Better When It Hurts (Stripped 2)

His smile is wry, so much like the teenager from all those years ago that my heart squeezes. “All you need to know is that he’s been invited to leave the city. I very much think he will. He doesn’t have a job or a fiancée here anymore.”

It feels like a shadow is over me, from Travis and my past. From everything I’ve done. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I fucking did. That’s what you don’t understand. It’s not a choice. You’re a compulsion for me. A goddamn obsession. Even back then, I would have clawed my way back to you except that I—”

“Except what?”

He presses his lips together, and I know he’s said more than he meant to. “Except that I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you wanted that. I fucking believed you.”

I flinch, because he’s still angry about that.

His eyebrows furrow. “No, gorgeous, not like that. I fucking believed you instead of protecting you. I let you send me away just to keep me from pounding him into the ground. I would have done it too. But I thought you wanted him. I would have done anything to make you happy. Even let him live.”

His words are harsh and primal and strangely beautiful. He cups my head in his hands and kisses me, lips devouring mine, tongue insistent.

“You’re gorgeous.” He plants kisses on my cheeks, my forehead, my mouth—and starts all over again. The word that had once been an insult has become a form of worship. “Gorgeous for protecting me. Gorgeous for sacrificing yourself. Gorgeous for forgiving me.”

I pull back. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“I left you there.” He closes his eyes as if remembering. “And then I came back, like a fucking pit bull, snarling at you every chance I had. And you forgave me for that, every time, didn’t you?”

My eyes are hot with tears I can’t hold back. “It wasn’t even a question.”

“You knew.” His voice is rough. “You knew I came back for you. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought you fucking hated me. I couldn’t stay away.”

I can’t answer him, can’t do anything but return his kisses—on the slashes of his cheeks, on the plane of his forehead. On the angry line of his mouth. I don’t stop there. I kiss the stubble of his jaw and his Adam’s apple. I kiss my way down his chest, stopping only to lick a flat copper nipple. He grunts in answer, his body shifting to press his erection against my leg.

I have more kisses to give him, five years of them. One for his abs and another for the indent pointing down. One for the tip of his cock.

“Fuck.”

He’s fucked my mouth before, he’s made me suck him off, but we’ve never done this. He’s lying flat, exposed to me, his cock standing both proud and vulnerable. I take him in my fist and my mouth. I suck him deep until he’s groaning, until he’s thrusting wild and without rhythm.

Until he’s shooting into the back of my throat, fists tangled in the sheets. The tendons in his neck stand out as his whole upper body lifts off the bed. His whole body is a picture of agony, writhing and desperate. The groan he makes raises the hairs on my neck—an animal sound of defeat.

Chapter Twenty

“Sugar?”

“Please,” I say, pulling the small ceramic sugar pot from the box.

Mrs. Owens uses the tongs to add a cube of sugar to her tea and mine. Tanglewood Home has done a lot to make Mrs. Owens comfortable, but they drew the line at installing a large glass cabinet for her antique teapot sets. So I bring a complete set every time I visit.

Blue enters just as I’m taking a sip. His expression softens even though we’ve only been apart ten minutes. “They said the larger room just opened up. She can move in early next week.”

“Oh, that’s great.” I make a face. “Or maybe we shouldn’t be celebrating.”

Blue says nothing, just kisses the top of my head as he sits beside me—confirming that someone did have to die for her to get the room. It makes sense, considering where we are. It makes sense wherever we are. Death has always followed me, from the time I was too young to understand.

That hasn’t changed now that I have Blue by my side. He’s a killer and a soldier. He’s a fighter in every sense of the word. And I love him just the way he is.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. He’s really asking how Mrs. Owens is doing today.

She can hear us, but she isn’t listening. Her eyes are far away, the cup clattering against the saucer as her hands tremble. I take them from her gently and set them on the table. In a few minutes she’ll come back to us. The moments happen more frequently, but they bother me less. As long as she’s happy and comfortable, then I am too.

“I was just telling her about your new company.”

He stretches his legs and leans back on the sofa. He wraps his arm around me, the picture of a relaxed male. I’m glad he comes with me to these visits. I didn’t even have to beg—or fuck him, which was Candy’s helpful suggestion. Of course, we mostly do that every night anyway.