Her channel clenched around him as he dragged himself back out and thrust into her again. He rode her like a bucking bronco, slapping her ass every other thrust. The sting of his hand raising her pleasure another notch.
Fiona rocketed into the stratosphere, her body jerking with the force of her orgasm.
Wyatt thrust into her once more, then bent over her, cupping her breasts, his cock sunk deep inside, throbbing, pulsing in rhythm with her.
Her arms trembling, Fiona collapsed onto the bed, Wyatt following her down. For a moment she couldn’t find the strength to do more than moan, which she did.
Wyatt pulled free of her and removed the spent condom, dropping it in the waste basket beside the bed. He rolled over onto his side, turning her over to face him. He brushed the hair out of her face and skimmed his thumb over her swollen lips. “Are you all right?”
“Holy shit,” she breathed, touching his thumb with her tongue. “Are you always that good?”
A chuckle rumbled from his throat. “If I said it was my trademark, would that offend you?”
“Not in the least. I’d understand completely. If you could package that and sell it, millions of women would be standing in line to buy. Including me.” She closed her eyes briefly and dragged in a shaky breath. “Wow. I mean, wow.” Fiona lay for a moment, hoping her pulse would slow to normal. But with his cock nudging her thigh, she didn’t see that happening anytime in the near future. Facing the truth head on, she knew she couldn’t be satisfied with one round of sex with the soldier. She curled her fingers around his still stiff cock and squeezed gently. “How long until we can do that again?”
A bark of laughter erupted from his throat and he gathered her close, resting her head in the crook of his arm. “Let me catch my breath, sweetheart. Let me catch my breath.”
Chapter Seven
Making love to Fiona the second time was a completely different experience and even more moving than the first. What it lacked in the fierce need of the first coupling, it made up for with the intensity of burning desire and tenderness expressed. Taking his time, he coaxed her to the edge by playing his fingers through her folds, flicking at the swollen nub of flesh between.
When he had her where he wanted her, begging him to fill her, he opted to enter her mission-style, preferring to observe the range of emotions crossing her pretty face as he thrust into her. Her pussy closed around him, tight, hot and drenched in her juices. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass.
For a moment, he thought perhaps this was his reward for surviving the hell of captivity in Somalia. As he lay with Fiona gathered in his arms, he could almost imagine a normal life. Waking up in the morning to sweet kisses from a beautiful redhead after making love, followed by a restful night’s sleep. A life in which he could lie by his lover’s side and forget all the tragedy he’d witnessed, maybe even get past the nightmares that had plagued him since his liberation from the Somali militants.
But he couldn’t allow himself to relax in a woman’s arms. His dreams had been so violent he’d hurt himself before he could awaken. What would happen to Fiona if he allowed himself to fall victim to the horrific nightmares? Unwilling to risk it, he eased his arm out from under her, pressed a feather-soft kiss to her lips, the simple gesture sparking desire anew. Forcing back his longing, he left her bed.
Too wound up to sleep, he paced until his craving subsided and he could lie still. Stretching out on the rollaway cot, he stared up at the ceiling, longing to crawl back in bed with Fiona.
At one point, she stirred and moaned softly.
Wyatt gave an answering groan and turned away. Until he could control his nightmares, he was no good for Fiona or any other woman. Tomorrow he’d see about getting a different room. The temptations were too powerful while he was alone with her. His mind made up, he drifted into a disturbed slumber, fraught with terrorists lurking in every shadow.
Fiona woke before dawn, the darkness like a black abyss. Something had disturbed her, but with her mind so fogged with sleep, she didn’t know what. Reaching out to her side, she felt for the warmth and comfort of her soldier’s chiseled body, only to feel the cool sheets against her fingertips. He’d left her bed. Had he left her room?
She lay still, listening for the reassuring sound of his breathing, hoping he snored just a little. A groan sounded on the far side of the room from the direction of the door and the rollaway bed.
The springs creaked and the sheets rustled sharply as if someone fought to be free of them.
“Wyatt?” she called out softly.
The only answer was another ragged groan.
Fiona rolled out of the bed and felt her way along the wall to the bathroom. Leaving the door mostly closed, she flipped the light switch, illuminating the bedroom just enough she could see the man caught in deep sleep, thrashing against the sheets, his naked body covered in sweat.
“Wyatt,” Fiona called out. She hurried across the floor and knelt beside him, her gaze skimming across his naked skin, angling lower to the nest of hair at the apex of his thighs. His cock lay flaccid, his fists clenched in the sheets at his side. Whatever he dreamed of caused him so much stress his head twisted back and forth.
“No,” he called out. “Don’t kill him. Please.” His words were mumbled but their meaning clear and the anguish on his sleeping face tore down the walls of any defenses Fiona might have fooled herself into believing were strong enough to resist this man.
Her vocal cords knotted in her throat, she swallowed hard and touched his shoulder lightly.
Wyatt jackknifed in the rollaway bed, caught her hand and yanked her across him, catching her throat in a headlock in the crook of his arm.
Fiona tried to cry out, but the air had been cut off to her lungs. She fought his hold, tearing at his arm with her fingernails. She kicked her heels but barefooted she left little impression on the man caught in the throes of a world only he could see.
As the gray haze crept in the sides of her vision, she stopped struggling. Nothing she could do, no matter how hard she fought would break his hold.
As she allowed her body to go limp, his grip slackened until he let go altogether.
Fiona sucked air into her starving lungs and slipped to the floor, out of his reach, her gaze on him wary, ready to move quickly if the need arose.
Wyatt’s eyes were wide open as he stared down at her. He blinked once, his brows drawing together. “Fiona? What are you doing on the floor?”
She gulped hard to clear her throat, her hand pressed to the skin still warm from his arm’s lock. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head, his eyes widening. “Oh dear God, did I hurt you?” He dropped to the floor beside her, reaching for her.
Moving out of range of his hands, she shook her head. He didn’t remember. He’d been so entrenched in his dream world, he didn’t recall grabbing her. “Wyatt, you were dreaming.”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I hurt you.” He buried his face in his hands for a long moment. “I was afraid of that.” He pushed to his feet and turned away.
Fiona rose and started to lay her hand on his back when she noticed the ragged lines of welts crisscrossing his skin. She’d felt them earlier, but had been too overcome by passion to ask. Now that she could see them clearly and feel the raised scars, her chest tightened. “Wyatt, what happened to you?” she asked softly, tracing one of the angry lines.
“Nothing.” He shrugged off her touch and reached for his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. Grabbing his jeans, he dragged them up his legs and buttoned them. Then he bent to shove his foot into a boot.
Her heart aching for him, she stepped closer. “Come back to bed,” Fiona said, feeling him slipping away from her, the stone wall of silence eating at her.