“Knife fight,” he explains softly. “Kabul, 2024.”
I lean forward and press my lips to the scar, tasting his skin, feeling his sharp intake of breath. My hands explore his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans. When I reach for his belt, his hand covers mine, stopping me.
“Slow,” he says, his voice strained. “I want to take my time with you.”
He lowers me back onto the blankets, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that makes my toes curl. Then his lips are moving down my neck, across my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts above my bra, and he unhooks it, sliding the straps down my arms.
The cool air makes my nipples tighten, but then his mouth is there, warm and wet, and I’m gasping, arching off the blankets. He lavishes attention on one breast and then the other, his tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through me.
“Caleb,” I moan, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him to me.
His hand slides down my stomach to the button of my jeans, pausing there in silent question. I lift my hips in answer, and he smiles against my skin before undoing the button and slowly—torturously slowly—lowering the zipper.
He tugs my jeans down my legs, his callused hands skimming my thighs, my calves, before tossing them aside. I lie before him in just my underwear, feeling exposed yet empowered by the naked desire in his eyes.
“Your turn,” I whisper, nodding toward his jeans.
He stands to remove them, and I watch, mesmerized, as more of his body is revealed to me—powerful thighs, his right one marred by the bullet wound that I notice has healed nicely, strong calves, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers. When he kneels back on the blankets, I reach for him, running my hand along the hard length of him through the thin cotton.
He groans, his eyes closing briefly before he captures my wrist. “If you keep that up, this will be over embarrassingly fast.”
I laugh softly, thrilled by the power I have over this strong man. “We can’t have that.”
He silences my laughter with a kiss that starts gently but quickly turns fierce, demanding. His hand slides between my thighs, finding me wet and ready through the thin fabric of my underwear. The pressure of his fingers makes me whimper against his mouth.
“These need to go,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers in the waistband of my panties.
I lift my hips again, helping him slide them down and off. Then I’m completely naked beneath him, vulnerable in a way I haven’t been with anyone since... but I push that thought away. This is Caleb. This is different. This is safe.
His fingers return to where I want them most, stroking, exploring, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me moan. When he slides one finger inside me, then two, and all I can do is clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he says, his voice rough with desire as he watches my face. His thumb finds that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just the right pressure, and I feel myself climbing higher, closer to the edge as little jolts of pleasure cause me to shake uncontrollably.
“Caleb, please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m asking for.
He seems to understand, though. He reaches for his discarded jeans, retrieving a condom from the pocket. I watch through half-lidded eyes as he sheds his boxers, revealing himself fully to me—all hard planes and angles, powerfully built, intimidatingly large.
He tears the foil packet open with his teeth, rolling the condom on with practiced ease. Then he’s hovering over meagain, his weight supported on his forearms, his eyes locked with mine.
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I love him a little for still checking, even now.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. “I’m sure.”
He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the delicious pressure. When he’s fully inside, he pauses, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“You feel incredible,” he whispers, and I can feel the tremor in his arms as he holds himself back.
“Move,” I urge him, rolling my hips experimentally.
He groans, then begins to withdraw before pushing back in, establishing a rhythm that has me clinging to him, my head thrown back in pleasure. Each thrust sends waves of sensation through me, building and building toward something monumental.
The fairy lights twinkle above us, casting golden patterns across his skin as he moves. I watch the play of muscles in his shoulders, the intensity in his face as he watches me. One of his hands slides between us, finding that perfect spot again, and I cry out as the pressure inside me intensifies.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice strained with his own need. “Let go for me, sweetheart, let go.”
His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips and the skilled touch of his fingers, push me over the edge. I shatter beneath him, waves of pleasure washing through me asI call his name. He follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he finds his own release, as he says my name over and over again.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the blankets, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back, and I feel more content than I have in years.
