by M. S. Parker
His hand moved between my legs, fingers stroking, caressing, until I was writhing beneath him, making all sorts of sounds until everything culminated in a breathy wail as I came. He twisted his fingers, rubbing his knuckles against that spot inside me, rolling one orgasm into a second.
I was only starting to come down when he rolled me onto my stomach. His hands squeezed my ass and pushed me up onto my knees. My chest was against the bed, muscles still quivering, when he slid inside me. He made a sound that told me he was enjoying himself as much as I was.
Suddenly, a part of me wished that he wasn't just enjoying himself, but that he was losing control. He moved inside me with hard, sure strokes, hitting all the right spots to make me feel good. I liked that about him. Liked that he knew my body so well, knew all of the ways to bring me pleasure. I liked that he found pleasure in me as well.
But just once, I wished he'd need me.
I pushed the thought aside as he slid his hand around my waist and down between us. His fingers found my clit and began to place just the right amount of pressure on it, moving in the same, firm circles that he always used to make me come when he was getting close. They worked now just as well as they always had, and I found myself falling over the edge.
He followed moments later, his body stiffening behind mine. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep inside me, his hands on my hips. And then he was pulling out and climbing off the bed. I rolled onto my side, away from the bathroom door.
Physically, I was sated, my body a limp, boneless mass. Emotionally, mentally...I was something else. I just wasn't sure what. Not yet.
When he came back, he came with a washcloth and cleaned me up before tossing the cloth backward into the clothes hamper. He pulled the blankets over us as he eased himself in behind me. It wasn't until his fingers started to trace up and down my arm that I realized he hadn't fallen asleep.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was quiet.
I sighed. “I don't, really, but I think we need to.”
He tucked some hair behind my ear. “I think you're right.”
There was no surprise in his voice and I rolled onto my back so I could see him. The room wasn't completely dark, the light from the bathroom enough so that I could see Tanner's familiar, handsome face. He was gorgeous and wealthy, understanding, articulate, everything any woman could ever hope to have in a man.
And I was no longer sure it was what I wanted.
“We've been together, what, almost four years?” he asked.
“Met a little over four years ago,” I answered. “Started dating six months after that.”
“And we've been good together, right?” he asked. He wasn't asking out of insecurity, I knew him well enough for that.
“We have.” I reached down and picked up his hand, raising it to my mouth to kiss the palm.
“And now, we've hit a plateau,” he continued. There was a soft smile on his face. “Actually, I think we hit it a few months ago.”
I nodded, the knot in my stomach easing as I realized we were thinking along the same lines. This wouldn’t be as hard as I'd feared.
“I care about you, Nori,” he said. “I love you, in a way.”
Those three words should have hurt, that he had to clarify what he said, but they didn't, and that told me, more than anything else, that my instincts were right.
“I feel the same,” I said. “We were so good together and I loved you. Still do, but not the way I thought I did. Not the way I want to.” The smile I gave was more wistful than sad.
“We were both right for each other at the time we met.” He brushed his knuckles across my jaw. “But I think we're both moving in different directions.”
I closed my eyes as I nodded. “I think you're right.”
He sighed, but there was nothing negative about the sound. It was everything I was feeling too. The fact that we were so in sync should've meant that we were perfect for each other.
“What does this mean?” I asked. I opened my eyes and met his. I didn't need light to know the exact shade of bright green his irises were. “I know, technically, it means we're breaking up, but...what does that mean?”
He slid his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him. “Well, since the conversation is going so well, I'd like to think we could stay friends.”
I smiled as I rested my head on his shoulder. “I'd like that, Tanner. A lot.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Good. Because I'd hate to lose you completely.”
We lay there in silence as things settled between us. What we'd had was over, but it seemed like we were, at least, going to transition to something new rather than completely breaking apart. That was good. Tanner was a good friend. We were friends before we'd started dating. Granted, it had been mostly because we'd wanted to start dating, but still, the foundation was there.
Suddenly, I laughed, an honest-to-goodness laugh.
“What's so funny?” Tanner asked. “Don't tell me that now you're going to start laughing at how I am in bed?”
“Never,” I promised despite the fact that I was still laughing.
“Then what is it?”
He didn't sound annoyed, and I took that as proof that our friendship was still intact.
“Earlier today, I was thinking about how something in my life had to change. I just never thought it'd be this.” The laughter died even as the tears came.
Tanner's arms tightened around me. “I know, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head again. “I know.”
It wasn't necessarily a bad sort of crying, more the kind that naturally came with change. Like at a graduation or wedding. Not that this was exactly a happy thing, but it wasn't something I was grieving over either. I was sad that things had changed, but I was glad that they weren't ending badly.
Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, Tanner wasn't in bed next to me, but the familiar smell of bacon and eggs came from the kitchen. On Tanner's pillow was a note.
I'm making breakfast. Take a shower and come on down. I hope you'll stay and eat with me. We can talk over good food. If you're not comfortable with that, I completely understand and won't say a word when you leave.
I smiled as I sat up. When I first woke up, I'd worried that our conversation last night would end up being the result of post-coital afterglow and not something that would carry over to morning. Now, however, I could relax. I didn't need to rush out, hoping to avoid Tanner. I could take my time in the shower, dress in something clean, eat breakfast and have an adult conversation that wouldn’t end in screaming or crying.
As I got up and walked toward the bathroom, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I knew there were still things I needed to look at, areas in my life that would need to change if things were really going to be different, but for the first time in a long time, I thought it might be possible.
Who knew a break-up could make things look so good?
Chapter Four
Xavier
I wanted out.
I glared at the same fucking wall I'd been glaring at since I'd gotten back to Philadelphia. Okay, not exactly, since I hadn't been confined to a single room like I had for the most part back in Texas, but I still wasn't happy about being here.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I knew I shouldn't complain. There were plenty of vets who were so much worse off than I was. Whose injuries alone were far more devastating. I hadn't lost my eyesight or hearing. I had all of my limbs. No brain damage. While there were a few limits I'd always have to place on myself, if I hadn't been in the army, my life wouldn't have changed at all.
As for my current accommodations...I felt like a total ass for being even the slightest bit frustrated with them, especially when so many veterans were homeless. And the ones who weren't, ones like Zed and the other men in my unit, they were over sleeping in some shit-hole overseas, putting their lives on the line while I was whining like a fucking baby.
And livi
ng in a fucking mansion.
That wasn't really an exaggeration either.
When Father O'Toole had saved my life that night more than ten years ago, I'd woken up in this same room. The belligerent little bastard I was, when I'd finally been able to talk, I'd made some smart-ass crack about him skimming from the church. Instead of giving me the slap upside the head I'd deserved, he'd sat down next to the bed and talked to me.
Apparently, Doron O'Toole was the only surviving heir to some old money Philadelphia family. When his mother died, he'd inherited a sizable sum of money, as well as several pieces of property. He'd put the money into a trust to maintain the two biggest properties, and those he'd set up to house various charities over the years. This one was near Rittenhouse Square. The other was closer to downtown. I hadn't needed him to tell me that he'd put me in this one because he'd wanted me away from the men who attacked me.
When I asked him why he stayed a priest after he'd gotten all that money, he told me that he'd made the decision to join the church when he was only thirteen. He'd known then that he had an inheritance coming. I'd essentially called him an idiot for turning it all down to be someone who, as I'd so delicately put it, 'couldn't drink, curse or fuck.'
I still couldn't figure out why he hadn't thrown me out on my ass. Hell, I still wondered why he saved me in the first place.
And now he'd brought me back here.
I told him that I'd get a place in San Antonio, not because I really wanted to stay in Texas, but because I knew he wouldn't want to leave his parish, not even for me. And if he was away...
I pushed the thought aside. I couldn't think like that now, not living with him. I knew that was one of the reasons he'd worked so hard to convince me to come back. Even though I hadn't said anything since that first night after I'd woken up, I knew he hadn't forgotten my note. Since then, I hadn't tried to convince him that I wanted to live because I'd known he'd see right through it. I'd hoped that by not talking about it at all, he'd forget about it, think I was okay.
I should've known better. He'd always been able to see right through me.
So he'd given me the fucking house.
When I first got here, I'd been so out of it, I barely registered the fact that the place was emptier than it had been the last time I was in the city. Back then, it'd been a shelter for abused women and their families, but I knew it changed, depending on what was needed.
It hadn't been until Sunday night that I'd gotten the whole story.
When Father O'Toole had flown out to Texas after hearing what happened, the house was in the process of having some interior renovations done, so no one was using it. The work was finished some time at the beginning of May, but he'd put off deciding what to do with it until he'd known more about my condition. Apparently, he'd had this idea in mind for at least a month now.
He signed it all over to me. The entire fucking mansion and the trust that went along with it. The other property and its trust were separate, still being used by the Church, but all of this was mine now.
But I didn't want it, and he damn well knew it.
He knew I wouldn't want him to give me anything, especially not something like this. I'd already considered myself to be in his debt, completely undeserving of anything even remotely good. This just made me owe him more.
And he knew with that on my conscience, I wouldn't do anything stupid.
I thought I'd had a plan before I realized he wanted me to come back here. I wouldn't have actually committed suicide. I didn't believe in heaven or hell or even purgatory, but he did, and I would never be responsible for him grieving for my soul as well as my life.
But if I faded away...
If I'd been in San Antonio, without him around to make sure I was taking care of myself, it would've been easy. Too many pain meds mixed with too much alcohol. Easy to write off as an accident if it wasn't happening fast enough.
Now, not so much.
Which is, I knew, exactly what the bastard had wanted.
And as soon as I thought it, I felt guilty about it.
And that just pissed me off even more.
Not that this was a new state of being for me. As soon as I woke up in that hospital and heard my prognosis, I'd been angry, and I’d stayed that way. The closest I ever felt to anything other than anger was numbness. I welcomed that because, at least then, I wasn't biting people's heads off for just doing their job.
Her face popped into my mind then. Nutmeg brown hair, teal eyes. Curves that would've caught any man's attention.
Nori Prinz.
She was the only bright spot in the past three months. The only person who was able to make me feel even the slightest bit less angry, to give me anything resembling hope.
And the last time I'd spoken to her, I'd been an ass.
There were plenty of other times in the past three months that I hadn't exactly been nice to her, but when she'd come in on Saturday to say goodbye, I'd upped the asshole factor.
I tried telling myself that it was because I'd been in extra pain that day, or more tired. Even that I'd been anxious about leaving Texas. I hadn't been able to convince myself though. I knew all of it was a lie. I'd been irritated that she'd come by, but not because I didn't want her there, but because it was a reminder of the one person I'd miss.
The entire time I was at the hospital, she was nothing but nice to me. Not just nice because it was her job to take care of me, but she was just genuinely that way. She never treated me like an invalid, even when things had been really bad at the beginning and I hadn't been able to do anything for myself.
Anything.
My face burned at the memories. I'd never considered myself someone who got embarrassed easily, but not being able to take a piss without help was humiliating. I couldn't even think about the other things she'd had to do. She'd never complained about any of it, or let it make things awkward between us.
She talked to me. I, of course, hadn't done much talking back, but I'd listened, probably more than she realized. From the first moment I'd seen her, she'd had my attention, and I'd wanted to know more about her. She didn't know it, but there were times in the hospital where she'd been my only lifeline, the only thing keeping me from going completely under.
I may have been depressed and angry, but I wasn't an idiot. I knew that any good shrink would tell me I was dealing with some sort of Florence Nightingale syndrome, that I was only interested in her because she'd taken care of me when I was hurt.
Fuck that.
I was the kind of person who hated needing other people to help me. Why would I want to spend more time with someone who'd wiped my ass and seen me at some of my lowest points? Especially an attractive woman? Hell, it was hard enough with Father O'Toole.
“Good morning, Mr. Hammond. How are we feeling today?”
I scowled at the nurse who came into my room.
Without knocking.
And said ‘we.’
In addition to the chef and housekeeping staff he'd hired, Father O'Toole also hired Aida Ormond as my nurse. I'd told him, in as polite of terms as I could manage, that I didn't need a nurse, but he overruled me. Said I'd need help changing the dressings and doing physical therapy on the days the therapist he'd also hired couldn't make it. PT was bad enough, but I understood the need for it, even if I hated it. But this nurse had to go.
“We aren't feeling anything,” I snapped at her. “Because we aren't the same person. As I've mentioned before. Many times.”
She gave me the same condescending look she’d given me the past few days. That wasn't even the worst part of it. She didn't live here, but she acted like she did, walking into my room without knocking. Moving things around without asking. And it wasn't because this was my house. I still hadn't fully wrapped my head around that fact. I thought of it as the father's house, and she was acting like she owned it.
As always, she ignored me and kept talking. “Let's get those dressings changed and see how we're looking today.”
> She wasn't completely inept at her job, I was forced to admit as she removed the dressings and examined the wounds with a practiced eye. But she wouldn't just do her job and then leave me the hell alone. No, she kept up that inane chatter that was more about talking around me than to me. Not like when Nori talked and it was clear she was trying to keep my mind off of what she was doing. No, Aida prattled on because she liked hearing herself talk.
“So I had a word with Mrs. Hutch about that pine cleaner she's been using in the parlor.”
Mrs. Hutch was the housekeeper Father O'Toole hired. She barely came near me, and when she did, she wouldn't look at my face. I didn't want people staring, but I also didn't want them looking past me like I didn't exist.
“The scent is a little cloying, so I suggested she switch to something else.”
“I don't find it cloying.” I actually didn't even care, but who the hell did Aida think she was, telling my housekeeper what to use? If there wasn't some medical reason for it, it was none of her damn business.
“I gave her a list of alternatives and I'll make sure to check the next time I come in to see that she's using them.”
Again, like I wasn't even there.
“I think I'll also have a word with Doron about getting someone in here to redecorate. He has the money, so why leave things so stark? There are so many ways the entire place could be spruced up–”
“Shut up.” I'd had enough. The words came out cold and clipped, startling her into silence. “If I want the place redecorated, I'll talk to someone about it. If I want the fucking pine cleaner changed, I'll let Mrs. Hutch know.”
Aida put her hands on her hips and pursed her mouth, like I was being some naughty child rather than a grown-ass man who was sick of her shit. “There's no need for such language, Mr. Hammond.”
“I think there is.” My voice rose as I sat up and swung my legs around the side of the bed. The sheet shifted, leaving more of me exposed than most would consider decent, but hell, she was a nurse, she could handle seeing a dick. Besides, it was my fucking room and if I wanted to sleep naked, that was my business.
