Which was admittedly a downside to the job. Sometimes I wished I could have more stability, more time in the States. But even when I got a few weeks off, inevitably I wanted to get back out into the shit, back into the action, because that was where I thrived.
I felt alive in a firefight, more alive than I ever felt at home. The only thing that made me feel even slightly like I was living in the moment was fucking, but that never lasted.
I looked at Mason and he looked back at me. I had a strange feeling in my chest, and I could tell that I was torn between two poles. There were two options opening up before me, two ways of living my life, whereas before there was only ever one choice.
Before Uncle Sam owned my ass.
Now, Mason was in my life. It didn’t matter if I knew what to do with him or not. He was still my flesh and blood, my responsibility.
There was no going back, not anymore. I’d committed myself to keeping my family safe, but also to trying to be a part of Mason’s life. I didn’t know what that meant, or what that could mean, since I spent most my fucking life killing bad men.
But I had to figure that shit out.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Tara came back out into the living room, her hair wet. She was wearing a navy blue T-shirt and white cotton shorts, and she looked fucking perfect.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Okay,” I grunted. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Is he crying?”
I inspected him. “No.”
“Is he injured?”
I inspected him again. “Not visibly.”
“Then you did great.”
I held him up. “Take him from me before I somehow break him.”
She laughed and came over, taking him into her arms. He laughed and cuddled against her.
“You’re not going to break him,” she said. “He’s a baby. Just use common sense and ask me if you’re not sure.”
I stood up and went over to the food tray. “We should talk about what the plan is for today.”
“I want to go back home and see my parents.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what I want to do.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“I want to make sure they’re okay.”
“You’re going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I am.”
I grinned at her, “You like making it difficult, I think. Not like I mind working for it.”
“You’re not working for anything. I just want to make sure my parents are okay.”
“Sure, princess. Tell yourself that.” I smirked at her, moving closer. I knew what she was thinking. “I’ll work you as hard as you want. I’ll make your body feel things you’ve forgotten about. I know you went to bed last night and touched that tight pussy of yours while thinking about me.”
“I didn’t,” she said. But she looked away, and I knew she was lying.
“You did. You rubbed that soaking clit but had to stay quiet. You pretended like I had a hand over your mouth while I fucked you deep and rough.”
“No,” she said. “Not even close. Are you going to take me home today or do I have to go myself?”
“I’ll take you,” I said. “You can meet the team.”
“Good.” She turned and headed into the bedroom without another word.
I dug into my breakfast, grinning to myself. The girl pretended like she didn’t want it, acted like she didn’t, but we both knew the truth. That kiss last night was proof enough.
She was dripping wet every time she was around me.
And I couldn’t wait to keep working for that incredible pussy.
13
Tara
I hated that I had to twist Emory’s arm just to get back to my own house. He clearly didn’t want to go there, but he wasn’t my jailer.
Or at least I didn’t think he was. Maybe I was wrong and he really was willing to do whatever it took to keep me safe, including locking me up in a closet somewhere.
Though a nice hotel with room service included wasn’t exactly a closet.
Still, I knew he wanted me to be safe, and I couldn’t be angry about that. Plus, he was being great with Mason. Emory clearly wasn’t the type of man to be a father, but he was trying, and that was more than I could have asked from him at this point.
“Ready?” He stood by the door, his arms crossed, as I put Mason into his stroller.
“Ready.”
Emory was wearing a tan button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows and dark jeans. I could see a slight bulge where his gun was tucked into his pants, though only because I knew to look for it.