9. Angus
Chapter 9
Angus
Luna holds out her hand, and I don’t even remember deciding to move. One second, I’m standing in the doorway like an idiot who doesn’t know what to do with everything he’s feeling, and the next, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed with her fingers curled in mine like she’s been waiting for me to stop hesitating.
Like she wants this. Wants me.
That should be reassuring. But all I can think about is not fucking this up.
Her skin is warm, her palm soft. I run my thumb over it in slow circles, letting the weight of the day settle. The jokes, the damn goat stickers, the way she smiled at me when my family decided a discussion about farts was appropriate at the dinner table.
This woman—this brave, steady, ridiculously strong woman—is now my wife.
And she’s sitting beside me, eyes wide and full of something I’m scared to name.
Then she kisses me.
Soft at first. Sweet. But there’s heat underneath—slow and building, curling between us like smoke. When her fingers slide into my hair and she tugs, I groan. And everything I’ve been holding back comes loose.
I kiss her deeper, hungrier, tasting the pie on her tongue, the fear, the fire.
And then I can’t stop.
I press her gently onto the bed. Her eyes find mine as I brace myself over her, her fingers already at the buttons of my shirt. She undresses me like she means it. Like she’s memorizing what’s hers now.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, fingertips brushing the puckered scar beneath my collarbone.
It guts me.
Not because of the words.
But because I believe her.
And that’s dangerous.
She pauses there, fingers lingering over the old wound. I can see the question forming behind her eyes— how did you get this? How many more are there? Does it still hurt?
But she doesn’t ask. She lets her hand settle over it, gentle and deliberate, accepting every broken piece without needing the story behind it.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
She cups my face, looking at me like I’m worth touching. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
I kiss her again before I lose my damn mind. Then I slide my hands under her shirt and pull it off over her head—careful, but not slow. She’s too beautiful for slow.
Her breath hitches as I strip away the rest—her jeans, her panties, everything. Until she’s lying bare beneath me, flushed and trembling in the muted lamplight.
And fuck , she’s perfect. Large breasts, soft stomach, wide hips, long legs. Neat blonde curls shielding her sex. A woman a man could lose himself in and never want to be found. A man like me.
But it’s not simply her body. It’s how she looks at me with those brown eyes, like she trusts me not to let her fall.
“I don’t know how to do this gently,” I murmur, kissing her collarbone, her throat, the swell of her breast.
“Then don’t.”
I lose my mind.
I worship my way down her body—reverent, hungry. My mouth claims her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples until her back arches and her hands twist in the sheets. When I slide my fingers between her thighs and find her already soaked, I groan like I’m the one unraveling.
Sliding lower, I settle between her thighs, hooking them over my shoulders. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, then another, closer to where she’s glistening for me.
“You’re already so wet for me,” I murmur, circling her clit with the pad of my thumb. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”
She gasps and rocks against my hand.
“Jesus, darlin’… you’re gonna ruin me.”
“Please, Angus…”
That please ? It finishes me.
And I dive in.
I lick a slow, deliberate stripe through her folds, and her hips buck off the bed. I groan into her, one arm looping under her thigh to hold her still while I keep going. I suck her clit into my mouth, gentle at first, then firmer, flicking it with my tongue until her moans become high and breathless.
She tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I could have. Sweet, slick heat that coats my tongue and makes me feel like a man starved.
“Angus,” she gasps, one hand in my hair, the other gripping the sheets.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I mutter between strokes, my voice a low growl against her skin. “Fall apart for me.”
She writhes, thighs trembling against my ears as I slip a finger inside her—slow, careful, letting her stretch around the intrusion.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re so tight. So goddamn perfect.”
Another finger joins the first, curling inside her as I keep working her clit with my mouth. Her hips lift into me like she can’t get close enough. Her cries get louder, desperate, broken.
“Angus—I’m—oh God?—”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Let go for me, Luna.”
She shatters.
Her body tenses, then shakes, her cries caught in her throat as her orgasm rolls through her in waves. I hold her through every tremble, every twitch of her thighs, licking her gently through the aftershocks until she pushes at my shoulders, too sensitive.
I kiss the inside of her knee before climbing back up her body.
She’s flushed, wrecked, beautiful.
I stand to strip the rest of my clothes off, fast and clumsy, then crawl back over her, chest to chest, skin to skin.
“I can’t wait any longer,” I rasp, gripping my cock and lining up at her entrance.
But when I start to push in, I feel it. Too tight. Too still.
“Luna…” My voice breaks. “Jesus. Are you?—”
Her eyes find mine, wide but steady. “It’s okay.”
I freeze. “Darlin’… are you a virgin?”
She nods once.
And everything inside me goes still.
The air leaves my lungs. I hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t even considered it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I trust you,” she whispers. Her voice is soft, but her smile is steady. “And I didn’t want you to stop.”
I drop my forehead to hers, bracing my weight on my arms, holding myself in check with everything I’ve got. “I should’ve gone slower. I should’ve?—”
“You’re here,” she says. “And I want this. With you . My husband.”
Hearing her call me husband has a lump forming in my throat.
I kiss her again—slow and deep and full of things I’m too scared to say.
I pull out slowly and ease inside her again, inch by aching inch. Every muscle in my body locks as her walls flutter tight around me, her breath catching with every heartbeat.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “You feel like heaven. Tight, hot… perfect.”
Her hands grip my shoulders, nails biting into my skin. “It… burns a little.”
“I’ll stop?—”
“No.” Her voice is rough. Sure. “Don’t you dare.”
That makes me smile, even through the strain of holding back. “Bossy already, huh?”
She kisses me, mouth opening to mine as her hips rock slightly. Her body begins to soften, adjust, accept me.
I move again. Slowly at first—so fucking slowly—until her gasps turn into moans. Until her nails drag down my back instead of digging in. Until she’s matching my rhythm and her hips rise to meet mine, pulling me deeper every time.
She wraps her legs around my waist and tilts her pelvis enough that I find the right spot—the one that makes her eyes roll back and her breath catch on my name.
I thrust again. And again.
“More, Angus. I need more.”
“I don’t… wanna hurt you,” I say through my teeth.
“You said you couldn’t be gentle. But you were,” she huffs, clenching around me. “And now I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”
I growl, low and rough, the sound ripping straight from my chest. “I’ll give you all of me, sweetheart. Every last fucking inch.”
I grip her hips and drive into her harder, deeper, and the cry that rips from her throat undoes me. Her body takes me, welcomes me, surrounds me in heat and slick, pulsing need. She trembles beneath, meeting every thrust like she can’t get enough.
The slap of flesh against flesh, her breathy moans, the way she clings to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth—it’s too much.
She gasps. “I—I think I’m—Angus?—”
“I’ve got you,” I rasp. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
Her body locks beneath mine and she shudders, breaking apart with a cry muffled against my shoulder. Her walls grip me like a fist, and I’m done for.
I thrust one last time and spill deep inside her, groaning her name like a prayer.
Afterward, I don’t move. I can’t. My arms shake as I lower myself beside her and gather her against me.
Her breath is still uneven. Her cheeks are damp. And her fingers curl into my chest like she’s afraid I might vanish if she lets go.
We lie there for a minute in the dim light, tangled in heat and sweat.
Once I’ve caught my breath, I gently disentangle myself from her soft body and pad to the bathroom before she can say anything.
Quickly cleaning myself up, I grab a clean washcloth. I soak it in warm water and wring it out with shaking hands, still recovering from what we just shared.
When I return to the bedroom, she’s still curled on her side, eyes half-lidded, watching me like she’s not sure if I’ll bolt or kiss her again.
“I’m fine,” she says, voice soft and raspy. “You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, I do.”
I settle beside her again and gently nudge her thighs apart. She blushes and tries to close them, but I shake my head.
“Don’t hide from me now, Luna,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”
She nods, biting her lip, and relaxes.
I clean her slowly, carefully, the way you handle something precious. She hisses once when the cloth brushes her tender skin, and I murmur a low apology, pressing a kiss to her knee as I finish.
She reaches for me, pulling me back under the covers with her. I don’t resist.
Her head finds my chest, hand curled above my heart. She’s quiet for a while, fingers tracing idle circles over my skin. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. Curious. Careful.
“Have you… been with a lot of women?”
I go still. Not because I’m offended, but because I wasn’t expecting it. She doesn’t sound jealous. Just… uncertain. Like maybe she thinks she’s not enough.
And fuck that.
I shift beneath her, brushing her hair back from her face so she has to look at me. “No. Not for years.”
Her brows lift. “Years?”
I nod. “Not since I got back from Afghanistan.”
Her breath hitches. “Oh.”
She doesn’t ask what happened there. Not yet. Maybe because she already knows enough to fill in the blanks or because she understands what it would cost to say the words out loud.
“I… didn’t want to be touched,” I admit.
Her eyes soften. “Thank you. For trusting me with that.”
I swallow hard, nod once, then run my knuckles gently along her jaw. “Can I ask you something now?”
She blinks up at me, wary but open. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Why’d you wait?” I ask, voice low. “Why me?”
She moves slightly, fingers tracing an absent pattern over my chest. “I don’t know. I guess I never trusted anyone before. And I was waiting for something that felt like more.”
I stare at her, breath caught somewhere between guilt and awe.
“And I didn’t know it until it was already happening,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “Until you kissed me like I was something worth wanting.”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to hold it together. Because that’s the kind of thing that breaks a man open—softly. Quietly. Forever.
“Luna,” I whisper, pulling her in tighter.
She presses a kiss to my chest, right over the place that hurts most. “Well, too late now. You’ve got it anyway.”
But as I tuck the blanket around us like it’ll keep everything from slipping away, her body soft and warm against mine, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s giving more than I know what to do with.
Luna falls asleep, fitting against me so perfectly, her body made to soften all my sharp edges.
I tell myself to rest. To stay here in this moment. But something restless stirs in my chest.
I stare at the dark ceiling while her breath ghosts over my skin. The air in the room feels too still, too quiet. And all I can think is: What if I can’t be what she needs?
She deserves someone who isn’t haunted. Not a man stitched together with scar tissue and duct tape. Not someone who wakes up half the time expecting sand in his teeth and blood on his hands.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under.
And then I’m back there.
Kandahar.
It was dry and hot and blinding, the kind of heat that crawled into your lungs and stayed there. We were laughing—Beckett, Delano, Cord, Cooper, Marlowe, and me—moving fast, sharp, and smooth. Until the blast came.
No warning. Just heat. Sound.
Everything flipped. Screams. Sand. Blood.
I was trapped . Legs crushed under twisted steel, lungs burning from dust and smoke. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fucking move? —
I bolt upright in bed, heart jackhammering, chest slick with sweat. My throat is raw. I don’t know if I screamed out loud or inside my head, but Luna stirs beside me.
“Angus?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
I can’t look at her.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and scrub both hands down my face. My body shakes, and my muscles are locked like they still expect a fight.
She sits up behind me, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. “Was it a nightmare?”
I nod. Barely.
She places her hand on my back, her touch light and tentative. “Come back to bed,” she murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I lie. My voice sounds like gravel. “Go back to sleep.”
“Angus—”
“I said I’m fine.” Sharper this time. Too sharp.
She flinches. I hate myself for it.
I stand and pull on my jeans, needing space, needing air, needing out . I don’t even bother with a shirt, heading downstairs and stepping outside, barefoot and bare-chested, into the cold night.
The porch boards creak under my feet. The stars are sharp above me, too clear, too endless. The air bites my skin. It should ground me. It doesn’t.
I grip the railing and stare at the fields, breathing like I’m still under rubble.
Beckett pulled me out.
I lived.
And sometimes I don’t know why.
The wind whistles low through the pasture fence. Somewhere in the barn, a horse shuffles and snorts. Inside the house, it’s quiet again. Too quiet.
You can’t protect her from this.
The thought cuts clean. True and cruel.
She deserves better than nightmares and silence. Better than a man who wakes up in a panic and pushes her away instead of letting her in.
I brace my arms on the railing and lower my head.
I married her to give her something stable.
But I never expected her to become the thing I need.
The thought that I might have endangered her by bringing her here—that I might fail to protect her—scares the hell out of me.
Because I’m in love with my wife.