B!!!!!
Guess who I got a package from? Yep, your crazy best friend sent me a package with a letter that said, “To build up your forearms.” It was a box of porn magazines! Drew wants to propose to her right now. Ha!
And yes, I appreciate your package just as much. The major ate all the cookies you sent, though. Please send more.
Sometimes I love you.
#jessismysoulmate #thinkaboutit #youcouldbesistersforever #pleaseletmedateher
Bennett
Four days later, after what will be referred to as the greatest feeding frenzy in history, I’m beached out on a log, allowing my stomach to curse me for all the lasagna I packed in. Why am I on a log you ask? Well, the guys—obviously, not Cade—harassed me after dinner to join them outside for beers and a bonfire. What they failed to mention was that they needed a referee to judge their archaic caveman skills of who could start the fire—without a lighter—the fastest.
I’ll admit, I had my doubts any of them could do it, but when they asked me to count down, I knew they were serious and my panties were headed for the hamper early. It wasn’t the confidence and hilarious taunts they threw back and forth at each other while they were ground level, holding half of their chiseled bodies up with one arm. Or even the way their forearms strained under the evening sky.
Nope. It was none of those things.
Don’t get me wrong, those were a bonus, but the real show was Connor Hayes. This ham laid down in front of me, blowing on the kindling he had gathered, describing in great detail how starting fires was like warming up a woman.
“Firm strokes,” he crooned, rubbing the two twigs together, one vertical, the other horizontal. “And when she is burning up…” He flashes those cerulean eyes to mine and lightly blows at the center of the joined sticks. “You give the core what it needs to explode.” I couldn’t even answer the son of a bitch when he licked his lips, my throat and clit throbbing as I watched him hollow out his cheeks, blowing ever so lightly until the wood (and my temperature) went up in flames.
“You alright, darlin? You look a little warm.”
You will not wipe your forehead. You will sit on this log, get one good look at this devil of a man, and then you will never think of it again.
The corners of my lip tip up into something resembling smug. “You lost,” I declare, hiding behind my smile, praying no drool pools at the corners, stealing the effect.
Hayes tilts his head to the side, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes narrowed.
“Come again?”
I glance back at the other three guys huddled around the giant campfire, their grins egging me on. “I said… you lost. While you were being the fire whisperer, the guys had their fire roaring and even got the s’mores from the house.”
Lips that no man should ever have fall into the cutest pout I’ve ever seen. I push up from the log and pull Hayes behind me, toward the guys. “Come on, darlin. I’ll make you a s’more to cheer you up.”
Hayes snorts out the laugh he was holding and pulls me close to him in a bear hug. “I think you’re picking up bad habits living with us.” My eyes narrow, trying to figure out just what he means by his statement, when he chuckles. “All I’m saying, B, is that a week ago you would’ve sat all wide-eyed and quiet.” He shakes me when I throw him a you’re-getting-a-laxative-in-your-breakfast-smoothie-tomorrow look. “Now you give just as good as you receive.”
Is it possible to feel like you just got voted prom queen at twenty-three?
Hayes kisses the top of my head and fields the jabs from the other guys. Midnight falls over the world, but in the glow of the flame, I gaze out to the four Marines laughing and tossing marshmallows to each other.
It starts in my feet. Bubbling and tingling, the sensation travels up my thighs, across my six-pack abs—fine—my zero-pack abs, swirling and digesting until it settles in my chest.
One week is all it took for me to fall in love.
One week to figure out what my brother used to rave about.
One week to find a home.
“Okay, Okay. B, give us your best pick-up line.”
The guys and I are several beers in and the conversation has only taken a turn for the worse. Mason insisted that I drink with them, and who am I to turn down a man with eyes the color of gold that melt the bra right off you? Yeah, I took the damn beer, and the subsequent three.
I wave off Hayes’ asinine request. “No. Women don’t need pick-up lines. We have vaginas.”
Vic smothers a noise in the neck of his beer. “Not the kind Hayes takes home,” he mumbles, intending on insulting Hayes, but Hayes gives Mason a high five. He’s the opposite of insulted.
I hold my breath to keep from laughing at the two idiots and nod to Tim who’s been the quietest of the bunch. “How about you, Tim? Show me how you woo a woman.”
The group goes scary silent and I worry I made a colossal mistake. I know Tim has issues with speaking, but that doesn’t mean he can’t participate. But again, I don’t know. I’m the new kid. This could be a total no-no.
“I mean, if you want. You don’t have to,” I clarify before it gets any more awkward.
You can literally only hear the crickets and the crackling of the fire.
Mason breaks first, clearing his throat. I bet he’s going to tell me I’m not allowed in their circle anymore and to go back to the house. “I—”
Tim stands, handing over his beer with a smile. Shocked as hell, I blink several times, hoping that I didn’t upset him or embarrass him by asking him to fake hit on me when he has such a hard time communicating.
Tim claps Mason on the back and heads toward my chair with a wicked smirk that tells me I have no idea what I’ve just done. He stops in front of me, his deep brown eyes sparkling under the firelight. “Fuck me, huh?” I joke, this ridiculous laugh tagging onto the last of my sentence like a schoolgirl.
A twitch of a grin attempts to bust through Tim’s façade, but he holds it back, squatting down in front of me, his earthy smell of firewood and soap washing all over me. Hands the size of plates lock down on my knees. Breathing seems like a bad idea at the moment.
Someone crunches a graham cracker, the noise making me jump. Probably Hayes. His horny ass is probably enjoying the hell out of this.
Tim’s body pushes through my legs and I let out an “eep!” He shushes me, trailing a long finger up the curve of my hips, along my ribs, cresting to a stop on my shoulder. My pulse pounds to an unsteady rhythm with each stroke of his steady hand.
Oh God. I hope he doesn’t feel me sweating.
Whose idea was this again?
Oh, right. I wanted Tim to feel included.
He definitely seems comfortable.
Great idea, B.
Tim’s hands are on the move again, kneading the muscles along my shoulders. I’ve never had a massage before but if I had, I’m positive this would top any of those experiences. The condensation from the beer I have clutched in a death grip drips onto my hand and I freaking jump again. I’m in sensation overload with Tim in my face. Breathing. Closer. Until we’re nose to nose. My traitorous body betrays me when his warm breath feathers along my cheeks, his palm caressing the curve of my neck before coming to a stop at the base of my throat.
I freaking shiver in his arms.
His fingers spread wide, taking up nearly the entirety of my neck. The only movement is his thumb rubbing soft circles over the hollow of my throat.
Dear God.
This man hasn’t said a fucking word and I already would go home with him.
He moves closer to my ear, his breath ghosting every part of me until he stops, drawing out the torture. I can’t tell if it’s the buzz of the beer or the high of being in Tim’s proximity, but I feel lethargic. Fluid like a puddle.
“Brecklyn.” The cadence is smooth when he whispers my name along the edge of my ear. His fingers squeeze my neck, not choking but preparing me for something great. And then he does the unthinkable. He squeezes harder, his tone rougher than I’ve ever heard as he grates out each word separately. “Beg. Me.”
To all the women in the world: You are not prepared for this man.
I have to tear my eyes from the fire so they can roll back in my head. The sound. The broken fucking sound of his voice has me in a trance as my head flops back against the lounge chair.
“Holy fucking shit!” Hayes hollers from his seat. “I think I just came.”
Tim pulls back and rolls his eyes, gracing me with a smile before swiping his thumb across my cheekbone in a sweet gesture.
“What the fuck, man? You could have been going with me to bars and scoring pussy left and right. What—” With a burnt marshmallow on the top of his stick—a real one, not the one in his pants—Hayes motions wildly at Tim when he stands. “You are a beast,” he exclaims, waving the marshmallow around like he has some kind of sword. “Seriously, dude. You are coming out with me this weekend.”
Tim shakes his head, taking his beer back from Mason and chugging it.
“Oh no. You are not telling me no after this shit. B orgasmed on the spot!” Hayes yells.
Before I can deny his ludicrous statement, something hits me on the side of the head and an audible gasp echoes around the fire. “Oops. Sorry, B.”
I glare at Hayes, feeling along the side of my head where gooey, sticky marshmallow clings to a large chunk of my hair.
“Hayes!” I spring out of the chair, goo sticking to my fingers. “You suck,” I yell at him with my sticky ass hands on my hips. One by one, they all start snickering until they are full-blown howling.
“I-I’m sorry, B.” Laughter breaks apart his sweet offer. “I’ll help you get it out.”
I wave off the charming blond and turn to head into the house. “I got it. You boys finish up.”
In their defense, they hold in the worst of their laughter until I get to the door.
Bent over at an awkward angle under the kitchen faucet, I try to get the side of my head under the running water. It’s harder than it seems to keep it from running down the back of my neck, but maybe I’m just that uncoordinated. The latter could be the case.
The marshmallow is damn near glued to my head and all I keep doing is pulling out strands of hair instead of the sticky gunk.
“Fuck,” I mutter, losing another long strand to the marshmallow Gods.
“What are you doing?”
I freeze when the heat of Cade’s breath flutters along my neck. I’ve learned he likes to get close and make me uncomfortable. Why? I have no clue but I don’t exactly hate it.
“Hayes threw a marshmallow in my hair.” I hold the clump of matted hair up for him to see. “And it’s stuck.”
He raises his eyebrows, the corner of his lip tipping up in an almost smile. “He threw it at you?”
“No.” I shake my head and put it back under the water. “He just got excited when Tim choked me.”
Cade makes a strangled noise.
“Oh no! He didn’t choke me, choke me,” I rush out to explain as Cade’s face reddens, the lines on his forehead extremely prominent. “I told him to hit on me and …” Cade eyes widen, and I realize for my and Tim’s sake, I need to shut up.
Cade’s fist clenches at his side as he stares at the wad of hair that looks as if it’s been came in, now that I think about it. He doesn’t say anything when I pump the dish detergent on my fingers and attempt to work out some of the sticky marshmallow. He just watches me, his shoulders tense as he eyes me with suspicion.
Finally, he sighs and turns off the water.
“Hey!” I protest, but he ignores me and hands me a dish towel.
“Come on, you will never get it out that way.”
Water is dripping down the front of my shirt, the hand towel no match for my thick mane, when Cade tracks a droplet that darts over the swell of my breast. He swallows, his Adams apple bobbing with the movement.
“You need a comb,” he tells me, his voice strained and raspy.
I move the towel and try to catch the fleeing droplets when he pivots, clearing his throat and ordering me to follow him.
Here’s the thing: I’m an ass girl.
Firm and in the perfect half-moon at the bottom … I want to grab it and squeeze. Hard.
So, when Cade leads the way to his room, that perfect ass of his flexing as he takes each step, I get needy.
Real fucking needy.
I wonder if he would let me grab it just this one time. Like a perk of being employed at the McCallister Jameson Foundation. One squeeze per cheek at the end of the day.
“Breck.”
Lost in rewriting the employee handbook, I tear my gaze away from Cade’s ass and find him grinning at me over his shoulder. “Do you need a minute?”
Oh, he’s got jokes.
“There’s something on the back of your pants,” I say, unaffected by his smile.
He nods, letting out a chuckle. “I get that a lot.”
“Arrogance is a terrible quality,” I reply without a filter.
His smile drops to a frown and I think I’ve hurt his feelings, but then it tips back up before he spits, “So is desperation.”
I’m speechless that he assumes I’m desperate. He disappears into his bedroom without acknowledging my butthurt expression, heading for the en-suite bathroom with a purpose. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night,” is all he calls out.
Did he hurt my feelings just now?
I think he did.
I am not desperate. Just because I appreciate the hours he spends in the gym does not mean I want to ride him like one of those mechanical bulls.
Eh, maybe I do a little. I do have a neglected vajayjay, but shame on him for noticing. You don’t call a girl out.
Cade shouts “Breck!” over the running water in the bathroom and I call him a bastard in my head before sighing and dragging my ridiculous mess of hair inside his room. God help me, it smells like him. My sense of smell is overpowered with scents of cinnamon, cedar, and soap.
This is not a good idea. If he thinks I was desperate on the stairs …
With slow steps, I peek into his bathroom and find him perched on the edge of his shower. His legs are stretched out straight and a bowl is sitting beside him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, only sounding a little terrified.
Cade rolls his eyes and motions between his legs with the comb. “Sit down so I can comb this mess out of your hair.”
Is it your right arm or your left arm that hurts when you’re having a heart attack?
“Come again?”
Cade sighs and looks to the ceiling. “Don’t make this weird.”
Don’t make it weird. Right. Got it. We’re just boss and employee, sitting in each other’s lap, combing marshmallow out of my hair. Just another day at the office.
I ease forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as Cade spreads his legs for me to wedge myself in between them.
“You will have to lie back and put your head in my lap,” he instructs me clinically.
What he really needs to say is that I’m going to lie on his dick. But he doesn’t because he’s a gentleman.
I nod and swallow, squatting down in front of him. I turn and face the bathroom door and slowly lower until I hear him groan out of frustration. Cade pulls me the rest of the way down, my shoulders resting comfortably between two massive thighs.
“I’m sorry it has to be in the bathroom,” he mutters, clearing his throat, working my hair out from behind my shoulders, and laying it across his lap. “We can’t do it in my bedroom.”
The way he says it is almost like he’s telling himself. Either way, I say, “Okay. Thanks for helping me.”
He grunts out a noise and I hear the squirt of something before his hands go to my hair, applying conditioner from root to tip. It smells of herbs and a hint of spice. Hand over hand, Cade works the conditioner into my hair, and I find my eyes closing from the simple act of him threading his fingers through my locks.
His thighs flex and I wonder if I’m getting too heavy. I try shifting but he pins my shoulder. “You’re fine,” he scolds, swiping the comb through my hair for the first time. I moan and immediately feel like I have a fever coming on.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It feels so good when someone plays with my hair.”
Cade chuckles, his stone abs flexing against the crown of my head when he tries for another angle. He tugs through a matted piece and I wince. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s okay. When I was little my mom used to yank the hairbrush through my hair and threaten me with a pop on the hand if I cried. I’m used to it.”
Cade’s thighs tense up under my shoulders. Why did I tell him that?
“All I’m saying is that I’m not tender headed. Do your worst.”
Cade still doesn’t relax after I explain so I try to stay still and not flinch as he works the marshmallow out bit by bit, only pausing to rinse the comb in the bowl beside him.
“Are you and your mom close?” he asks me out of the blue.
“Uh … no.” This conversation could go south if I disclose too much about my past to Cade. But I want to know him and I want him to know the real me. “I moved out as soon as I could. It’s just me now.”
“Your parents are dead?” he asks me quietly, pain in his voice.
“No. My parents are just assholes. We don’t keep in touch.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
Ah, shit.
I swallow as a hundred different lies float through my head. Ultimately, I go with the truth.
“A brother. He died a few years ago.”
Cade’s hands stop their ministrations.
“What about you,” I ask, readjusting on his thighs as he starts up again.
“My parents are alive,” he says quickly. “We haven’t spoken since my brother passed.”
I’m shocked he disclosed that much given most days he barely graces me with a glare. I want him to talk more about Drew, his brother, who was Bennett’s captain. He was killed in the explosion with Ben. Bennett said he was a good leader, that he and Cade were the best the Marines had. I’m sure he was exaggerating, but he respected them both, claiming they were old school warriors. Rebels without a cause. The perfect duo.
You see, Cade and I are bonded like no one else.
We lost everything that night.
We’re orphans in our own lives, neither one of us knowing how to move on from the aftermath of losing our brothers.
I’m searching for hope, and someone to fight alongside me, but Cade is choosing to fight alone. He’s given up on making peace with his past. He’s moving on without the closure.
“All done,” he says, patting my shoulder. “You’ll probably want to shampoo my conditioner out of your hair so you don’t smell like a man.”
I sit up and feel his hands on my back, helping me. “Thank you,” I say with sincerity. Cade tips his chin and stands. I have to scramble up so I don’t fall down.
“You’re welcome.”
The front of his sweats are soaking wet, and there is a monster dick imprint where his boxers strain to keep the beast contained along his thigh. Where was that thing when I was on his thigh?
Cade catches my focus and pushes me out of the bathroom.
I stumble but quickly right myself and turn around. With a smile, and not looking at his hard cock again, I say, “Thanks again.”
Cade grunts and I head toward my room when he calls out, “Hey B.” I look over my shoulder with a smile. He grins. “Can I offer you a ride home?”
My smile drops and I slam his bedroom door as hard as I can, but even the noise doesn’t mask his laughter.
And it makes me fucking smile.
That night, I don’t wash my hair. I fall asleep surrounded by the smell of Cade.