbled into constant nightmares.”
“Abigail…” Warm magic flittered over her as he whispered her name, releasing her from the cold prison of her memories.
“I have a point,” she said. “It took me a long, long time to stop seeing those images in my dreams or hearing the sounds. I didn’t sleep for months. But the cold never stopped.”
“You don’t have to talk about this,” he said.
“Yes, I do. Because I remember you being there, at the hospital.” His sharp intake of breath signaled his surprise. She smiled. “You held my hand, and you gave me warmth when all I felt was cold.” She took his hand then, slow and deliberate, giving him plenty of opportunities to pull away. His eyes closed. “When you were shot, and you faced death, did anyone ever do that for you?”
His jaw muscles flexed and relaxed. She already knew the answer. He didn’t even have to say it.
She tightened her hand around his and wrapped her other hand around his too. “I know I came from the man that did that to you, that made everything cold and maybe seeing me now makes it colder, but I want to be that warmth for you.” She shook her head. “I don’t want professionalism. I can’t, not with you. Maybe I don’t mean that much to you, but you mean that much to me. I would never have survived without you.” Her voice gave out as she reached the last sentence, so it came out in a breath of air. “I just want to give you that same gift.”
He opened his eyes, the storm swirling within again. He took a breath, and his fingers squeezed hers. “Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a yes, but she took it as one. Her goal was to make him feel the warmth like he had for her. His scars were just as deep as hers had been, but they had been neglected, never bandaged. His own terrors had contaminated those scars, the infection holding the wounds open and dripping.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” she said. His eyes widened just a little, barely noticeable. But as she lifted onto her knees and closed the distance between him, his free hand snaked to the back of her head and pulled her the rest of the way to him.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was firm and demanding from both sides. Their scars were both open and bleeding, and the touch that joined them together sent jolts of life through her body like it could have healed everything that was wrong with her. Her breath hitched, his warmth searing her down to her toes.
Desire pooled inside her, cool air licking her between her legs like she wanted him to do. Hell, she wanted nothing more than to be skin to skin with him at that moment. She wanted to forget the very memories she’d surfaced, banish the ones that kept him from living.
He broke the kiss with a gasp, but his mouth stayed near hers. “You need to tell me to stop. Your taste drives me insane.”
She released his hand and answered by pulling his t-shirt over his head. Her fingers drifted to the scars on his chest, old and healed shut, but still red and angry. “Was this what he did?”
He didn’t answer, but his body tensed against hers. He didn’t push her away, which she took as a good sign as she dipped down and pressed her lips against the scars. A harsh, thick sound escaped his mouth and a moment later, he cupped her face and pressed his lips hard against hers, desperation coiling between them.
“Abigail…” her name was a warning against her lips, a guttural response to his hardening body.
She ran her fingers across his unyield
ing chest, finally resting her hands on top of his shoulders. “No. I won’t stop you. We both need this.”
He growled as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her on top of him, her knees on either side of him. Her skirt slid up her thighs as he cupped her ass and buried his face into her cleavage. He pressed kisses against her breastbone as his hands slid up her shirt. His fingers burned against her skin as he continued his trek upward, his lips brushing against her clavicle, then the soft underside of her throat.
A second later, her shirt joined his on the floor.
~*~*~
“You’re killing me,” he whispered, continuing his kisses along her body. “I’ve been wondering just how far these freckles go down.” His fingers fumbled with the elastic waistline of her skirt, sliding along it like he was scared to take it off her.
She grabbed his belt and pressed the release, popping it open. “You’ll have to find out for yourself. I’ll never tell.”
He groaned loudly, and then the skirt slid over her head and was gone. He wrapped his arms around her and stood up effortlessly. She yelped and wrapped her legs around him as he carried her across the room into the bedroom she’d slept in the night before.
They tumbled to the bed together a moment later, him landing on top of her, his jean-clad hardness right up against her panties. He dipped his head to her neck, burying his face in the soft skin. “Shit. I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”
She didn’t get a chance to ask why, because his mouth covered hers, his fingers digging into her bare skin. Her bra came loose and it vanished with a yank of his arm. He slid her panties off and pushed himself up so his arms were straight, his knees between her legs.
His gaze swept over her, eyes swirling with the coming storm. She didn’t feel self-conscious. She felt powerful, because she could lay naked before a gorgeous man like Chris, and knew she held all the cards. If she wanted this, he’d give it to her. If she didn’t, he would stop.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured before his head dipped and followed an unseen trail down her body. He lightly sunk his teeth into the flesh where her neck met her shoulder and a moan slipped from her.
His hands slid up her body to where her breasts were. He thumbed over her already hardened nipples as he kissed her throat.
“Oh, Chris,” she whispered, her voice nothing but breath at this point. She could barely think straight and here he was, bringing forth feelings she’d only ever read about, and never really thought they might actually be real.
“You good?” He asked, pausing to look up at her. She nodded, not able to speak anymore. He grinned in triumph, something he didn’t do much, and she nearly melted. “Okay. You tell me if you’re not.”
Like words were going to happen. Because as soon as he finished the words, his tongue rolled over her nipples, first one then the other. She pawed at him, her back arching for more as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. He paused briefly to shuck his boots, then he was back, his mouth doing very sinful things to her breasts.
~*~*~
Chris’s hands roamed over her smooth freckled skin as he sucked and nibbled on those pretty pink nipples, drowning himself in the feel of her soft skin. This was not what he’d intended by bringing her here. He’d wanted to apologize, to show her that who her family was wasn’t her fault, that he wouldn’t judge her based on them. But then she’d bared her soul to him, and something had clicked in his head. He wanted to show her that there was still good in a world that had been so brutal to her.
His hand slid along her inner thigh, stopping just short of the promised land he knew was waiting. Her legs fell open more, and he groaned against her breast. Even though she was willing, he didn’t feel right about not checking with her every few minutes, to make sure she was okay. Maybe it was overkill, but given their introduction, he felt it was necessary.
He looked up at her, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted. She was enjoying herself, and that woke something incredibly primal inside him. He wanted to make sure she had a good experience to overshadow the horrible ones she had before him.
“Abigail,” he whispered. “Look at me.” She obeyed immediately, her bright eyes locking on his as he slid his hand up into the flesh he so desperately wanted to bury himself in. He was well aware they didn’t have the time for him to really relish in her body, but he could at least let her feel good for the moment. Before they had to deal with reality.
Her eyes rolled up as soon as he touched her hot flesh, her wetness coating his finger as he slid it over her folds. He started gently, petting her like she was as treasured as he felt she was until she was lifting her hips like a silent beg for more.
She groaned as one of his long fingers slipped inside her. Her walls gripped him, and his hard-on raged for attention. He slid another finger in. She was so tight it took a moment for her to accept him. His breath hitched, and he bit back a groan imagining how tight her wet body would feel around him.
He couldn’t take it. He had to taste her.
He ducked lower, sliding his large body down her more delicate one, moving down until he was centimeters from her swollen, aroused flesh. Her bud stood out, begging for attention, wetness coating every inch of her flesh as he spread her open.
She was bare, except for spots where she’d probably missed shaving. He vowed he’d help her next time. He laid the broad flat of his tongue over her flesh and slid it upward, reveling in the sweet taste. He could have done this all day long, loved her, tasted her until he couldn’t physically do it again. But he had a goal, and that was to make her come for him, to hear and feel her come apart in his arms because of him.
He licked around the bud, and sucked it into his mouth, flicking it over with his tongue. She moaned loudly, and he tried not to stop and feel pride that he was doing that to her. Instead, he repeated it a couple more times as he dipped his fingers into her again, stroking back and forth like he wanted his cock to do, while he licked her into oblivion.
Her cries kept coming, her fingers gripping the sheets and pawing at his bed. She slid her fingers into his hair. Her actions were uncertain like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull him into her wet flesh or push him away. But he didn’t stop until he felt the gush of her wetness start and her sexy moans that nearly put him over the edge himself.
Chapter Sixteen
Her chest rose and fall as he left the warmth of her soft body and climbed back up to her. She slid her hand along his jaw, pulling him to her. He kissed her, her taste on his lips. She’d never felt anything that powerful before. Her body felt boneless, her muscles weak with exertion, but her heart pounded against her chest like she’d run miles.
“How are you feeling?” He whispered against her lips.
“I don’t think I could put that into words,” she replied.
“Good,” he grinned and kissed her again. Then he groaned as he pulled away. She tried not to mourn his disappearance from her side. A moment later, he maneuvered them both under the covers, and his arms wrapped around her. She leaned back into him, her head on his shoulder.
“That’s… It’s completely different than I’d thought it would be.”
Chris’s body froze, almost imperceptibly, but she’d spent the last hour learning every inch of his body.
“Does it bother you that you’re kind of my first?”
Chris kissed the crown of her head, just above where she’d hit her head. “Bother me? No. It honors me.” His arms tightened around her. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, it’s kind of a weird thing to bring up.”
“I hate that you had to experience that. No one should ever have to go through what you did.”
“It’s from another life,” she said, parroting his words from earlier.
He chuckled and kissed her, his lips brushing her ear. “It’s your life.” His cock pressed hard against her and she pushed her ass back against it. He groaned. “Princess, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Why did you
stop?”
“Because…” he paused. “I wanted to do that for you. Also, I don’t have protection here.”
“Oh,” she blinked. She hadn’t even thought about condoms. At least one of them was thinking clearly.
“We have to get up early in the morning anyway. We’re catching a plane to France.” His arms tightened around her again. “Private charter, so we can continue this tomorrow.” He paused, brushing her hair from her neck. “I mean if you want to.”
She turned in his arms, hooking her leg over his so their bodies pressed together. She ran her fingers over his chest. She gently kissed his lips and whispered. “I want to.”
He kissed her, groaning into her mouth as she slid her hands around his waist, against his skin. “Fire, Princess. Fire.”
She grinned. “Maybe that’s what I want.”
He grabbed her wrists and removed them from his body. “Not without protection. You’ve got to stop. You’re killing me.”
Even laying naked next to her, he was protecting her. She snuggled close, using his shoulder as a pillow and draping an arm over his body. “Okay. I’ll stop.”
What had she turned into? Her father had kept almost everyone away from her if they didn’t pass his checks. But now that she was free and on her own, she found closeness in Chris Hardy, loving the way he had made sure she’d been okay with his advances, and made her feel like she was floating.
She smiled and closed her eyes. If they stayed in this room forever, maybe they could freeze time. She’d never have to remember the horrors of reality. She could remain safe here, with him. No senator, no evil father. Just the two of them in a place that fit and smelled like the man next to her. Forever.
~*~*~
The next morning, Chris was dressed and ready to go before the sun even yawned. He’d woken Abigail up and ushered her into the shower. The sounds of running water filled his empty apartment as he tried to soothe the war inside his body. He wanted her, wanted to protect her, to cherish her. But he couldn’t, because his body didn’t belong to him anymore. He’d signed that over to Nathan two years ago. He’d promised his old life wouldn’t ever interfere with the mission.
