“Yeah, I had a couple of concerned teachers over the years. I always made excuses, though. I knew if Dad ever found out, he’d hurt us. Hurt Kurt. And I couldn’t risk that. And if they were able to help get us away from him, Kurt and I might’ve been separated in foster care. I guess to a kid like me, there were too many unknowns, too many risks. Besides, Dad was careful. He never broke bones and he was a star employee at work. But still, I heard them whisper. All my teachers thought he was a mean drunk that no one could catch.” His laugh is bitter. “Anyway, he started working nightshift for the extra money when I was sixteen. I thought that might put an end to it, but it didn’t. That’s when I knew I had to find another way to protect us, so when I got my license, I started taking his car while he slept. I’d drive down to this dojo on the other end of town and I’d watch the boys in there as they trained. I practiced in my room after school, just waiting for the day when I could fight back.
“The old man who owned the studio caught me watching one day. I thought for sure he’d tell me I could never come back, but he surprised me by being cool about it. Not too many people were nice to me for a lot of years, but he was one who was. He offered to teach me how to defend myself.
“He didn’t show me just one style, and none of the pretty stuff that they like to do at exhibitions. He taught me a little of everything—Muay Thai, Taekwondo, Krav Maga. He showed me how to take a man twice my size down to the ground. He didn’t instruct me like he did his students—that violence was a last resort. No, he taught me how to fight so that I could survive. He knew that, for me, to survive was to fight. And so I did. I fought to survive.”
As his story goes on, I feel the surge of satisfaction to come. Like watching a movie, knowing the climax is coming, I find myself anxious for Rogan to get to the part where he stands up to his dad, to get to the part where he finally gains his freedom.
But that’s not how his story goes.
“My time eventually came. I’d been looking forward to it for so long. I was practically swimming in satisfaction the first time I ever hit Dad back. He just looked at me and then turned around and walked off. I felt pretty damn good about it until the next day when he beat the shit out of Kurt with a phone book. My poor brother was bruised from head to toe. Bloody lip, busted nose, black eye, blue splotches all over his chest and stomach and back. Even his legs. Dad came into his room when Kurt was curled up on his bed and I was looking him over. He just stood in the doorway, staring at me. That’s when I knew. I knew I’d caused it. I’d caused him to hurt my little brother. That’s when I realized that I was stuck. That I’d have to suck it up and take it until I could find a way out. Or until Kurt could. And then we’d both be free.”
Behind my hand, I bite my lip. I don’t want to make a sound as the tears slip between my lashes and roll down my cheek to soak the pillowcase. I hurt for Rogan, for the little boy who lost so much, who had to endure so much. Within a few months, his entire life fell apart, yet here he is today—healthy and whole. And charming as the day is long. It’s obvious that his strength is much more than just physical. This man is a survivor. Down to his soul, he’s a survivor. And a winner.
“I’m so sorry, Rogan,” I offer in as steady a voice as I’m capable of, but even to my own ears it sounds watery and weak. I feel him stiffen behind me, so I roll my shoulders back and turn to meet his eyes. They’re dark in the low light and the set of his jaw is like steel. “What is it?”
“I told you I don’t want your pity.” I can hear that his teeth are gritted.
“I know you did. And you’re not getting pity. My heart hurts for the little boy who lost so much, but I feel nothing but admiration for the man, Rogan. The man you’ve become is . . . he’s amazing. I only wish I was as tough as you were. As you are.”
His expression softens and he leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. When he relaxes behind me again, I melt into him, something I’m finding is surprisingly easy to do.
It’s nearly a full minute later when Rogan rises over me, his lips descending to cover mine. And when they do, I know the sad memories are over. He’s put them back where they need to be, where they can’t hurt him anymore.
Despite the heartbreaking conversation of moments before, a fire is kindled within seconds of his large palm skating down my stomach. He finds me unerringly. His fingers know the way to my core just like his words do. He touches me. Always he touches me, it seems.
I reach behind me to drive my fingers into Rogan’s hair, fisting them when his tongue slides between my lips. Gently, he tugs my top thigh up onto his legs and guides his tip to my entrance from behind. He hovers there, his mouth devouring mine, his fingertip back to tease between my folds. When he stills and lifts his head, I open my eyes to find him staring at me. We stay like this for endless seconds until, with his gaze locked onto mine, he eases into me, slow and deep.
He covers my mouth again, my gasp perfectly timed with the breath he exhales. I breathe him in, take as much of him as I can into my body. And it’s in these sweet, quiet moments that I realize I’ve never felt more myself than when Rogan is inside me.
TWENTY-TWO
Rogan
I don’t know what I expected when I woke up, but to be in bed alone at nearly noon wasn’t it. I can’t believe it’s so late! I haven’t slept that well in years. Maybe ever.
I roll over to face the sun streaming in around the shutters that cover the windows. The other side of the bed is cold. I guess Katie has been up for some time.
For several minutes, I stare at the dent in her pillow, considering the woman who made it. I’m not surprised that once I unraveled the mystery of the shy girl with the haunted eyes that I’m still interested. Something told me right from the start that this one was special. And I wasn’t wrong. She’s different and special in the best possible way.
I finally drag my pathetic ass out of bed and find the bathroom directly across the hall. I pause in the doorway to listen. All I hear are sounds of battle coming from the living room. I smile to myself, shaking my head as I walk naked to the toilet. It’s hard to tell what other surprises this woman might hold.
I borrow Katie’s toothbrush and brush my teeth. I figure since we’ve licked each other from head to toe, she surely won’t mind if I use it. In the mirror, I catch sight of my stiff dick, so I go back to the bedroom for last night’s clothes. I figure it might be prudent to wear something other than a hard-on when I go out to greet her this morning. I’m ready for some more of the untamed Katie from last night, of course, but it’s hard to tell where she might be in the bright light of day. Women and their mood swings!
When I’m dressed, I run my fingers through my hair and head for the living room. I smile when I see her. Like I do most of the time.
Katie is curled up on the sofa, covered with a blanket, munching from an enormous bowl of popcorn, watching what looks like The Walking Dead.
“Popcorn for breakfast?” I ask from the doorway so as not to startle her by walking up behind her and kissing her, which is actually what I want to do.
She cranes her neck to look back at me, eyes bright, lips curved. “Yep.”
“And The Walking Dead before noon?”
“Yep.”
“Another layer to your awesomeness? Jesus, woman! You’re killing me!”
“I’m pretty sure you uncovered all my layers last night. And if all that sex didn’t kill you, I think you’re good.”
Thank God! She’s not all moody and shit.
She just gets more perfect by the day, and my cock twitches like it’s in total agreement.
Down, boy!