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“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“What do you think we’re doing here? I’m feeding you lunch.”
“Oh,” I say, honestly a little disappointed. I’m not even hungry, as I’ve been fueling my sketches and research all morning with a boatload of carbs.
“Right after I feed your other wet hole with my cock.”
“Buck!” I’m so shocked at his choice of words that I don’t know whether to slug him in the shoulder again or climb him like a tree and sit on his face.
Sensing my hesitation, Buck offers, “Unless you’d rather go back to work.”
Well. What kind of a choice is that?
And then more questions swirl through my head. Will we go upstairs to his room? Will I have to undress in front of him? Will I know what to do? Will he tell me what to do? What if I don’t perform? What if he doesn’t orgasm? Or, worse, what if he tries to give me a second one, and it doesn’t happen, and he’s so disappointed that he’s no longer turned on by me?
I’m a mess of questions and guilt over not having told him the whole truth, but mostly, I’m a mess of feelings for this big, bossy, gentle beast of a man.
* * *
We toe off our shoes by the door as if this is nothing but a Netflix and chill between an old married couple. Even though this is a perfectly lovely suburban house that doesn’t fit Buck’s vibe, I’m immediately comfortable being surrounded by what he’s done with the place. The art pieces are unique, the tiles and floorboards are immaculate, and the rugs are gorgeous but not too expensive. There are touches of both feminine and masculine, and black and white pictures of family and friends offset the artwork on the walls and shelves.
“It’s beautiful in here,” I say as we meander through the front living area toward the hallway.
“All Susan,” he says.
My jealousy flares, and he catches it. Smirking, he says, “My sister.”
“Ah. Right. The other stager. I forgot.”
He laughs, pulling me close for a soft kiss. When he lets go of the kiss, I spot a photo on the wall behind him of a group of men, all wearing dog tags. On the left is a younger-looking Buck. “Who’s that?”
“That’s my unit. Afghanistan, 2015. Best crew in the world. I miss them. Sometimes, I forget what it’s like to have people around who really get you. I have my brothers, and we mesh well…most of the time. But my unit in the Marines was different. It was a deeper connection that sort of…left some cracks after I was discharged.”
My heart aches, and though I’ve never served, I know the feeling of missing the people you love.
“Maybe you’ll see them again. Have you thought about putting together a reunion?”
“Nah. No time. Everyone has families now. Nobody wants their old CO bothering them. It might…you know…trigger bad memories.”
I rest my forehead against his chest. “I understand.”
He wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, Grace.”
“For what?”
“For filling in those cracks.”
Another kiss follows this, so full of feeling that I am certain he’s holding back words he thinks I’m not ready to hear.
“Thank you for looking out for me, Buck. You have no idea what everything you’ve done means to me.”
He seems embarrassed by my gratitude. I predict he’s a man who doesn’t care for much praise.
Too bad, because he’ll always have my gratitude.
Buck wordlessly leads me into the primary bedroom at the back of the house, his hand on me the whole time like an anchor tethering my racing thoughts to the only thought that matters now: us.
My nervousness around sex dissipates as he eases me onto the bed for a cozy makeout session. Much to my relief, Buck doesn’t immediately start trying to take my clothes off. He makes me feel safe and excited all at once.
