Lucy pouts. “Geez, must be nice.”
Delilah smiles as she hands over her key to a playfully smug Mason. “Friends in high places, Luciana.”
“Wait, Mason?” Roxana sizes Mason up, her eyes wide. “Mason as in, the gangly little boy who used to make trouble all over HQ?”
“Oh, shit.” Mason backs up and looks Roxana up and down, grinning ear to ear. “You’rethatRoxana. Roxy! Damn, it has been a minute, hasn’t it?”
“That it has. What a handsome man you’ve grown into.” The proud grin on her face turns into a small frown. “I am sorry about your injury. If I could take that day back, I would in a heartbeat.”
Mason nods, but he doesn’t give her any words of forgiveness. I can’t say I blame him. He takes his leave quietly, and Lucy and I follow shortly after.
We see Captain Finley and Cassie halfway down the hallway, and Cassie’s laughter bounces off the walls. Mason nudges me and grins. “I think Cass has a crush.”
“A crush on Captain Finley?” I ask, flabbergasted. “How? And why? I suppose she did take quite a hit to the head in the train derailment.”
Mason and Lucy laugh at me as we walk down the cement staircase a few flights and exit out the door. They hug, and Mason and I do our handshake before we part. “I’ll see y’all in the morning.”
The air is humid and smells like old water, but it’s better than being crammed in the office. Soggy blades of grass squelch beneath our boots, and despite the unflattering noise,I appreciate the greenery. During my time in the war, I saw so little grass. Every city stood thick with concrete and asphalt jungles, most of them covered in snow. Barren trees with branches like bare fingers clutching toward the sky. The grass is grounding, welcoming. It is life and water and sun, not death and destruction.
“How sure are you about them?” Collaborating with these fly-by-night opportunists, trying to kill the unelected president of a precarious new nation, trusting a bunch of strangers… Lucy’s impulsive, but she’s also a good judge of character. I need her input.
“Finley is trustworthy. She’s open and straightforward. Likes to fight and does it well. Roxana…well, I didn’t understand her motivations until now.”
“Yeah. This is a lot for me to process.”
“I understand.” She reaches out, and I easily step into her arms. Her gentle touch eases some of the tension keeping my muscles taut. “C’mon. We’ll go back to my place and have lunch, okay? Then we can talk.”
“What about Cassie?” I know she’s more than capable of handling herself, but I can’t shake the idea that I’ve left her to the sharks. Mason will have ten new friends before the day is over, so no need to worry about him.
“Finley will take care of her.” My glare speaks for me and Lucy tilts her head back and laughs. “I know you don’t like her, but Shea won’t hurt Private Frank.”
“I don’t have any opinion about her. But she did try to kill us, so forgive me if I am not as trusting as you are.”
“Oh, please, you despise her. It’s all over your face.” However much I resent being read in such a way, she is correct. “It’s fine, she’s an easy person to hate, but she isn’t a bad person. She’ll probably bring Cassie to lunch and then maybe out to the mud hole.”
“The mud…hole?”
Tugging on my hand, Lucy pulls me in the direction of the trailer. I never let go of her, and we walk quietly in the blazing hot sun down the dirt road. “That’s a big thing in here. They get on three-wheelers and kick up mud and stuff in a big hole not too far from here.” Off the look I give her, she laughs and shrugs. “I’m a city girl, you know I hate every inch of that.”
The charming smile, the mischief in her eyes, the acerbic wit… though her hair may be shorter and her muscles more defined, she’s still my Lucy. In lieu of responding I wrap my arms around her arm and squeeze it as we walk. She plants a kiss on the crown of my head and a bit of my soul is restored.
We do, in fact, eat lunch, but we also inevitably end up back in her bedroom. I’ve never had so much unrestricted free time before, and it appears I cannot keep my hands off her. Nor her me, as she hangs one arm around my upper back and the other planted behind her for leverage. She rocks back and forth, hips smashing against my hand, mouth on my neck, legs wrapped around my butt, panting out a string of profanity that would make me blush if I wasn’t already red from exertion.
Summers spent at the brothel provided an unsolicited education in sex. Frequently, my innocent wanderings resulted in observing people doing things in places they shouldn’t. Faith was more than forthcoming about the proclivities of clients. Hunter enjoyed embarrassing me by trotting out examples of different types of sex, complete with exaggerated body movements.
There was lovemaking, she said, and there was fucking. Either you could do with someone you love, but you could only do the former with someone you were in love with. She didn’t explain how to tell the difference—or how she knew there was one—but I think I’ve figured it out. Last night, or early this morning, that must’ve been lovemaking. Slow, thoughtful,intense, filled with affirmations of love—the culmination of an entirely ridiculous amount of yearning.
This, however, is fucking. It must be. It’s debauched and sweaty and hot, and the part of me that’s ashamed of myself is drowned out by the amazement of claiming and ravishing the woman of my dreams.
A broken cry wrenches free from her lips, and her body sags as she comes down from her climax. But I’m not finished with her, so I grab the arm that’s holding her up and pin it against the bed. Her eyes fly open in surprise and arousal. “Jesus Christ.”
Holding her down with my body, I don’t stop the rhythm of my fingers. In fact, I push harder and revel in her wetness running down my wrist. “You are going to come again…when I tell you.”
Her “yes” that devolves into a hiss is more than enough encouragement for me, and I keep up the punishing pace as I greedily wrap my lips around one of her nipples. She’s nearing another climax, but that will not do. Our previous engagement might have been my first time, but I learned Lucy likes it when I’m bossy.
“Not yet.”
Lucy whines mid-moan and frustratedly grabs my hair and pulls me up to her lips for a kiss that is as much a beg as it is a punishment for my denial. She whimpers. “Please.”
