Chapter Fifteen #2
His brow furrows. “I texted you when we landed. Said I was heading straight home. We got stuck on the tarmac at the airport so I couldn't tell you that we were going to make it home tonight.”
I grab my phone, flipping it over. Sure enough, the missed message is there.
“I turned it to vibrate. I didn’t see it,” I say, and then notice something unusual on his face. "Are those…gold eye masks?"
He looks down quickly, hiding his face from me as he yanks them off quickly. "Shit. Forgot to take them off after the flight. But they work—don't tell Aleksi I said that."
His eyes land on the pint in my hands. "Is that my ice cream?"
I clutch it closer. "Maybe."
"You hate cookie dough."
"It grew on me." I take another bite, taunting him, watching his eyes narrow. Why the hell am I egging on a trained ex-special forces operative? I have no idea. "I was going to replace it before you got home," I explain.
"Hand it over, Newport."
"Make me, Hartley."
His grin turns predatory as he stalks toward me, unzipping his Hawkeyes jacket and tossing it to the side of the living room and squares up to me. All muscle and power. "Last chance."
I leap off the couch, heart hammering, legs already thrumming with anticipation. The thrill hits fast and sharp—he’s going to chase me, and I want him to. I clutch the ice cream like a shield and flash him a daring smile over my shoulder.
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
“That can be arranged.” He launches over the couch with military precision, and I shriek—half startled, half giddy—as I take off toward the kitchen, laughter bubbling in my throat.
He chases me down the hallway, and I duck into the dining room, sliding behind the table.
"You forget I did recon in worse terrain than this," he calls, flanking the other side. "You’re not going to win this."
"I’ve got home-field advantage," I quip, darting into the front hallway and doubling back toward the living room.
He nearly catches me at the stairs, but I fake left, then veer right, laughing as he curses under his breath.
"You’re fast," he calls, amused. "It must be because you're so much lower to the ground."
“Are you calling me short?” I gasp, feigning insult through breathless laughter.
“Not short—just pocket-sized. And don’t get it twisted.” He smirks. "It’s one of my favorite features of yours.”
“Flattery won’t get you this ice cream.”
"Then I guess I’ll have to take it from you."
He closes the distance, grabbing me by the waist as I attempt to cut through the kitchen again. I scream-laugh as he hauls my back against his chest, lifting me effortlessly.
"Caught you," he says, breathless but triumphant.
"You cheated."
His mouth finds my ear, and he whispers, "Not cheating if I win fair and square, Vivi Ann."
If I had been standing, my knees would have given out with how sultry he said those words to me. The heat of his mouth against my neck, the thumping of his heart through his chest against my back.
He tosses me back onto the couch, following me down until I'm pinned beneath him.
“Give me a bite,” he demands, bracing his arms on either side of my head, his breath warm against my cheek.
"You want a bite?" I scoop up some ice cream with my spoon.
"You know what I want."
I shove the spoon in his mouth, both of us chuckling. But as he swallows, something shifts. The playfulness evaporates, replaced by the same tension that's been growing between us.
"Was that good?" I ask.
He nods, "It tastes even better when you're under me."
His eyes search mine. No words, but we don't need any. I know what he's asking.
His eyes drop to my lips. "The ring …"
I pull my left hand between us—it's bare. "You'll never see it on my finger again unless I have to for public appearances. There's nothing between us tonight."
I need to at least know what it would be like to be with him, even if tonight is all we have, and I have to walk down the aisle to someone else in less than four weeks. I can’t live with regrets that I didn’t at least give us one night.
His eyes flash—surprised, maybe hopeful—and then his lips crash into mine.
Desperate. Hungry. I know the feeling. His mouth moves with urgency, tongue sweeping into mine, tasting of cookie dough and weeks of pent-up desire. I want so badly to have a chance with him, but how can I have it all?
I part my legs on instinct, and he takes my cue, sliding his hips between my thighs, grinding against me. His hands tug my legs higher around his waist, locking us in.
His hand slips under my shirt, fingers pausing at the hem of my bra like he’s waiting for permission.
I nod against his mouth.
That’s all it takes. He palms my breast with one hand, rough and warm and possessive, while bracing his weight with the other. I feel every inch of him pressed against me through the thin barrier of our clothes.
I grab the hem of his T-shirt, and he yanks it over his head in one swift motion. A set of dog tags hangs from his chest, and his body—scarred, solid, and beautiful—knocks the breath from my lungs.
He’s a survivor. A fighter. If not for the hearing aid, you’d never know how much he’s been through. But I see it all, every story etched into his skin.
"Your turn," he says.
In seconds, I’m topless. Shirt and bra gone. He drags my leggings down and off, and when his sweats hit the floor, we’re down to a thong and boxers.
He groans at the sight of me, then dips his head to my nipple and sucks, slow and purposeful. I arch into him with a soft whimper.
His hand skims down my stomach and slides beneath my thong. My knees open wider for him as his finger slides through my wet folds. He groans and sucks on me harder as his fingers explore my center.
“You have no idea how many times I've imagined you like this.” My breath hitches at his admission. “You, naked beneath me. So fucking beautiful. Letting me have what I want from you."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want everything."
He sits back on his heels and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my thong, dragging it down my legs and tossing it aside. “This is mine tonight,” he mutters, echoing his words from weeks ago.
Then he stands, pushing down his boxers, and my breath catches at the sight of him—tall, broad, thick, and already hard for me. My mouth goes dry, wondering how good he'd taste in my mouth.
I sit up and reach for him, but he stops me, gripping the base of his cock as he leans in to whisper, “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m the one doing the work.”
He reaches for his wallet in his sweats discarded on the living room floor and pulls out a condom.
“You came prepared,” I tease, heart thudding.
He gives me a look that’s all hunger. “I’ve been prepared since the first morning you showed up in those tight ass leggings on your first day.”
He tears the foil and rolls it on with practiced ease, then lowers himself back between my legs, kissing me like he’s starving.
I feel the blunt tip of him press against my entrance, and my body arches instinctively, wanting more.
He eases in slowly, giving me time to stretch around him. Inch by inch, he sinks into me, and I’m already moaning, the pressure delicious, the stretch exactly the way I knew he’d be.
“You’re so tight,” he grits. “Fucking hell, I knew you’d feel like this. Knew I’d lose my mind.”
He bottoms out, holding still, his arms holding strong around me, his teeth grinding as he adjusts trying to hold it together. His forehead rests on mine.
He groans, pulling out just enough to slam back in, hard and deep.
My gasp turns into a moan, and then I’m lost—rocking beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, drowning in the feel of him.
He fucks me like he’s claiming me. Like he doesn’t know if this is the only time we’ll get, so he’s going to make it count.
His hand slides to grip my ass, lifting me into his thrusts. “You'll tell me if I'm hurting you? I'll stop.”
“If you stop,” I pant, “I will kill you.”
That earns me a grin, and then he thrusts harder, deeper. “That’s my girl.”
The pleasure builds slowly, climbing in waves. His hand snakes between us, thumb circling my clit. I cry out, clenching around him.
“Not yet,” he growls, slowing his thrusts. “Hold it. I want you to come apart with me.”
“I—I don’t know if I can.”
“Yes, you can.” He kisses me, tongue sweeping in to swallow my moans. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Just hold on a little longer.”
He thrusts harder, hitting that perfect spot again, and I feel it—right there, on the edge. His dog tags swing between us, clinking softly. His breath is hot against my cheek.
“Are you going to come on my cock?” he pants. “Going to let me feel you squeeze me while I fill this condom so hard I forget my name?”
I shudder, legs wrapping tighter around him. “Yes. Trey, please—”
“Then take it,” he growls. “Come for me, Vivi.”
It crashes through me like wildfire. My body arches, and I cry out his name as I clench hard around him, my orgasm tearing through every nerve ending.
“Fuck,” he grits. “Vivi—shit—I’m—”
He slams into me once more and then his thrust holds a rhythm, coming hard with a deep, guttural groan against my shoulder that vibrates through his chest. His arms lock around me, holding me tight as his tip pulses inside the condom, hips twitching with every aftershock.
We stay like that, tangled and breathless, until the world slowly rights itself.
He kisses my cheek, my jaw, my collarbone. His movements slow as worship and praise.
“Jesus,” he murmurs. “I’ve never come that hard …”
I brush his hair back from his face. “Yeah. Me either.”
He finally pulls out and disappears down the hallway. I hear the bathroom faucet run. He returns with a warm towel and wipes between my legs gently, then discards the condom before grabbing a throw blanket off the armchair and pulling me into his lap on the couch.
We sit in silence, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare back.
“I missed you,” he says finally.
I blink. “After only three days?” But the truth is, I missed him too, which is why I stole his ice cream.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Still missed you.”
I nestle closer, tucking my head under his chin. “You said you were prepared since I started … You must have thought this would happen?”
“I know what I wanted to happen, but things with us aren't exactly straightforward, and the conversation we had about Adeline on your first day,” he says, tucking his free hand behind his head. “I knew this would complicate things. I certainly didn't come home tonight thinking this would happen.”
I bite down on my lips, nervous now, my fingers finding a tattoo on his pec to swirl around to keep my attention off his eyes before I ask, “Do you regret it?”
“No, of course not. Why would I regret having the best sex of my life with you?”
"I don't know. Because you just said that sex makes everything between us more complicated."
I can feel his eyes on me. I glance up to find concern in his eyes. "Do you mean because what I said about Adeline and how I don't want her to see us together and get attached?"
"Oh my God, Adeline," I say, pulling the blanket up higher as I attempt to peek over the couch down the hall.
He laughs, kissing my temple. “Relax. She has a fan on all night and sleeps harder than the undead. She didn't hear anything. I wake before the sun which will give us more than enough time to sneak you upstairs before she’s up.”
“I don’t want to traumatize your niece. Maybe I should just go home to be safe.”
"She won't ever know this happened, and I don't want you to go home. I want to wake up and make breakfast with you. Please don't leave. I'm not ready to let you go yet."
I smile at the words, heart aching in the best way. "I'm not ready to go either."
I feel his hand stroke up my spine as my eyes start to drift shut.
“And just so we're clear, there is nothing about these moments with you that I'll ever regret," he says and then kisses my forehead. "Now get some sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believe him.