Love?

I look down at Harrison, his eyes so full of devotion. Never has a man told me he loves me, and it takes my breath away.

It wasn't what I was expecting.

Hoping for, maybe. But not anticipating. Especially not after the last twenty-four hours.

"It's okay," he says. "I just had to say it, admit what I feel."

"Thank you," I whisper, not wanting the moment to be ruined but also not wanting to say something I'm not ready for. He left all day. Will he leave again?

"Did I ruin things?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not in the slightest."

"Good," he says with a smile. "Because I really want to fuck you."

I laugh then, appreciating his ability to take a tense moment and make it something memorable.

We move up on the bed, and I crawl on top of him, his strong, chiseled body against mine, making me wet with desire. "I don't think I could ever be tired of this view,” I tell him, running my hand over his ladder of abs.

He exhales. "God, it feels fucking good to hear you say that."

I move my hand to his cock, leading his thickness to my willing pussy. He groans as I begin to sink down against him, wanting to feel his fullness inside of me.

I close my eyes, relishing the way he feels in me. He's bigger than I knew men could be. Thick and long and pulsing with heat, making my pussy clench tightly around his ridges, wanting to ride him until my cunt drips, until I am ragged and raw.

"You're so strong," I moan as he fills me up, as his hands take hold of my hips as I begin rocking in tight little circles. My clit is stimulated and alive as we grind against one another. He thrusts against me, making me whimper and then cry out as it gets more intense.

"You're so fucking tight against me."

I smile. "How do you know? You were a virgin before we met."

"Yeah, but there's no way any pussy could be tighter than you."

"Well," I laugh, my hand pressed against his pecs, "I do my Kegels like a good girl."

Harrison grins, his hands on my back, drawing me closer to him as we both near our climax.

"You're a good girl, huh?"

I nod. "Yes, I'm a good girl who was looking for a good man to take care of me." I moan, the pleasure erupting in my core as his cock continues to hit me deep, in just the right place.

"I want to take care of you, Hannah, so fucking bad."

"Then you will," I say it plainly, because it is a choice, and I know the choice I want to make. Make with him.

"I don't want to fuck up," he tells me, kissing my ears, my hair, my nose. My everything.

"Good, then don't." We laugh again, and I know it's not as simple as that. But as he fucks me, as his seed fills me up, warming me to my core, all I want is to be his forever. I come hard against him, wrapping my arms around his body, needing him to hold me tight. Wanting him to hold me for always.

We fall asleep like that, with rain on the window as the storm sweeps back in, but I close my eyes, his arms around my bare shoulders, knowing that he is my shelter from the storm.

I wake to him shouting. Screaming. Freaking out. He's pulling on his pants, over his prosthetic--ranting about the storm, the noise. The curtains are pulled open and lightning streaks the sky, the thunder as loud as a bowling alley, rolling and shaking and pounding through the night.

"It's okay," I shout. "It's just the rain, what's wrong?"

He's screaming, about the bombs, about the bullets. Crying out names of men I don't know and then he pounds his fists against the wall. The plaster breaks as he punches holes where there were none, and hot tears fill my eyes.

"Stop, Harrison. I'm here, it's okay," I shout, wanting him to hear me through the thunder and through his pain but he can't hear anything except the monsters in his head.

"It's not okay!" His knuckles are bloody, and I see the horror in his eyes as he sees what he has done. He tells me to go, to leave him be. But I refuse.

"I'm here. For you."

"You should…" He stops talking, bending over, holding his head as the storm wails outside.

He pulls open the bathroom door, emotion raging through him, and I'm standing here, lost and scared and wanting to help but not having any idea of what he needs.

"Go, Hannah," he begs me. "I'm too much. Too much for you." Then he slams the door shut, I try to pull it open, but it's locked, and I pound my hand against it, but he keeps telling me to go. To leave.

Tears fall down my face, as the reality sets in. The bliss I felt after we made love is gone, washed away with the rain.

All I see are storm clouds straight ahead.