Chapter 21
The explosion of an RPG not twenty feet from Clayton shook the ground near his feet. Debris rained down upon him, clunking loudly against his helmet.
A glance to his right showed Conaway kneeling over Cook while Ramirez and Sanders covered him while he attempted to staunch the flow of blood on Cook’s side.
Clayton quickly moved to help them, and along with Price, they formed a circle around Conaway and Cook. In between firing, Clayton looked down at Cook, who began to cough up blood. He clutched at Conaway’s arm, his eyes wide.
Sanders was struck in the leg by a bullet. He let out a string of curses and dropped down to his stomach and kept firing.
“They’re surrounding us!” Ramirez shouted over the gunfire.
This wasn’t the first time Clayton had been overrun by the enemy, and he doubted it’d be the last.
His left shoulder jerked when a bullet tore through it. “Fuck!” he bellowed.
Not because of the pain, but because one of the assholes had gotten a shot off.
Clayton changed out the magazine in his rifle and sprayed bullets in the direction where the shooter was. He saw a man fly backward after being hit.
Behind him, Conaway was calling to command that they had a man down in critical condition. Air support was thirty minutes out. Clayton knew Cook wouldn’t last that long. Conaway was administering medical, but Cook needed a doctor if he were going to live.
They had lost so many members of their team in the last year, and Clayton was tired of seeing his friends die while the terrorist numbers continued to grow. It felt like a never-ending battle.
The spray of bullets was interrupted by a grenade that landed five feet from him. The bang deafened him and threw him violently into the air.
Clayton’s eyes snapped open as he clutched the sheets. It took a minute before he realized he was safe in his bed at home and not in the middle of battle.
He untangled his legs from the sheets and swung them over the side of the bed before he sat up, covered in sweat. If he didn’t see the men he killed in his nightmares, he relived battles.
Every. Fucking. Night.
He rubbed his left shoulder, feeling the pain of the bullet ripping through his muscle and into bone as if it had just happened instead of two years ago.
After squeezing his eyes closed, Clayton looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. Three hours of rest. That’s all he’d get this night. He knew better than to try to sleep again. He’d just lay awake, tossing and turning as images of the nightmare replayed in his mind.
He pushed off the bed and stood before making his way into the en suite bathroom and turned on the shower to cold. Clayton stood beneath the icy water until his body finally began to cool down. Only then did he wash the sweat from himself and get out.
After toweling off, he yanked on a pair of jeans but left them unbuttoned. Then he walked from his room. He couldn’t stay in there. A stroll through the house, checking doors and windows was his only option.
But he got no farther than Abby’s room. He stood outside her door, staring at the knob. It had been hell to sit across from her at dinner and not reach for her hand.
Worse was when they sat outside with his parents drinking coffee around the fire pit as a new cold front moved in. He’d been beside her, all too aware of her scent, her smile, her laughter.
He’d wanted to pull her onto his lap and nuzzle her neck. To yank her up against him and kiss her with all the raging desire within him.
Instead, he somehow managed to keep his hands to himself—even when she had walked sleepily up the stairs after saying goodnight. Not giving in to the rampant yearning for Abby that consumed him had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Now that he stood outside her room, he was engaged in that same struggle. And losing.
Epically.
What kind of creep would he be to walk into her room and watch her sleep?
He closed his eyes and saw the battle in his nightmare, felt the heat and sweat of that horrible place—smelled the blood, death, and gunpowder. Clayton put his palm on the door. He needed something, anything to pull his mind from the nightmare.
With his forehead against the door, he tried to talk himself into turning away. Instead, his hand found the doorknob and silently turned.
Unable to help himself, Clayton opened his eyes as the door soundlessly cracked open. The first thing he noticed was that the curtains had been pushed wide open, and the pale blue light of the moon flooded the room.
His gaze went to the bed—only to find it empty.
In the next heartbeat, he found Abby standing against the wall, staring somberly out the window. She wore a short, black satin robe that hung open, and beneath it was a bright pink nightshirt that brushed the tops of her thighs and read, Single All The Way.
One leg was bent, her foot braced against the wall with her arms hanging by her sides. He wanted to know what she was thinking and even what she saw when she looked out the window.
Was she reflecting on their day together? How they’d made love under the sun, their bodies finding passion and pleasure? Because, suddenly, that was the only thing that was on his mind.
And the longing to claim her again.
He opened the door wider and stepped into the room. Her head turned to him, their eyes meeting. She held out her hand to him. It was all the invitation Clayton needed.
Closing the door softly behind him, he walked to her, taking her hand. He stood before her, basking in her beauty. He ached to have her in his arms and feel the comfort and calm that she gave him.
She put her hand against his cheek. With that one action, she told him that she saw his pain and was there for him. He was so used to hiding his grief and agony that it was second nature. But not around Abby.
She’d obliterated those walls without even knowing it. Hell, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. Now, he ached for her.
He wished he had the words to describe how lovely she looked with the moon tinting her skin blue. If only he had a poet’s tongue to let her know how her soul called to his—and that he willingly answered.
But if he didn’t have the words, he could show her.
He moved closer until their bodies were nearly touching while his cock began to harden. With a palm on the wall near her head, he used his other hand to trail his fingers over her cheek and down her neck.
The pulse at the base of her throat beat wildly as her lips parted. Without a doubt, he knew she felt the same untamed need that consumed him, that same primal craving that only someone who matched you in every way could feel.
He continued moving his finger to her shoulder and the edge of her robe. He followed that edge over her breast, right across her nipple. She let out a long breath, her eyes briefly closing.
His fingertip continued downward, over her stomach and her hip to her thigh. When he reached the hem of the robe, he focused on her gown. Sliding his hand beneath the nightshirt, he skimmed his palm up her thigh to her hip.
Her chest was heaving now, desire burning in her eyes. Then he cupped her sex. The moment he found her without panties and wet, his rod grew so hard that it was painful.
While he pushed two fingers inside her, she spread her hands on his chest and moaned. He couldn’t stop his hips from rocking as his fingers thrummed her.
Then she unzipped his jeans, dipping her hands into his jeans and wrapped her fingers around him. He hissed in a breath, the contact sublime when she began to slide her hand up and down his length.
He leaned forward to brush his lips against hers before claiming her mouth as they each fondled the other. It was sexy as hell.
But it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside her, to have their bodies connected. He shoved down his jeans before he lifted her, holding her over his cock.
With her hands in his hair and her legs around his waist, their gazes locked and held as he lowered her. Her eyes bulged when the head of his arousal found her entrance and pushed inside her.
“Clayton,” she murmured when he thrust once, pushing deep inside her.
He wound his hand in the long length of her hair and brought her head to him for another kiss that was frantic with need as desire burned like an inferno within him.
She shimmied out of her robe. He kicked off his jeans. Then he turned and made his way to the bed. The only movement of his cock within her was when he walked.
The soft cry she gave as she tore her lips from his made his already heated blood burn. She quickly yanked off the nightshirt, baring her gorgeous body to him.
He bent his head and licked a turgid nipple. She rocked her hips as her body tightened around him.
Clayton hissed in a breath because that movement had nearly sent him over the edge. This brave, beautiful woman had somehow stolen his heart while breaking the chains of the past that had held him.
He turned and sat on the bed. She leaned over him until he had no choice but to fall back. He gazed up at her as her mane of dark hair flowed to either side of his face.
With her hands braced on his chest, she began to rotate her hips slowly, moving faster and faster. Even as his body grew taut with the orgasm that begged to be released, he watched as her eyes fell shut.
She sat up straight and let her head fall back. The ends of her hair tickled his balls, and her breasts swayed with her movements. Her hips rocked back and forth as her cries filled the room.
He gripped her hips, urging her faster. Her nails dug into his chest right before her body stiffened. Clayton dug his fingers into her hips as he fought not to come while her body pulsed around his cock.
When it became too much, he pulled out of her and shifted them so she was on her hands and knees before him. He plunged into her again, grinding deep.
Each time he saw her climax, it satisfied something deeply male within him. A part of him that no one had ever touched before—or ever would again.
She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, her eyes darkened with desire.
This amazing woman was meant to be his. He knew it with a certainty he couldn’t shake. He didn’t know how, but he had to make her his, to ensure their hearts and souls were bound forever.
No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do, he would win her.
Clayton withdrew until only the head of him remained. Then he plunged deep. She moaned loudly as he began thrusting. She moved back against him, meeting each of his movements and taking him deeper—all the while clamping down on his cock.
Each time he drove into her, she wore away his control until he could no longer hold back his orgasm. That’s when he realized he wasn’t wearing a condom. They’d both been so wrapped up in desire that it had never occurred to either of them.
Clayton pulled out of her and came on her back. Afterward, he stared down at the evidence of their lovemaking and couldn’t believe how close they’d come to making a mistake.
Without a word, he rose and walked to the connected bathroom to wet a towel before he returned and cleaned her.
When he turned to put the towel away, she grabbed his hand. He met her gaze as she pulled him toward her and lifted the covers with her other hand. The towel dropped from his fingers as he crawled in beside her.
With their bodies sated, and her snuggled against him, Clayton found his eyes growing heavy.