I grab her wrists and lift her off me, throwing her onto the bed beside me. Before she can move, I roll over and grab her hips, pulling her up and turning her onto her stomach until she’s on all fours.
Flipping up her mini-skirt, I groan at the sight of her wet pussy as it’s bared to me. I run my fingers over her smooth ass, smiling a little as I see goose bumps appear on the skin. But I don’t want to waste any more time. Gripping her hips, I line up my cock and sink into her with one long thrust. She understands now. She knows what I need. Grunting her approval, she pushes back against me, flipping her hair so it streams down her back in long curls. I take advantage of that, moving one hand into her hair to grip it tightly, forcing her head back until she gasps in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Moving my hand beneath her to find her clit, I roll it around between my thumb and index finger. She cries out and clamps down on me, I can feel her slick heat pulsing around me, and it doesn’t take me long before I’m forced to pull out as I come in long, thick streams across her ass.
I flop down next to her on the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm as my breathing slowly returns to normal. I become aware of the beautiful woman next to me, and I’m filled with regret. After everything she’s been through, I used her. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I apologize? Do I act like it never happened? What’s the protocol for a one-night stand? I grab a box of tissues from the side table and take my time cleaning up the mess I left behind on her perfect ass, not quite ready to stop touching her. I drop the tissues on the table and turn back to her. She rolls over in bed to face me and I look at her, expecting to see regret in her eyes. Instead, I see understanding. This woman, this . . . angel, has come to me in my greatest time of need. I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat, too overcome with emotion to speak.
She doesn’t say anything but leans over to kiss my cheek. I turn my head at the last second, capturing her lips with my own. This kiss is different, though; it’s softer, gentler. I nibble lightly on her bottom lip and feel her smile. Her hand travels down my chest to the waistband of my jeans but instead of pulling them off like I expect, her hand disappears beneath my shirt. I tense, not ready for her to see that vulnerable side of me. I’m too scarred; she’s going to take one look at my body and run. I grab her hand and pull it out of my shirt, but she’s felt them. The scars. I can see the horror on her face. She’s going to leave. I brace myself for the rejection I know is coming.
But it doesn’t.
I flinch as she pushes my shirt up, exposing my scars to her gaze. The light from the lamp casts our shadows on the wall, and I choose to look at that rather than the horror on her face. She’s silent. Too silent. What the hell is she thinking? I risk a glance, and my heart almost stops beating from what I see.
Tears. She’s fucking crying. For me.
“I’m sorry,” she cries, wiping away her tears. I want to fucking laugh. She’s crying for me, and apologizing for doing it.
“Don’t.” I smile, leaning up and capturing her hand in my own. I press my lips against it, tasting the slightly salty tang of her tears on her fingers. “Why are you crying?”
“Look at what they did to you,” she whispers through her tears. “Keets told me you were captured, but he never told me this.”
Keets told her? I should be angry, but I guess a part of me is glad she knew. It would explain why she didn’t run the second she saw the scars.
“Will you tell me?” she asks, but I shake my head. I can’t do it. She’s opened a part of my heart tonight that I thought would lie dormant forever. But this, this past that I come from, this weight that I carry . . . it’s mine. I can’t burden her with it. She understands. I don’t even have to say anything. I swallow past another lump in my throat as she kisses the long, jagged scar on my ribs. I have a tattoo there, covering the worst of it. I’m covered in tattoos, actually, most of them on my chest and arms. All designed to hide the imperfect body that lies beneath them. But she makes it bearable. Her kiss is soft, fleeting. Not enough, though. Never enough.
This time, when she tries to take my shirt off, I let her. This time, we make love, it’s gentle, slower. I want to show her the same kindness she’s shown me. She takes me to heights far beyond my fear and insecurities.
This time, I make love to her as Ethan, the man . . . not Stone, the injured soldier.
Ican’t believe I slept with him last night! And without protection! Am I crazy? What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I don’t sleep with random men just for the hell of it.
But Stone isn’t some random man, and last night definitely wasn’t just for the hell of it.
He’d been quiet this morning when he dropped me at the bar. Did he regret his actions last night, or was he just hung over? So many questions, but I didn’t have the balls to ask them, so I’d kept silent when he’d pulled the truck up outside Saddles and let me out with nothing more than a brief kiss on my forehead. Stone needed someone. Someone who could look past the alcohol, the anger, the scars and see the tortured man that lay beneath.
No … not someone. Me. Last night, Stone needed me, and the thought rocks me to my core. Am I ready for this? When I left Troy, I swore I’d never get involved with a damaged man again. But it’s not his fault, right? I mean, it’s not as though Stone meant to be captured and tortured. I can help him. I can make him forget about the past. But does he even want that? I’ve heard some people are so used to being messed up that they don’t want to change. But that’s normally for people who have been dealing with their problems for years. As far as I know, Stone’s only been back a few months. But I have no idea how long he was in the hospital before coming home. Maybe he really is beyond my help.
I’m roused from my thoughts as I hear the front door of the bar open.
It’s Grace, accompanied by a young boy I assume is her son.
“Grace,” I greet with a smile, beckoning her over to the bar as I adjust my skirt self-consciously. I should have asked Stone to stop by my house so I could change clothes.
As she walks over, I see she looks even paler today than she did last night. She’s supported at her elbow by her son, who looks as pale as she is. What the hell is going on?
“Hi, Shannon,” she says in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her. We are the only people in the bar, so I walk out and sit with them at one of the small round tables. “This is my son, Zeke,” she introduces.
“Hi, Zeke,” I give him my warmest smile. He gives me a quick, tight-lipped one in return, but says nothing. He has blond hair and blue eyes like his mother, but where she is small and delicate, he is tall and stocky. That must be from his father.
“I thought maybe we could take you up on your lunch offer,” Grace states with a smile of her own, lovingly brushing the hair off Zeke’s forehead. “We have a big day today.”
“Of course,” I agree. “What can I get you?”
Grace pulls out her purse and starts counting change. I can see they’re both about to cry, and I gently lay my hand on top of hers. “It’s on the house,” I say quietly.
Relief floods her face as she puts her purse away. “Thank you so much, Shannon,” she says. “Money is just so tight at the moment. Could we get two burgers, fries, and I’ll take a strawberry shake. Zeke? You want chocolate?” He nods, not looking up.
“You got it,” I reply brightly, heading back to the kitchen to prepare their meals. I can’t help but think Zeke is a bit rude. Money is tight for everyone these days, but he could at least speak. It must be a teen thing. I take their food out and as I approach the table, I see them speaking in hushed tones.