Rough Around the Edges (21 page)

A woman. There were no women in the Humvee, only men, now dead or broken. He remembered that, somehow, even though he was hearing the echoes of the blast and seeing red.

“Ryan?” Her touch was impossible, and it set off alarm bells inside him.

And no one called him Ryan. He was Moore. Nothing made any sense; maybe his brain really had been ruined by the blast. She was smearing the blood across his face, letting her fingertips streak through the wetness. How could she stand it? He couldn’t. Shivers of disgust raced up and down his spine.

A particularly strong one shot through his entire body, causing him to jerk like a fish on the end of a line. He drew a deep, desperate breath and suddenly the desert sun filtering through a cloud of dust and debris was gone.

Everything was dark. No one was touching his face anymore, but there was something wrapped tight around his left thigh. A tourniquet?

No. A bed sheet. A fucking sheet. He was awake, in his bed, in Baltimore.

With Ally. The revelation turned the contents of his stomach sour as the last traces of the dreamed-of explosion faded, leaving his senses in working order despite the fact that he would rather have been left senseless, unable to hear or see anything that would heap more shame on top of him.

“It’s just me.” Her voice was a whisper in the darkness, unbearably soft after the noise of the blast, even if it had only been a dream.

“Sorry.” His voice didn’t come out right. It was too breathy, scraping. Like he hadn’t spoken in ages. “Nightmare.”

“I woke up and you were sweating and shaking. I thought you were having one.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get them too sometimes, so I didn’t want to let you suffer through it. I hope you don’t mind that I woke you up.”

“No. Thanks. I’m going to get a glass of water.”

He had to pull the sheet away from his thigh before he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. His left thigh ached in protest and he pressed a hand over the scar, beginning a rough massage.

 The knots in his muscle were so thick they felt like golf balls under his hand. The urge to escape the room and Ally’s presence was riding him too hard for him to spare much time, but he worked just a little of the tension out of his leg, enough that he could stand and walk away.

In the kitchen, the linoleum floor stuck to the soles of his bare feet. Like the sweat that coated his face and body, the sticky feeling was disgusting. Still, he needed to wash the remembered tastes of sweat and blood from his mouth more than anything else.

He took a glass from the cabinet, filled it to the brim at the kitchen sink and drank every drop.

Though the water was gone and another mouthful would’ve made him sick, he couldn’t go back to bed the way he was. Instead, he went into the bathroom, where he ran a towel under cold water and used it to wipe the perspiration from his face and body. The resulting chill made him feel clean, if uncomfortable.

He returned to the bedroom because he had to. If he didn’t – if he abandoned Ally and spent the rest of the night on the couch because of a dream – she wouldn’t stay with him again. And besides, as real as everything seemed to him, she had no way of knowing what was going on inside his head, as long as he didn’t tell her.

He climbed back into bed and lay down in the position they’d started in, with his chest facing her back. He didn’t trust his limbs to be steady enough to wrap around her, but he laid a hand on her arm and let his fingers curl around her bicep. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

Chapter 12

Daylight had a way of fading the memories that came to him in dreams. Or maybe he was just relieved when he woke up, saw the sun and realized he had another eighteen hours before he had to face the night again. Either way, when he woke up, Ally’s nearness seemed like a blessing instead of a curse. One look at her ass cheeks peeking out from her hot short panties and his cock was aching.

“You would’ve been better off without that shirt.” He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her from behind.

She laughed. “Why?”

“Because I can’t let you out of bed with it on.” His shirt was loose on her; it was easy to slip a hand beneath the hem and cradle one of her breasts.

She arched a little, pressing the full curve of it harder against his palm, and he squeezed in reflex. “You can have it back,” she said. “I only wanted it for the night.”

His fingertips slipped over her nipple and then her belly as she sat up. The sheets pooled around her hips but were twisted in places that conveniently revealed tantalizing peeks at her thighs. She pulled his shirt over her head in an easy movement, suddenly topless.

His dick twitched against the sheets as he studied her breasts. He’d never get tired of looking at them. Not even if he simply stared for a year straight, which he would’ve seriously considered doing if looking at them didn’t fill him with an irresistible urge to touch and taste them, to get inside her.

“What about these,” he asked, hooking a thumb into the waistband of her panties, “can I have them too?” He reached deeper, letting his fingertips glide over her silky-smooth skin until they reached the swollen little nub of her clit.

“You can borrow them.”

He helped her out of them and took a moment to admire the way her naked body seemed to glow in the morning light drifting through the blinds that hung over the room’s only window. After removing his boxer briefs and tossing them aside, he reached for her, letting his fingers cast a shadow across her sunlit cheek as he reached for her hair.

She’d secured the knot she’d twisted it into with a single elastic band. It was easy to remove, and when he pulled it free he was rewarded by the sight of her hair tumbling across her shoulders, more voluminous than he’d ever seen it. “Your halo’s back.”

She raised a hand and started smoothing her hair.

He stopped her by gripping her wrist. Her bones were slender, and though he’d seen her fight, he was struck by how delicate they felt beneath his own. “It looks good. And you shouldn’t worry about it now. Your halo’s going to be twice its current size by the time we’re done.”

“So you’re going to make me look like one of those saints in a stained glass window.”

A spark of amusement lit inside him. “Pretty much. Though I wouldn’t call the way I’m going to make it happen saintly.”

He let go of her wrist and wrapped his arms around her from behind, letting them cross beneath her breasts, raising their swells so that he couldn’t help but stare down at her nipples. Gently, he brushed his lips across the side of her neck, imagining the hardness of a nipple inside his mouth, the softness of an areola against his lips.

“Don’t hurt yourself. I don’t expect you to kiss me until your lips heal.”

“Can’t wait that long.” He pressed a light kiss against her skin. “Hurts to talk, anyway. And to eat and drink. I’m not going to stop doing those things, so I might as well not stop this either.” He’d rather starve or dehydrate than go without contact, and silence would be fine as long as he wasn’t cut off from communicating by touch.

She turned her head until their mouths met. The kiss she gave him was light, like a careful brushstroke, but gratifying. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as if he were standing outside in the middle of a lightning storm, and urgency surged into his erect cock.

He pulled her down onto the mattress, arms wrapped around her. Her body felt good against his despite his aches and bruises, and the sheets were still warm against his back. Overcome by the urge to drive her down into them, he rolled over, on top of her.

His erection pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, and he didn’t even have to try to imagine how it would feel to flex his hips and send it sliding inside her, into an embrace as tight as it was wet.

“I’ll get a condom,” he said, lowering his head and letting his lips travel over the upper swells of her breasts, “but will this be okay?” He looked up and met her eyes. “I know you like being on top, but I’d like to take you like this. I want to know what it’s like to feel your nails digging into my back.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want to be on top all the time. It’s just… It was just what I wanted at the time, before.”

“Great.” He loved it when she rode him, using her hips to push him to climax. But having her under him made his cock throb and he couldn’t stop thinking about feeling her arch beneath him, clinging to him as she came.

His leg was stiff as he walked to the dresser, but eagerness gave him the strength to ignore it. As soon as he had the condom on, he settled between her thighs again. He loved the view of her breasts when she was the one on top, but looking down at them was something special too.

He just couldn’t resist. Carefully, he lowered his head and closed his lips around one of her nipples. He had to be gentle to avoid bleeding on her, but his pulse raced as he touched the tip of his tongue to the stiffened peak, tasting and stroking. When she arched beneath him just like he’d imagined, he raised his head and wrapped one hand around the base of his cock.

As he positioned the head against the lips of her pussy, the fact that he was wearing a condom didn’t prevent him from sensing her slickness. He entered her at a new angle, and though the snug embrace was familiar, it was also different. Their bodies were so close, aligned with one another’s, and her thighs cradled him as he slid into her. As her soft flesh yielded to his hardness, he held her tight between his arms.

She pressed a hand to his chest and every stroke was heaven. Lying between her thighs was a stimulant in and of itself; feeling her legs on either side of his felt right. When she reached down and gripped one of his ass cheeks, he welcomed the bite of her nails and thrust harder.

She quivered beneath him, making a soft sound as he laid a hand on one of her breasts. He caressed and squeezed, teasing the nipple until it was hard as a rock. If his lips hadn’t been busted, he would’ve paused to suck it, but he knew he’d lost the restraint necessary to be gentle.

When her climax struck her, she dug her nails hard into his ass cheek and his back, clinging to him like he’d hoped she would. He rocked his hips faster, plunging deeper, letting her hard grip and harder breathing spur him on. She arched against the mattress. The position raised her breasts, causing her nipples to brush against his chest.

A bolt of potent sensation raced down his spine and made the muscles in his lower back and hips tighten, the beginning of a tenseness that soon gripped his entire body.

She cried out as friction warmed their bodies inside and out, searing. She was so loud his entire half of the building could probably hear, but it didn’t matter. The sound of her voice, high and ragged, had him by the balls. Nothing else mattered as he pumped himself into her, sliding in and halfway out of her shrinking pussy.

He moaned too as he gathered her up in his arms, holding her close against his body so he could feel everything – her hot skin, heaving breasts, hard nipples and even her heartbeat. As close as he could possibly get to her, he fucked her hard, coming before her orgasm could fade completely, letting the pulse of her internal muscles push him to climax.

He remained inside her for a few moments when it was over, then withdrew, brushing a kiss across her temple. He could still feel where she’d gripped him; she’d probably left marks, and they hurt in a good way.

“Want me to make breakfast?” He was still inside a haze of pleasure, but he’d be hungry when he emerged. He was always hungry when he escaped a headache, and sex on top of that was bound to increase his appetite.

“Sure.”

He pulled on a pair of jeans and made his way out of the room, skin still stinging where she’d dug her nails into him.

He went into the bathroom before heading to the kitchen. There, he took a look at his reflection for the first time since the previous night’s fights.

Shit. He looked like shit. His lips were swollen to nearly twice their normal size and split by an ugly red line. His face was scraped, his cheekbones tinted red, and even the whites of his eyes were faintly discolored, pinkish around the blue of his irises. And Ally had slept with him – twice – and spent the night with him without saying anything about it, other than asking him if he felt all right.