Chapter Seventeen
She took his hands in hers, marveling at how large they were, how strong and capable they felt. And yet he let her hold them, turn them over. Let her press her lips to the back of his hand. He was like that everywhere, big and wonderfully competent, yet he allowed her to lead. Was it because he knew she needed that? Or a natural respect he granted her as his lover? There was so much more she wanted to know about him.
It wasn’t seductive, but it was honest. “What happened over there? You don’t have to tell me everything. I wouldn’t expect that. Just…something I don’t know.”
He didn’t seem surprised by her question. He nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to ask about his darkest hour, and maybe it was.
“We were on patrol. Me and three other guys. We were attacked by insurgents with missile launchers. Taken by surprised and outgunned. One of my men died on impact.”
Her breath caught. His voice was flat, but God, the pain wavered near the surface. She could feel it in the air around her. It shimmered there, like a hot summer’s day.
“Joe was trapped under the vehicle. I want to take you to visit him someday soon, by the way. We knew they were coming for us, but I was messed up too badly from the explosion to move. The last guy though…he got up and walked away. I watched him go. First he walked, then he took off running. I was furious with him for leaving us that way, but at the same time…envious.” He laughed hollowly. “I wanted to be the hell away from there.”
“Oh, Blake.” She heard what he didn’t say. One of his teammates had walked away. When he’d gotten home, his fiancée had walked away. This was his nightmare. His worst fear was being left behind. And she’d triggered that. She pressed a kiss to the center of his palm, as if she could draw the pain inside of her, just breathe it in.
“I found out later he was never recovered. Presumed dead. So what’s the lesson there, huh? Walk away and die of starvation. Or stay behind and get tortured—” He broke off at her small gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go that far. It feels so random. So horribly random.”
Her heart broke for him. He was a scholar, so goddamned intelligent he couldn’t see the writing on the wall. He wanted answers to life’s tragedies when their very unfair nature meant they had none. A life that allowed a strong, loyal protector to be slain and left for dead. That allowed a hardworking woman like her mother to suffer and be victimized, all for what? She certainly couldn’t comprehend it or explain, but it was true nonetheless.
“I don’t know why these things happen,” she confessed. “I’m not sure we can understand.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Well, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”
She laughed suddenly, because even though the situation was serious and fraught, it seemed ironic. That he had seen and lived through unimaginable things—things like torture and treason—only to find her comment depressing.
He laughed too, with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Okay, my little philosopher. Why are we here then?”
She was going to make a joke about fatalism being the better part of valor, but she paused. Because she knew the answer, at least the one she lived by. Grasping his wrist, she drew his hand to her heart. His palm nestled above her breasts, but this wasn’t sexual. Her hand spread over his chest, feeling the steady thump beneath. His eyes widened slightly.
“This,” she said softly. The things they discussed in class, those constructs and mores that drew invisible arrows between ideas, that supported one conclusion and empirically disproved another…yes, they were interesting. Stimulating. A worthwhile pursuit in the bright hours of the day. But they paled in comparison to the deep and enduring connection between him and her, a safe place to rest when the night cast the world in shadows.
She could live on the power coursing between them. She could thrive on it. If that made her less of an intellectual, she accepted that, because she knew what she felt. She still wanted to be successful, but not at the expense of her heart.
That was why she’d come back to him. She’d rather lose her degree than give up the magic she’d found with him. She’d rather stand at his side than live in chains made of fear and ambition.
His gaze was hard and tender at the same time. “Considering I’m the professor between us, I have a lot to learn from you.”
She blushed. He smiled and reached up to touch her heated skin.
“Be with me?” she whispered uncertainly. An apology and entreaty all at once. Not everything was solved and sorted between them, but then they never would be. Like the eddies and entrapments of life, they could only face each obstacle as it came. No promise of smooth waters, just a partner for the journey.
His eyes softened. “You never have to ask, lovely. I’m here. Wherever you go and whenever you come back, I’m yours.”
They leaned forward at the same time, their lips pressed together, bodies fusing. The air was sucked out of the room. She opened her mouth against his, drawing her breath from him, taking sustenance and feeding it back. Her tongue flicked into his mouth, and he groaned.
“Upstairs,” he muttered. “No more sex on the sofa for awhile.”
She laughed but complied, preceding him up the stairs. “I saw the new window dressings.”
“Not good enough. I’m going to buy up all the land around here too. Or maybe I can find an island. We’ll make a country for just the two of us.”
“And you’ll be the king?” Reaching his bedroom, she climbed onto his bed.
“Yes,” he said, making quick work of his clothes.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of his naked body, the hard planes sprinkled with dark male hair. The erect length that rose between his legs. “And I’ll be the queen?”
“You’ll be my subject. The first ordinance, no clothes on you. Ever.” He approached her and tugged off her shirt, her bra. Pulled her to stand and didn’t stop until she was naked.
“What about when we have guests? Surely I should wear clothes then.”
“We don’t permit visas,” he said apologetically. “Second ordinance. Everything you do must be in pursuit of pleasure.”
She walked herself back on the bed while he followed. “This all seems very restrictive.”
“I might let you leave occasionally. Once a day. To work and back.”
“And yoga class?”
“Is it self-serving for me to agree to that one too? It makes me so hot how flexible you are.”
She grinned. “And an occasional girls’ night out?”
“All these questions, this civil unrest,” he murmured against her neck. His lips skated over her collarbone, igniting nerves all over her body.
She shivered. “Maybe I’ll have a rebellion.”
“Ah, but you already rule me. Anything else is just a game we play.”
* * *
Blake allowed her to flip them over. She grasped his hands in hers, pinning him to the bed. Her curves were pale and tantalizing. He could do nothing but stare at her, entranced by the sight of her.
Her strength held him down too. Not the physical force of her palms against his or her slender thighs straddling his but that indomitable will of hers. Threatened, but she pushed forward anyway. Uncertain, but she laid her heart open to him.
She had humbled him downstairs. This, she’d said, connecting their hearts with their hands. And he’d known she was right. He’d felt she was right, but he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to find this place without her. It was like wandering a forest for years, only to have her take him by the hand and lead him to a cool, running stream. It had been here all along, he’d just been too blind to find it.
She nipped at the line of his jaw. The pinch slid down his spine and burrowed itself into his balls. He bucked his hips, rubbing his cock between the damp folds of her sex.
“Jesus, woman.”
Her smile left no doubt that she knew her own power. It was potent sexuality. It was peace. He grasped her hands where they held his down, dying without being able to touch her and more than willing. This was the stuff of wet dreams, her body spread open to his hungry gaze, his held down for her pleasure.
“Use me,” he said hoarsely. “Fuck me.”
She bit her lip. “Not like that.”
“How then?”
She released him, supporting herself with the bed and half entwined with him. He immediately ran his hands along the slope of her back, admiring her smoothness, embracing her. A sensual roll of her hips and she hovered over him, the head of his cock hitched to her opening. He gritted his teeth to fight the piercing desire to thrust upward, holding his body flat against the bed. Slowly, achingly, she lowered herself to him, around him, enveloping him in softness and scalding him with exquisite heat.
Her eyes remained on his through the entire downward slide and beyond. Even when she began to move over him in a sumptuous undulation, her warm gaze was locked with his. He drowned in those eyes, those amber pools of desire and acceptance. She looked deep inside him and found him worthy; he tithed with his body, his soul, for a chance to make her come. The ripples around his cock meant she was close, but her expression was solemn, focused. Steady.
It wasn’t the right rhythm to make him come, not fast enough really, but he was glad of it. This way he could last. Even her gorgeous body and the poignant feel of her couldn’t overcome biology. The slow grind was a communion, a prayer—a goddamned miracle. He swallowed thickly. If he fondled her clit or sucked her nipples, she would clench around him in seconds, but he found himself reluctant to end this quickly. He wanted to watch her come at her own pace, to take her own pleasure. He wanted to suffer in wait.
Her breasts pressed to his chest, and he knew she was rubbing her clit against his body. He was hard and aching in the clasp of her body, trembling with restraint. Her movements became smaller, more specific, rocking her hips over him, fucking him.
She was taking from him, her pleasure, his power, and he was hollow from it, open. There wasn’t a single thing he’d hold back from her—not love, not sex. Not surrender.
“Blake. Blake.” She was calling for him, sounding lost and afraid, staring into his eyes.
“I’m here, baby. Fuck, I’m right here.” His voice was like grit in the air around them, rough and unruly.
He felt a tightening of her inner muscles as she clamped down around him. A rush of hot liquid coated his cock. His eyes narrowed to slits, but he couldn’t close them, couldn’t look away—fuck, he couldn’t look away from the sight of her in climax, her face slack and open and so damned lovely. So lovely.
He came. She was completely still over him, frozen at the peak, but he was coming in long, painful drags, emptying himself into her body, finding completion and so much more. There was nothing sweeter than the feel of her falling apart in his arms, needing him, trusting him—of finally trusting himself.