Chapter 5
Ace
Reina stands in front of me wrapped in my towel, damp hair curling over her shoulders, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen from my kiss.
Untouched.
The word sits in my chest like a blade.
I should hand her my shirt, point her toward the bed, and sit my ass by the fire until my blood remembers how to behave.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
Her fingers clutch the towel at her chest, but her eyes stay on mine. Rattled, yes. Shaken, absolutely. But there’s want there too, soft and nervous and so damn honest it makes my shoulder burn meaner.
She wants me.
She doesn’t know what to do with that yet.
That’s the only thing keeping me civilized.
My hands stay at my sides.
They have to.
I’ve used these hands for violence most of my life. Fists. Knives. Triggers. Doors kicked open in places where men screamed and begged and bled. I know how to take a room apart. I know how to get someone out when everyone else thinks it’s too late.
That’s why they called me Ace.
Last card.
Last chance.
Ace in the hole.
My team started it after an extraction that went bad in every way except the one that mattered. We got the target out. Lost two good men doing it. I carried one of them until my legs quit, then woke up with his blood dried into my gear and his voice stuck in my head.
The name stayed.
So did everything else.
Now Reina is in my cabin, untouched and looking at me with all that soft, uncertain want in her eyes, and the old ghosts go quiet for the first time in years.
Dangerous.
Beautiful.
Mine, some ruined part of me thinks.
I shut that down hard.
She isn’t mine to take.
She’s mine to protect.
“Need you to understand something,” I say.
Her fingers tighten on the towel. “Okay.”
“You say stop, I stop. You say wait, I wait. You change your mind, I back off and nothing changes. You’re still safe here. Still under my protection.”
Her throat moves.
“Yes,” she says. “I understand.”
“Good girl.”
The words leave rough.
Her whole body reacts.
A tremble. A breath. A soft little widening of her eyes.
I feel it everywhere.
So does she.
Her cheeks go pinker, and I have to bite back a groan because she has no idea how much of herself she gives away. Every want. Every nerve. Every innocent little spark of need.
I bend and kiss her.
Slow.
I have to make it slow.
Her mouth opens under mine, sweet and unsure, and then less unsure when my hand slides to the side of her neck. She leans into me, careful of my bandaged shoulder, her fingers touching my stomach like she’s asking permission from my skin.
I give it to her by not moving away.
Her palm drifts over a scar low on my ribs.
She pauses.
I feel the question before she asks it.
“Old Navy scar,” I murmur against her mouth.
Her eyes lift to mine. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
Her fingers stay there, soft over old damage. “You have a lot of them.”
“Yeah.”
“Do they all have stories?”
“Most.”
“Bad ones?”
I look at her face. Damp lashes. Freckles. Mouth still parted from my kiss.
“Most,” I say again.
She doesn’t push.
That might be worse.
She just touches the scar once, gently, like there’s still something there worth being careful with.
My chest tightens.
“I’m no one’s soft place, Reina.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Her eyes search mine. “Maybe you don’t get to decide that for everyone.”
I stare at her.
Soft little nurse.
Steel where it counts.
“Careful,” I warn.
“With what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
Like you see something under the wreckage.
Like you might reach for it.
Like I might let you.
I kiss her instead of answering.
This time, the kiss has more heat. More need. Her soft sound slips into my mouth, and I take it because she gives it. Only because she gives it.
I walk her back one slow step.
Then another.
The backs of her legs touch the bed, and she stiffens.
I stop instantly.
Her eyes fly open.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.” Her voice shakes. “I just remembered I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Good.”
She blinks. “Good?”
“Means you’ll tell me the truth.”
Her breath catches.
I touch the towel at her hip, over the fabric, nothing more. “Sit down, sweetheart.”
She sits on the edge of the bed, clutching the towel to her chest. I lower myself in front of her, one knee on the floor, then the other.
Her eyes widen. “Ace.”
“I told you.” My hands settle on her knees, light over the towel. “Taking care of you first.”
She swallows hard.
I slide my palms up a few inches, then stop. “Still want my hands on you?”
“Yes.”
“Still want my mouth?”
Her breath stutters.
I wait.
Her answer matters more than my hunger.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I press my mouth to one knee, then the other.
Her fingers twist in the towel, and her breath catches like even this is more than she expected.
That hits me hard.
The innocence. The trust. The way she lets me close even though every inch of her is trembling.
It makes the hunger in me go quiet around the edges.
Makes room for something worse.
Something softer.
I kiss higher, over the towel first, letting her get used to the weight of my hands, the heat of my mouth, the fact that nothing happens unless she lets it.
“I don’t want wanting this to feel wrong,” she says.
That one nearly takes me apart.
“Then look at me.”
She does.
“I’ll keep you with me the whole time.”
Her lips part.
I grip the edge of the towel. “Can I?”
A beat.
Then her fingers loosen.
“Yes.”
I unwrap her slowly.
Every inch of her makes my control bleed.
Soft hips. Full breasts. Round belly. Thick thighs pressed together like she thinks she can hide herself from me. Like I’m not already gone.
Her gaze drops.
I catch her chin gently. “Don’t.”
“I’m not...” She swallows. “I’m not small.”
“No.”
Her face tightens.
I lean closer. “You’re soft. Warm. Curvy as hell. And if you think I’m sitting here fighting for my life because I want less of you, you’re wrong.”
Her eyes shine.
“I mean it,” I say. “Every inch, Reina.”
A shaky breath leaves her.
I kiss the inside of her thigh.
Her head tips back.
There.
I keep my hands steady, my mouth patient, moving higher and letting her feel me get closer. Her breathing turns shallow. Her body goes tense under my hands, waiting, wanting, unsure what to do with either.
“Still with me?” I ask against her skin.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I press my mouth to her pussy.
She jerks, a broken sound slipping out of her, and I hold her hips without pinning her down.
“Easy,” I murmur. “You’re safe.”
Her thighs tremble around my shoulders.
I go slow at first. A kiss. A lick. A careful stroke of my tongue that makes her fingers twist in the blanket and her breath catch hard enough to hurt me. She tastes sweet and warm, and the control I’m holding on to starts to fray at the edges.
This is for her.
Only her.
I learn her one reaction at a time. The little gasp when my tongue finds her clit. The way her hips lift when I circle it again. The soft, shocked moan she tries to swallow when I give her more pressure.
“That’s it,” I tell her. “Let me hear you.”
“Ace.”
My name comes out ruined.
Fuck, that sound.
Her hand lands in my hair, then freezes.
I groan against her. “Leave it.”
Her fingers curl, tentative at first, then tighter when I don’t pull away.
Good girl, I think, but I keep it behind my teeth.
I slide one hand up her thigh and hold her open for my mouth. She shakes harder, but she doesn’t pull away. She gives me more of herself with every broken breath, and I take only what she offers.
Slow enough that she can stop me.
Deep enough that she forgets why she would want to.
Her hips start moving before she seems to realize it, small helpless rocks against my tongue. I follow her rhythm, giving her more pressure, more heat, more of what makes her shake.
“Don’t hold back,” I tell her. “Not with me.”
“I can’t,” she gasps.
“You can.”
“I feel... Ace, I feel...”
“I know.” I lace my fingers with hers and hold on. “Let it happen.”
Her body tightens.
Her thighs press against my shoulders. Her hand locks in my hair. She makes a soft desperate sound, and I keep my mouth on her, steady and sure, taking her right to the edge.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Come for me.”
She breaks.
Her whole body goes tight, then shudders hard as pleasure takes her.
I hold her through it, mouth gentle now, hand locked with hers, body shaking from the effort it takes not to climb up that bed and bury myself in all that soft heat.
Not like this.
This is hers.
When her breathing slows, I press one last kiss to her thigh and lift my head.
She looks wrecked.
Flushed.
Dazed.
Beautiful enough to hurt.
“Ace?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
Her gaze drops over me, and her face goes pink. “What about you?”
My body answers before my mouth can.
I stand because distance is the only honorable thing I’ve got left.
“Tonight is about you.”
“But I want...” She stops, embarrassed.
“I know.” My voice comes out rough. “I want too. Bad enough to be stupid with it.”
Her eyes lift. “I want you inside me.”
Everything in me locks.
“Reina.”
“I mean it.” Her hands twist in the blanket, but she keeps her eyes on mine. “I want you to be my first.”
Fuck.
First.
Mine.
The word hits deep enough to leave a mark.
I go back to the bed slow, because if I move fast, I’ll take instead of treasure, and she deserves better than every rough thing clawing inside me.
She watches me like she is nervous and certain at the same time.
“Then you tell me the truth the whole way through,” I say. “Good, bad, too much. I want all of it.”
She nods. “I will.”
I kiss her.
Deep. Slow. Mine in every way I have no right to think yet.
Her nerves loosen under my mouth. Her hands come to my skin, and the second she touches me, something possessive tears through my chest.
No one else gets this.
No one else gets her like this.
I move over her, keeping my bad shoulder clear, and slide my hand between her thighs. She is wet from my mouth, sensitive enough to jerk when I touch her.
“Easy,” I murmur. “Need you ready for me.”
“I am.”
“More ready.” I kiss her jaw. “I’m not hurting what’s mine.”
Her breath breaks.
I work her open with my fingers, patient even when my control starts bleeding out. One first, then two when her body lets me. She clings to me, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy, hips lifting like she can’t help herself.
“That’s it,” I rasp. “Let me take care of you.”
“Ace.”
My name sounds like surrender.
When she’s soft around my fingers, I pull away and strip off what’s left of my clothes. Her gaze drops, and her eyes widen.
“You’re so big,” she whispers.
A rough breath leaves me. “We go slow.”
I settle between her thighs and kiss her until she melts again.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes find mine.
“Tell me.”
“I want you.”
I guide myself to her and press in slow.
Just enough.
She tightens around me, breath catching, nails digging into my side.
I stop.
“Too much?”
She shakes her head. “Slow.”
“Slow,” I promise.
I give her that.
Inch by inch. Kiss by kiss. Every time her body grips too tight, I stop and wait her out, my forehead against hers, my control hanging by a thread.
When I finally sink deep, she makes a soft, broken sound that almost ends me.
“You okay?”
She nods, eyes wet and beautiful. “Full.”
My jaw locks.
“Yeah, sweetheart. That’s me.” My mouth brushes hers. “Only me.”
Her breath catches.
I move once.
Barely.
Her body pulls at mine like she was made to ruin me. Her breath catches again, but this time there is pleasure under it. I feel the difference. Her hips tilt, shy and sweet, asking for more before her mouth can.
So I give her more.
Slow strokes. Deep ones. My thumb finding her clit because I want her lost in pleasure before she remembers any pain.
Her body tightens around mine.
“Ace,” she gasps.
“I’ve got you.” I kiss her hard, dirty and tender at once. “You’re mine right now, Reina. Mine to hold. Mine to make feel good.”
Her eyes go hazy.
“I feel it again.”
“Good.” I keep my mouth against hers. “Come for me.”
She breaks first, trembling under me, her mouth open on my name. I hold still as long as I can, feeling every pulse of her around me, every soft little claim her body makes on mine.
Then she whispers, “Ace,” again.
That’s all it takes.
I come buried deep, her name torn out of me, my whole body shaking like she’s the thing that finally takes me down.
For a long moment, there is only breath.
Then I ease away carefully, watching her face.
“Sore?”
“A little,” she whispers. “But okay.”
I get a warm cloth and clean her gently, then pull the blanket over her. She looks wrecked and soft in my bed, eyes heavy, cheeks pink.
Mine.
I don’t say it.
I feel it everywhere.
“No regrets?” I ask.
“No.” Her hand finds mine. “You?”
I bring her fingers to my mouth.
“Regret you? Never.”
Her eyes drift closed.
I stay beside her until sleep takes her.
For once, the ghosts stay quiet.