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Cupping her hand against his jaw, she stroked his bristled skin and brushed a kiss against his forehead. “But do you really want to work for General Hardass?”
He looked at her and the twinkle in her eyes made him laugh. “Granny started it. But I’m going to slip one of these days and call him that.”
“Um…Dean, you already did.”
He laughed rich and deep. “You’re right. I meant to his face.”
She laughed too. “He’s not the most easygoing man.”
“No. He isn’t. But I’ve had worse. At least Mike cares.”
Smoothing down some wisps of hair, Dean rested his head against hers. “I couldn’t let you into my life. My real life, O. It was ugly and painful, and I didn’t know how to deal with it when I was a teenager.” His throat suddenly closed up on him, and he had to wait for the tightness to ease before he continued. “My parents were often drunk, my dad a mean drunk. I could never risk bringing anyone there. I pretended everything was okay because I wanted everyone to think I was normal. Especially you. I was wrong. I should have told you, confided in you.”
Her head came up, with a stunned expression, mouth open slightly, and brows knit tight. “Oh, Dean.”
A warped smile appearing, he tucked some loose hair behind her ear. “Pathetic, right?” Dean ran his thumb down her cheek, a tight feeling unfolding in his chest.
“No, not at all. Not in any way.”
He pressed his thumb against her mouth, trying his damnedest to maintain the trace of a smile. “I’m glad you know now. It helps in some way to alleviate the guilt.” The tightness in his chest expanded as he shifted his gaze to her mouth and drew his thumb along her lower lip. “So, I need to let you know the day I showed up at your house after you got shot, General Michael Harkness waltzed into my shop and offered me a black ops team that I could assemble myself and lead them in missions that were too risky and controversial for the government.” He shifted his thumb to the fullest part of her mouth, feeling better he wasn’t keeping anything from her. “I didn’t tell you because you were just shot and I’m not even sure I’m going to take the job. I wanted to talk to you about it first. I want us to have a chance, and if this would damage that chance then—”
She covered his mouth and shook her head. “We will have a chance, but I would never tell you not to take something that would be fulfilling and good for you. Never, Dean.”
Something painful happened around his heart when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He pulled her down for a kiss. “We were so young,” he whispered unevenly against her mouth. “But we aren’t now.”
Releasing her pent-up breath in a rush, O slid her arms around his neck and moved on top of him. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, Dean wrapped her in a hard embrace, wondering how in hell he would ever manage without her. Grasping a handful of hair, something raw and wild broke loose inside him. He clutched her against him. A tremor coursed through her, and she drew her knees up and pulled out of his hold, her hair cascading around her face as she rose above him, then lowered her weight on him, taking him deep inside her. Deep, deep inside her.
Breaking out in a cold sweat, Dean clenched his jaw against the sharp, electrifying surge of feeling, his shoulders coming off the mattress as she moved once, twice against him. His heartbeat a frenzy in his chest, his pulse thick and heavy, he tightened his fingers through hers in a white-knuckle grip, turning his head against the pillow.
“Damn, O…ah…babe.”
“This is for us, Dean,” she whispered brokenly. “For us,” She shivered, and she clasped his hands, her breath catching as she flexed her hips, her wet heat gripping him, stroking him, drawing him closer and closer.
Tension built in him, and he rolled his head again, the cords of his neck taut, and sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. God, he wanted to let go, wanted to ride out the hard, swelling need. But he wanted her with him.
Then she moved again, taking him even deeper inside her, and he went under, the fever claiming him. He groaned and flexed beneath her, driving inside her until everything exploded between them into shattered pieces of bliss.
* * *
The first faint hint of dawn had already crept into the room when Ophelia awakened, a heavy lethargy swimming through her, the weight of Dean’s arm around her middle anchoring her. She didn’t think she had a muscle left in her entire body. Unfortunately, the clock didn’t care. She needed to get up.
“Where you going, babe?” His raspy voice came out of nowhere.
“We need to get to work, Dean.”
Drawing one arm from under her, he braced his weight on it and gave her a slow, soft smile, a trace of amusement in his eyes. With his heavy-lidded eyes and his tousled hair and the dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw, he looked dark and dangerous. “You are a slave driver, babe,” he said softly. “You know that? But a pretty damned cute one.” He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth warm and open against hers.
Ophelia knew he was trying to lighten the mood after all that they had said and done last night. All she knew was that she didn’t want him trying to cover up to make things easy for her. Like he always had. She put her whole heart into the kiss, trying to give him all the emotional honesty he had given her. When they eventually parted, she had to work past a tightness in her throat before she could speak. “I’m glad I’m here, Dean.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched, and there was a directness in his somber gaze that made her throat contract even more. “So am I,” he answered evenly. “So am I.” He leaned down and kissed her again, then stretched onto his back and reached for her. “Come here,” he said gruffly. “I need to hold you before we get into the rat race. Jessica will be here at eight.”
The ceiling was open beam, and the sound of rain on the roof broke the stillness, the heavy dawn lightening by increments. Ophelia lay with her head on his shoulder and her knee tucked between his, the weight of his arm across her back holding her securely against him. She stared into the gray gloom, her hand splayed against his chest, listening to the counterpoint of his heartbeat and the rain on the roof, savoring the shared silence.
Dean sighed and covered her hand with his, and Ophelia shifted her head a fraction and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
He sighed again and shook his head. “I don’t even know. It’s been a hell of a week.”
“That is for sure. I’m mostly thinking I hope Logan comes through for us.”
