A PLACE CALLED HOME
Chapter Eight
The ride back to the clinic was quiet. At least, as quiet as a ride in a tactical vehicle could be. Reza’s thoughts were filled with heady, slow images. Fantasies involving a prim and proper doc who’d frozen in the hallway today and gotten herself shot.
She didn’t realize that the place she’d been shot had been near an artery. He hadn’t been joking or flirting when he’d directed her to drop trou and show him her wounds. She’d been bruised, badly, but nothing had broken the skin.
And now she was riding the adrenaline high that Reza had long ago developed an addiction for. He could see it in her eyes, watch it in the shaking of her hands. He was used to it.
She was not.
She wanted to go home with him. He saw it in her eyes, the swollen oh of her lips as she’d looked at him. He wanted her. There was no denying he’d been unable to get her out of his head since the first time he’d met her. But he didn’t want her when she wasn’t thinking clearly.
He didn’t want any regrets the next morning after the adrenaline had worn off and her blood had settled back into normal. They changed vehicles at the headquarters parking lot and she sat in silence as he drove her back to her clinic in his personal truck.
She twisted her hands in her lap as she sat quietly. He deliberately parked in an empty parking lot behind the clinic and killed the engine.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, twisting in his seat to look at her.
“I’m good.” Her voice was throaty and thick. Husky.
Then she looked at him. Her eyes were pale, pale green and heavy-lidded. Her lips were swollen, slightly parted. She looked ready for a nap and he had the strangest urge to pull her into his lap.
“Emily,” he whispered.
He lifted his hand then, and slid his palm over her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth. He rubbed his thumb over a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her lips parted a little more and he was dying to taste the sweetness of her mouth.
Their breath mingled as he hesitated, unsure of himself with a woman for the first time in a long, long time.
In the end, it was Emily who spanned that final distance between them. She brushed her lips against his, a faint, hesitant kiss, like a butterfly against his mouth. He groaned low in his throat, fisting her hair in a tight grip and pulling her toward him.
His blood boiled from that hesitant touch. An urgency burned through him as he angled his mouth over hers. He wanted to consume her, to draw her into his lap and feel her thighs spread across his hips.
Instead, he savored that first brush of his lips against hers. He nudged her top lip open with his, felt her breath on his mouth. Her tongue retreated against the gentle touch of his and he followed her, wanting to feel the glide of her tongue against his. Hesitant, he felt her tongue touch his and he was lost.
He groaned deep in his throat as her tongue slipped into his mouth. He resisted the urge to consume her and let her explore, until he could capture her tongue and suck gently.
Her surprised gasp burst against his mouth and he felt the slow burn of satisfaction unfurl in his chest. He tightened his grip on her bun and angled her mouth until he could taste all of her. He deepened the kiss, unable to resist the urge to take. He kissed her then, deeply, releasing all the unspent adrenaline and passion from the firefight into that single moment.
Emily was lost, drowning in a sea of sensation and touch and taste. He was power and rage—caged energy. He vibrated beneath her touch where her fingers curled into his upper arms. Raw strength held her close, encircling her. Protecting her even as he plundered her mouth.
Arousal like she’d never felt throbbed between her legs. Nothing she’d ever experienced could describe the pure sensation of lingering fear from the range with the raw passion of his kiss. He kissed like he lived. Unhinged. On the edge. He consumed her like he owned her and the power and confidence in his every move poured into her with that kiss.
He couldn’t say who came up for air first. At some point, he’d captured her face with both hands and cradled her now, his touch gentle and restrained. He licked her bottom lip, sucking gently as she caught her breath, pouring every ounce of restraint into gentling the ferocity he felt.
“Reza.” His name was a prayer. He smiled against her lips.
“Hmmm.”
“You really know how to kiss,” she whispered.
He laughed deep in his chest, brushing his lips against hers again.
“Thanks. I think.”
“Oh no, thank you,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”
Her words were a purr, a caress against his cheek.
“It’s adrenaline,” he said, pulling her against his chest.
“Still?”
“You’ll crash soon,” he said. “When it wears off, you’ll need to sleep.”
“How do you do that in combat?”
“We manage,” was all he said, not wanting to talk about war with her kiss still warm on his lips. “You should get home before you fall asleep,” he murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head.
She lifted her gaze until she met his and her eyes were filled with dark promise and a need that flattered him. “Will you follow me home?” she whispered.
Reza’s throat went dry. “Is this really what you want?” He wanted her to be sure. Because he wasn’t. He didn’t know if he could do this, was terrified of screwing it up.
She nodded, remaining silent. The only other movement was a slight flex of her fingers on his arms.
He kissed her like the world was ending, then urged her gently from his truck, watching her to make sure she was steady on her feet. And his blood tightened in his veins as he followed her off post.
This was a mistake but it was one he couldn’t stop himself from making.
***
She could feel him behind her. He radiated energy and heat as she fumbled getting her key in the lock. Sweat slicked her body and she felt his gaze on her back.
She wanted this. She wanted him. This had nothing to do with her past, nothing to do with a revolt against her family.
This was something just for her. Just him. A man who was big and powerful and strong and used everything he was, everything he had to protect those he deemed worthy of protection.
She turned as he closed the door behind him. Her space looked tiny with him in it. She felt tiny next to him and tipped her chin up to glance at him. She licked her lips, trying to banish the sudden dryness and find something to say that wouldn’t embarrass her entirely.
“So we’re here,” she whispered. A tremor in her voice.
“Hmm.” There was a warm, rich laugh in his. He lifted one hand, brushing his fingers gently over her cheek.
“Okay. I’ve never done this.”
He leaned back, his dark eyes pinned to her face. “Sex or…”
She laughed at the question, at the shock in his voice. “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Her throat tightened as he stuffed his hands into his back pockets. The movement stretched the tight t-shirt against his chest and she could see the carved outline of muscle against thin fabric.
“Well, that’s reassuring. It would be a hell of a lot of pressure to be your first.”
Emily coughed and choked on a laugh. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.” Her gaze drifted down his body, her blood warming from his nearness. “Do you want to shower or something?”
A vein pulsed in his neck. “Do you want to wash my back?”
“I could.” Light, teasing words in a space heavy with sensual heat.
He stepped toward her then, cupping her cheeks in his palms. “Careful, Emily. That’s a hell of a lot of temptation.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m tempting you?”
“You have no idea.” A strange note in his voice. One she would have to ask him about. Some other time.
“I like that I’m tempting you,” she whispered, her skin absorbing the heat from his body. She shivered and his fingers flexed against her cheeks.
“How long has it been for you?” he whispered as he pressed his lips to the edge of her mouth. His tongue flicked out to touch her skin and she shuddered as he traced the line of her jaw.
“Well, it’s been almost two years since I found my best friend giving my fiancé oral sex, so you can probably figure it’s been at least that long.”
“Cheating sucks,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. He nipped at her earlobe. “But did you just say ‘giving him oral sex’?” There it was again, the laughter in his question.
“So?”
“Can you say ‘blow job’?” His tongue traced over her ear. She gasped and arched her neck.
“I’m sweaty,” she said, dodging his request.
“I think that’s okay.” He tugged her earlobe gently with his teeth. “If we do this right, we’ll be sweaty again.” He bit down. “Say ‘blow job’.”
“Why is that important to you?” Her words were a gasp.
“Because I want to hear you say something dirty.”
“I’m sweaty and I want to take a shower. Is that dirty enough?”
He hugged her close then, his laughter shaking through his body and into hers. “Shower it is, then,” he whispered. He released her and stepped back. “After you.”
He followed her into the bedroom, wanting badly to strip her naked and feast on her body. Her hands shook as she reached for the light. Nerves. Adrenaline wearing off. And sexual need burning over it all.
There was strength in this woman. A strength that appealed to him even as her teasing laughter eased him out of that dark space where he’d spent so long.
But there in the dark, for once, he didn’t feel alone. And it terrified him, having another person there. A kindred spirit with the soul of a warrior. Her body wasn’t marked with scars like his but there were scars there nonetheless.
She turned to face him, her expression tense, her eyes dark and aroused.
He wanted to watch her peel off her clothing. Wanted the lights out so that he could keep the scars on his body hidden a bit more. He wasn’t ashamed of them, nor of the art he’d covered them with, but he didn’t want to bring the war into the bedroom with them.
She took a step closer to him. Tugged at the hem of his combat t-shirt. His breath caught in his throat and it took everything he had to simply stand there and allow her to lift the shirt over his head.
She’d said she trusted him earlier that day at the range.
It was his turn to trust her.
There was nothing in her life that prepared her to see a man of Reza’s size and strength unclothed. Beneath the black t-shirt, his body was a prize. But when he took a step back and pulled the cotton over his head, her breath caught in her throat.
His body was not perfection. It was scarred and damaged, and laced across those scars he’d carved his own flesh with pitch-black ink. Death’s sickle cut across one pec, and twisted in the robes draped down his left shoulder were names. She counted quickly. Twelve names and ranks on one bicep, each with a date carefully in line with it. On the other, places she recognized from the news. Fallujah. Najaf. Tal Afar. Mosul.
“What’s BIAP?” she whispered, curling her fingers into her palms to keep from tracing the mournful letters.
He didn’t want to answer. He closed his eyes as her fingers skimmed the names. Women had seen him naked before. But they’d never asked about the names or the places. Never asked about the reaper over his heart.
He wouldn’t have answered them if they had.
But Emily. Emily asked.
And he had to answer her. Had to trust that she would take him as he was.
It was the greatest leap of faith he’d ever taken.
“Baghdad International Airport,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s the place I lost the first piece of my soul.”
She’d seen war memorials carved into skin before. Many of the combat veterans she saw in her office had permanently inked their memories into their flesh. But none had ever struck her so viscerally. There was violence in those names carved into his flesh, an echo of the war carried close to his heart.
And over his heart, beneath the blade of the sickle, a single name. “Maliheh,” she whispered.
“My mother.” His throat moved. “I lost her when I was fifteen.”
“Reza.” His name on her lips was a prayer. For his soul. For hers. She no longer knew. But there was pain etched into his skin. More than the war had made him what he was.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He moved then, cradling her face in his palms, his big hands inexplicably gentle. “I wear their names to honor them. To remember.”
“So much pain,” she whispered.
“Don’t pity me.” Harsh judgment of his own actions. A warrior resigned to his fate.
She met his gaze then, closing her fingers over his. “I don’t pity you, Reza.” She brushed her lips against his. “I admire you.”
His smile was cold, his eyes an abyss stretching into eternity. “Don’t think you can crawl inside my head just because we’re getting naked.”
She stepped close to him then, because to do anything less would be an admission of defeat. Instantly, she was surrounded by the heat from his body. The black ink of the tattoo seemed to writhe against his skin, urging her to touch. She lifted her index finger, sliding it along the edge of Death’s Sickle. She was almost surprised when her finger did not bleed.
“It’s not your head I’m interested in,” she whispered, threading her arms around his neck.
A smile, this time genuine, on those full lips as he kissed her deeply, his fingers tugging at her bun until her hair fell free down her back.
“I’m going to get you to say it,” he said as he tugged at the zipper on her uniform jacket.
“Is that a dare?”
He captured her lips as he pushed her jacket off her shoulders, then tugged her t-shirt free from her pants. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing one finger near the edge of her bra.
She kissed him as he tugged her toward him, lifting her until she could wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. The bruise on her hip screamed at the pressure but the pleasure of his lips drowned out the echo of any pain.
“Where’s the shower?”
She nibbled on his lower lip and pointed toward the door on the other side of the bed. He strode through the bedroom and each movement brought his erection in close, intimate contact with her aching sex. Never in her life had she been so aware of her own wetness, her own arousal.
He set her on the counter and reached into the shower, turning it on. Steam filled the small bathroom.
Then, his dark gaze penetrating hers, he finished what he’d started and began peeling off the rest of his clothes.
***
Emily Lindberg was a mystery. He’d never have guessed she’d have had a fiancé in a previous life or that he’d been dumb enough to cheat on her. This was a woman who was finding her own place in the world, experimenting with her own power.
Her gaze on him made him slow down. Untie his boots slowly. He felt her inspecting his tattoos and his scars and knew there was more she wanted to know.
She said she admired him. Only because she didn’t know how hard he worked to stay sober. How much it was costing him to be there at that moment and not reach for a drink.
But for once, he wanted to untangle the mess of alcohol and sex. He wanted to feel, really feel, Emily’s skin against his instead of using fast, fleeting contact to chase away more memories.
Maybe someday he would tell her just enough to appease her curiosity. Just a little. Because he wasn’t ready to start unpacking all the shit in his rucksack. There was a lot of baggage there and the war was far from over. He needed to keep it stuffed down until the day came when he hung up his boots. Maybe then he’d start to examine the life he’d led.
Until then, he’d bury the memories like he’d been doing. He’d just keep it under control this time. He could do it.
He straightened and nudged his boots to one side. Steam made her hair curl around her face, dark ringlets clinging to her cheeks. Her breath came in short, quick huffs and he watched the gentle swell of her breasts as she breathed.
Her chest froze as he flicked open his belt. “It’s not really fair that I’m getting naked and you’re not,” he murmured, opening another button on his pants. His erection was painful and tight. Her eyes darkened as she watched him drop his pants and toed them to one side. When he straightened, her gaze took in all of him.
A bolt of pure desire shot through him as her gaze landed on his erection. He was a big man and while he’d never had any complaints before, the way her eyes widened suggested she’d never seen someone his, ah, size before.
Her lips parted and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. He crossed the small space and nudged her thighs apart, capturing her face in his hands and kissing her until she forgot her own name, forgot her fears and her insecurities. Until her fingers tightened against his back and she rocked gently against him.
The friction of her touch drove him wild and he pulled her closer. “You really need to lose the boots,” he murmured, then knelt in front of her to tug on her laces. He pulled them off then peeled the olive green socks down her calves.
He framed her hips with his palms, careful about the bruise on her hip, then reached for her belt. “I’m getting self-conscious about being naked when you’re still wearing your clothes,” he murmured against her lips.
“Well, we can certainly fix that.” She scooted off the counter and opened her pants, pushing them down. She sucked in a breath as she bumped the bruise.
“You’re still not naked enough,” he said. He turned her gently and pulled her against him, tracing his hands down her sides, stroking her skin gently. He hooked his thumbs in her panties as he nibbled on her shoulder and pushed them down her thighs. Watching her in the fogging mirror, she rested her head against his chest as he stripped her bare.
Focusing on her pleasure allowed him to ignore his own uncertainty. He watched her lips part, felt the tension in her body, and forgot all about his need for a drink. Forgot anything but his need for this woman.
Reza was a solid wall behind her. His big body surrounded hers; his hands were dark against her skin. He spread his hands against her belly, then slid one down her body. She couldn’t take her eyes off his hand as he traced one finger down the seam of her sex, a gentle, soft touch. A gasp escaped her as he stroked her, her moisture glistening on his finger.
“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice was a growl near her ear as he continued to stroke her. Nothing more than gentle strokes, not parting her, just coaxing her body to swell with her own slick pleasure. His erection was persistent against her lower back.
She had managed to keep her thoughts to herself. She hadn’t wanted to admit she’d never seen a man of his stature. She closed her eyes and absorbed the pleasure of his touch. Trusted him.
“I really hope you’ll keep your promise,” he murmured near her ear as he pressed gently on her most swollen place. She cried out as a burst of pleasure popped inside her but the orgasm she craved was still distant and far off, begging to be released.
“What promise?”
“About washing my back.” He released her then and stepped backward into the shower stall. Water sluiced over his big body, running rivulets over his dark skin. Dark hair covered his chest, curling down his stomach to the thick hair around his erection.
He held out his hand to her. It took her a moment to realize this was her last chance to back away from the power of the man. His body called to her but there was something more. The letters on those tattoos flexed as he moved to turn the water temperature up. Steam filled the bathroom, coating the glass of the shower door.
Emily held her breath.
And took that step.
***
Reza had never showered with a lover. There was something deeply arousing about having Emily’s slick naked female body wriggling against his in the confined space. He poured some sweet-smelling stuff that echoed faintly of apples into his palm and rubbed his hands together.
He moved her hair out of the way and rubbed his hands over her shoulders before he massaged the tight muscles there. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he said when she gasped after he found a particularly tight knot.
“You won’t be?”
“Probably not. I’m used to it. You’re not.” He swept his soapy hands down her body, foam swelling beneath his fingers and trailing over her skin.
He turned her until he could cradle her against his body again, cleaning away the sweat and grime of the day as he aroused them both with his wandering hands. His cock protested every time she wriggled against it.
She was content to let him touch her, let his hands explore. He cupped her breasts and she moaned low in her throat as his fingers circled her nipples. And when he pinched one gently, her cry of pleasure made his blood tighten against his veins.
Hunger burned in him. He turned to rinse them both and she winced as his hand bumped her bruised hip. He kissed her, stroking his hands over her body to soothe the pain away. She relaxed against him, her body molding against his. His cock pressed against her belly and he rocked his hips gently against her.
Reaching behind her, he turned the water off, wanting—no, needing—her on her back when they did this. He wanted to watch her face as he filled her, wanted to watch her eyes as he slid into her heat.
She was in a daze, he realized, in part from the adrenaline rapidly leaving her body and in part from the dark arousal in her eyes. He lifted her into his arms, drowning in the taste and pleasure that was Emily.
She was overwhelmed. She’d never felt the intensity of the passion she felt as Reza’s hands roamed her body, like he knew her better than she knew herself. She’d never known how good a man’s touch between her legs could feel but she’d never admit that to him.
He wrapped her legs around his hips as he walked and she could feel the insistence of his arousal at the juncture of her thighs. He crawled up her bed and her body until he lay between her thighs.
She braced her hands on his chest. “Condoms?”
“I’ve got some,” he said.
She tipped her head and studied him. “Were you planning on this?” she asked.
“No.” A deep flush crawled up his neck and she wondered at the source. He crawled off her body and searched his pants. There was a tear of foil and she watched in fascination as he rolled it over the head of his erection and down the thick length of it. He looked up to find her watching him. He settled against her again. “You can still change your mind, Emily.”
She frowned. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“You look like you’re not sure about this.” He nibbled on the side of her neck, scraping his teeth over that pulse point he’d seen earlier.
“I’m not sure about certain aspects of this but I’m sure about it overall.”
Reza laughed and she felt it in his entire body where he rested against hers. “Which aspects are you not sure of?”
Heat flamed across her cheeks and she closed her eyes. He licked her neck, flicking his tongue over her ear again until she gasped. “Tell me,” he urged.
He slipped his cock against her heat, stroking her where she was swollen. Her hips twisted against the sensual assault and she jerked and cried out.
He shifted and cradled her face in his hands. “Emily.” His voice was a whisper. She met his gaze, her eyes glittering with uncertainty. “Emily, I’ve got you,” he whispered.
He needed her mindless. He needed her not thinking about the size of him and instead drowning in pleasure. He kissed her gently, sucked on her lips. Traced his tongue down her body, distracting her with his hands until he’d reached the center of her. He pressed his lips to that fist-sized bruise on her hip, then kissed her right where she was swollen.
Emily cried out as he suckled her, her hips bucking off the bed at the pleasure. He held her in place, draping one thigh over his shoulder as he continued the assault on her most sensitive flesh. She fisted her hands in his hair, needing something to anchor her lest she shatter into a thousand pieces. And then he slid one finger inside her and she exploded.
She was shattered and limp from the most powerful pleasure she’d ever experienced when Reza crawled up her body and kissed her. She could taste herself on his lips, something warm and sweet against his tongue. There was a gentle pressure as he started to fill her.
Her body, still throbbing from his touch, stretched around him. She gasped against his mouth and shifted until he could slide deeper. He was a big man and he filled her, consumed her as his body inched deeper and deeper into hers.
She was so fucking tight, so good. So his. He reached between their bodies to stroke her sex again and she relaxed with a gasp, her body taking him deep, so deep.
He kept stroking her intimate flesh as he moved, sliding deep and slow inside her, giving her time to adjust. And then there was no more need as her body shuddered around him, gripping him tightly as she came again.
He kissed her then as his pleasure took over his control and he pushed into her body a final time. He came apart in her arms and it was only later, as she lay curled against him, that he marveled at the contentment that had followed his own release.
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