Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
H arbor
I woke up, my body relaxed. Holy fuck, did I actually sleep a full night?
With my arm still wrapped around Katrina, I glanced out the cover-less window at the snowy world beyond this little cabin. It was morning, well into it by the bright sun reflecting off the fresh powder.
And I had nowhere to be. I snuggled down into bed and pulled Katrina tighter to me. Her body fit against mine in a way I’d never thought possible. With other women, I’d always been too tall or too short, too broad or too gruff. She was perfect. Soft and yielding, unbreakable, even for a bruiser like me.
So what if I wanted to luxuriate in this for a little while longer? Even if the road crews out here were superhuman, it was highly unlikely we would be able to get out of our driveway. The cabin didn’t even have heat, so there was zero chance of a snowblower hidden in a shed.
No need to leave Katrina’s side. I kissed the top of her head, the silky strands of her thick hair still smelling of woodsmoke and lilies and lavender.
An old Army friend of mine was a lawyer outside Green Bay. Once Katrina woke up and I’d fed her, I’d send my friend the records of what we had found last night to see if it was enough to free Katrina. A little pro bono private investigation. Maybe I would never have to take her to Milwaukee or turn her into the police. I had some money set aside. I could pay off the bail bondsman.
A lump of coal settled in my gut.
What would I do then? Make Katrina come back to Philadelphia with me? She would offer, because she would feel indebted. I knew plenty about debt, more than enough to know I didn’t want her to be indebted to me.
I wanted her to love me, as sad a sack as that made me. I wanted her to love me the way I loved her.
She yawned and stretched across my chest, and a rush of pleasure washed over me. Katrina Valdez. Artist, landscaper, lover of mochas. She was too pretty and too perfect to fit into my life. If I were a US Marshal, maybe, but that had a snowball’s chance in hell of happening.
Wanting things that could never be wasn’t healthy. It dug up all the memories I wanted to stay buried.
“Are you awake?” Katrina whispered against my bare chest. I tucked the covers more closely around her and kissed the top of her head again.
“Yes. Are you cold? Hungry?”
“No.” Her lips curved into a smile that burned like a lip print against my skin. Her fingers danced over my body, like she liked it. Like she wanted to know it.
Maybe I just wanted her to feel that way.
“Will you tell me about your scars?” she asked, shifting her body to rest her leg over mine. My cock, which had already been at a morning half-stand, woke up further.
“My scars?”
“Yes.” She lifted her leg higher, brushing my cock and stroking it with her knee.
I groaned. “I’ll tell you anything if you keep doing that.”
“What about this?” She rocked onto her knees, straddling my hips and cradling me in a cocoon of that gorgeous hair.
“You’re going to get cold.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her flush against my chest, her nipples tight pinpricks against my skin that sent all sorts of warning signals through my brain.
She kissed along the scar running from my neck down my chest. “Then warm me up.”
I skimmed my hands along her body, massaging into the soft parts of her that had tightened overnight. “Some of them are classified. That scar on my neck was from a pipe bomb in Afghanistan.” I found the hot, wet seam of her, and slipped a finger inside. She clenched around me as I anchored my thumb on her clit and drew tiny circles on it. “The one on my flank was a sniper. But the pipe bomb was the one that got me my discharge.”
“Mmm.” She ground herself against my hand, and I slid another finger into her, stretching her wider. My cock throbbed between us, but watching her come undone was my new favorite hobby. “What did you do after you were discharged?”
“Got a few jobs,” I said. She yelped as I changed the angle of my fingers, scraping lightly against her front wall.
“Just like that,” she moaned. Though it was an odd angle for my wrist, I kept stroking her, circling her clit, letting her momentum guide me. “What kind of jobs?”
“You really want to ask that?” With my other hand, I propped her up onto my stomach so I could change the angle inside her and also get her gorgeous tits in my mouth. I clasped around one of her brown nipples, suckling until I felt her clench around me. She tasted like summer and cream.
“Harbor. Yes.”
I loved the way she said my name. Like I meant something to her. Like I was someone worth loving this way. “Yes, Trina? You want more of this?”
“Yes!” She ground against me, thrusting her tits into my mouth and riding my hand like it was her lifeline. Hell, I’d be her protector, her lifeline, her charge point, for as long as she would let me. “Yes!” She clenched again around me as she climaxed, her hair thrown back in messy waves, her body hot and wet. I held her through it all, grateful for this time, this moment, even if I wanted inside her so badly I could taste it. I loved this woman, more than I’d ever loved anyone, and one day I hoped she would get there, too.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and then leaned over me, claiming my mouth in a soft, sensual kiss that lasted eons. “Tell me what kind of jobs while you fuck me, handsome.”
I wasn’t about to turn that one down. I flipped her onto her back, grabbed a condom from the pack on the dresser, and did exactly what my lady asked.