Run To You (14 page)

“You two are ri-fucking-diculous,” Vince said as he stopped next to Stella. “You’ve ruined Sadie’s dinner party.”

Beau looked at the faces above him, then turned his attention to his brother. “Keep your Batcave shut, asshole.” He stood and wiped the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry about your party, Sadie.”

Vince offered Blake a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Yeah,” the other twin said, and spit on the ground to his left. “Sorry my brother’s a dickhead and ruined your party.”

Beau looked at his brother as if he couldn’t stand the sight of him. “Drink until your liver explodes. Puke your guts up and drown in your own vomit. I don’t give a shit. I’m out of here.” He grabbed Stella’s hand and pulled her behind him. “Thanks for your hospitality, Sadie. Sorry again about your dinner.”

His tight grasp about cut off her circulation and there was no way she could pull free. Good thing she didn’t want to pull free.

“Are you okay?” Sadie asked, looking a bit stunned and worried.

“Yes.” Stella glanced up at Beau as she practically ran to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else.”

Stella turned and waved to her sister with her free had. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She glanced up at the man who pulled her along. He was filthy. His black T-shirt was dusted with dirt and weeds. “You’re pulling my arm off.”

“You’re lucky I’m just pulling it off and not beating you with the stump,” he said as they walked through the trees. “Don’t ever do that again, Stella.”

“You want to beat me with my stumpy arm? Why? What did I do?” Gee, why was
he
so mad at her and why did she think he was funny?

“Don’t get between me and my brother.” They stopped by the passenger side of the Escalade and he opened the door.

Okay. Now he wasn’t funny. She’d never been the kind of woman to take orders from a man. “Is that your way of telling me to mind my own business?”

“That’s my way of telling you that you could have gotten hurt.” Anger pinched the corners of his eyes and ran through the steel in his voice. “I didn’t see you until we were on the ground. I could have hurt you. Copy that?”

She slid her gaze across his handsome face and stopped on blood at the corner of his lips. “I’m never going to be okay with someone hitting you, Beau.” She raised a hand and brushed the slight stubble of his cheek. “Copy
that
?”

One side of his mouth lifted and he visibly relaxed. “Roger, Boots. I copy that.”

Chapter Fourteen

H
e was in too deep. Downrange in unfamiliar territory. His life was starting to feel like a soup sandwich, thanks to the woman walking up the stairs in front of him. The scuff of her boots on concrete was the only sound between them. The ride to Vince’s apartment had mostly been silent, with him in deep contemplation about the past half hour. About losing control and hitting his brother. Sure, they’d fought before, but never when one of them was sober. He’d been the sober one. The one whose judgment wasn’t fogged by booze, yet he’d thrown the first punch. Blake had opened his mouth about Stella, and Beau had popped him as if there’d been no other option.

“Right here,” he said, and reached around in front of her. The smell of her hair filled his nose and head as he unlocked the door. A picture of his fingers tangled in her hair as she took him into her mouth flashed in his brain. When it came to Stella, it seemed his judgment was fogged and his options MIA.

He shut the door behind him and stared at the back of her blue plaid shirt. She’d been quiet.
Unusually
quiet today. He’d never grabbed a woman and dragged her off like a caveman before. He didn’t blame her if she was angry about that. He wasn’t real happy with his behavior, either.

She hadn’t objected, but that didn’t mean she was pleased about getting hauled off in front of her sister. A sister she’d been so worried about impressing. “Stella.” He took a step and stopped. What could he say when he didn’t know what was going on in his head and hadn’t a clue what was going on in that beautiful head of hers? “Should I be sorry I dragged you off?”

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her blue eyes matching some of the blue in her shirt. “Are you?”

He should be. He should be sorry about a lot of things. “No.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t all that excited to eat something called a Texas campfire casserole anyway.” A slow seductive smile tipped her red lips and he felt it in his groin like a white-hot caress. “I’m kind of picky about what I put in my mouth.”

The caress in his groin turned to a punch. It knocked the wind from his lungs, and he didn’t know who moved first. Him. Her. It didn’t matter. He caught her up as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“I missed you last night.” She dropped kisses on his face and lips. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” His laughter turned into a deep groan. “Stella. I’m dirty.”

“I like you dirty.” She ran her fingers through his hair as her warm breath touched his jaw and the side of his neck. “I like it when you forget you’re perfect. When you forget about doing the right thing and get dirty with me.”

“Stella.” His lips found hers and his hands worked the buttons of her shirt until it was open. He pushed it down her arms, and his tongue slid into her warm, wet mouth. The feeding kiss turned up passion, and against the front of his pants, she pressed her crotch into his erection. It felt so good it hurt. A fire flash of pain and pleasure that turned him as hard as Burma teak and sent a rush of desire through his veins. Throbbing want and need and greed pounded his groin and made him single-minded. Focused on the woman wrapped around his waist. He unhooked her bra and tossed it behind him. Her plump breasts filled his hands. Her pink nipples poked his palms and made him think of all the things he was going to do her. All the places he was going to kiss her. All the places she was going to kiss him. All the inventive things he would do so that he didn’t slide his erection into her hot, luscious peach. All the different positions he’d use to keep himself from sinking into the ultimate pleasure. Even in his lust-saturated brain, he knew that was not an option. Not for her. Not for him.

S
tella unhooked her feet from around Beau’s waist and stood. She pulled off his shirt and kissed his neck and chest as she shoved one hand down the front of his pants. “Mmm,” she moaned as she wrapped her palm around his silky steel erection. She loved the feel of him in her hand and the taste of his skin against her tongue. She sucked on his neck and bit his flesh as she shoved his underwear and pants down his legs. His penis jutted from his body and brushed her belly above the waistband of her shorts. Hot and smooth, and she stepped back far enough to look at the clear bead resting in the middle of the plump head.

“I like the beast,” she said, and smeared the sticky drop on her skin.

“The beast likes you.” He removed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Too much.” He took a few steps back and sat on the couch. His gaze touched her mouth and breasts and belly as he took off his boots. “Drop your pants, little girl.”

Her hands slid across her stomach to her zipper. “I’m not a little girl.” Her shorts dropped to her boots, then she kicked them to the side.

“No. You’re not.” Once completely naked, he sat back against the couch. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

She moved to stand between his knees. “You think I’m beautiful?” He was beautiful. His hard chest and arms and legs, his erection rising from his dark blond pubic hair. His stiff penis lay against his flat belly; the engorged tip touched his navel.

“Very.” His gray eyes smoldered and burned and he leaned forward to bury his face in her abdomen. Her breath caught and burned and he pushed her panties down her legs. He slid one hand between her thighs and she stepped out of her underwear. “You’re soft.” He kissed the underside of her breast and stroked her sensitive flesh. “And wet.”

Her knees buckled, and she straddled him before she fell. Her legs and boots rested on the outsides of his legs and his hands slid to her waist. She looked at his lap so close to her. At his sex and hers and their flat stomachs and naked thighs. Desire brushed across her skin like a hot whisper. A whisper filled with lust and longing and love that singed her flesh. She ached for him all over, in her thighs and breasts and heart. She looked into his sleepy eyes, and her heart pinched and pounded as she rose onto her knees and took his face into her hands. The tip of her breast touched the crease of his lips and his lusty gaze locked with hers as he sucked her into his mouth. The warm tip of his erection brushed the inside of her right thigh. She loved the things he did to her body. Loved how he made her feel and how her heart pounded at his touch. She loved him. Loved him so much it felt like it might burst from her chest.

She reached between them and wrapped her hand around his thick shaft. He pulled back and looked up at her, his gray eyes drugged with lust. “Stand up and open your legs for me.” His wet tongue circled her nipple before he added, “There are still a few positions we haven’t tried.”

Stella had a better idea. She lowered her mouth to his and poured all the love in her heart into the kiss. Her heart grew bigger, her lust burned hotter, and she wanted more.

She wanted to make love to him.

She looked into his face, locking her eyes with his, and sat. The first brush of his penis against her sensitive flesh made her shiver. The first blunt stab made her suck in a breath.

“Stella.” His hot gaze widened and his grasp on her waist tightened. “What are you doing?”

She lowered herself a bit more, sliding down another inch. “I want you, Beau. I want to be with you.”

“Jesus.” He sucked a breath between his teeth. “You gotta stop.”

He felt foreign inside her. A little uncomfortable, but she kept going.

His head fell back and his nostrils flared. His fingers pressed into her waist but he didn’t move. “I can’t stop you.”

“I don’t want you to stop me.” She slid down a bit more.

He swallowed hard and put his hands on her thighs. Gently, he pressed her downward until she was completely impaled. She didn’t feel pain, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable. Like shoving her size six foot in a size five shoe. More like a pinch than pain.

His hands slid to her back and he pulled her against his bare chest. His arms shook and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Stella.” He exhaled and sucked in oxygen like he found it difficult to breathe. “Stella. What have you done?”

She’d given him her heart and soul and body and she wasn’t sorry. But . . . her own pleasure was quickly being replaced by the tender pinch and her own awkwardness. It had to get better at some point. It had to feel good or people wouldn’t do it. “Does it usually feel like this?”

“No.” His lips brushed the side of her throat. “Never this good.”

“I don’t really know what to do now,” she confessed.

“I do.” With her still clutched against his chest, he changed positions until she lay on her back on the couch with him above her. “Am I hurting you?” He lightly pressed his forehead into hers. “You’re tight. I don’t want to hurt you, Boots.”

Instead of answering, she kissed him and wrapped her legs around his waist. Slowly, he pulled out, then pushed deep inside. The bulbous head of his penis rubbed her slick vaginal walls and awakened a different passion than she’d ever felt before. It built deep inside and got hotter with each long stroke. A deep groan tore from his chest and wrapped around her heart. She was a novice but a fast learner and matched his rhythm of pleasure.

His harsh, warm breath brushed her face as he drove into her faster, deeper, more intense. Pushing into her. Pushing her toward climax. Coaxing a cry from her lungs and a confession from her heart. “I love you, Beau. Oh my God, I love you. Don’t stop.”

“No stopping now. You feel good. So good,” he said through a groan as he thrust into her faster, higher, and hotter. “So soft and slick and so fucking good.” He drove his hard penis into her over and over until she hit a peak more intense than she’d ever felt before. Scalding heat constricted her inner muscles and spread fire outward across her body. He held her face in his hands as he plunged deeper. Her climax spread, hotter, burning more intense.

“Come for me, Stella.” His body surrounded hers, covering her in warmth and pleasure, and as always, she felt protected. “You’re beautiful.”

Her toes inside her boots curled and she cried out at the new and exquisite pleasure of him deep inside her. The pleasure of giving herself to the man she loved.

The muscles in his arms and chest turned to stone. His breath whooshed from his lungs and he swore like a Marine. In and out, a smooth pump of his hips until his breathing finally slowed and he stopped. He dropped his face into her neck and asked, “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She did feel a bit raw, but so content she didn’t care. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I love watching your eyes when you come.” He kissed her nose. “That was so good, Stella.”

It was better than good. There just weren’t words to describe how good it felt to be with him. Like this. She was twenty-eight. She’d been a grown woman for a long time. She didn’t need a man to make her a woman, but Beau made her feel complete. Gave her something she’d never known before. “Can we do that some more?”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then we’re going to do that all night long.”

And they did, stopping around midnight to take a shower, and he made dinner of frozen pizza and cheese sticks they found in the freezer.

“How was your first time?” he asked, but the cocky, knowing grin twisting his mouth told her he knew the answer.

“Better than . . .” She thought a moment of all the possibilities that she could compare it to: sparklers and infernos and warm fluffy clouds. Of all the possibilities he would understand. “Better than flashbang.”

“Better?” He chuckled. “It’s damn near impossible to top a good flashbang.”

She smiled. “Yet somehow you managed.” Which wasn’t surprising. Beau was good at most things. Perfect. “Your flashbang is wonderful.” There was one thing that could have made last night perfect: if he told her he loved her. He had to love her, she told herself as he took her hand and took her back to bed. She could not feel so overwhelmed, so overpowered by her love for Beau and him feel nothing. It was too big to be felt by her alone.

He had to love her. She felt it in the way he looked at her and kissed the side of her neck. The way he touched her was different than it had been when they’d just fooled around. It lingered a fraction longer as if he didn’t want to stop. He’d made love to her, but he never told her he loved her. Not even when she curled against him and felt his soft kiss on her shoulder as she fell asleep.

B
eau sat on the couch in his black boxers and listened to the voice on the other end of his phone. He stared at his bare toes and said, “I thought you might talk to Blake before I confront him.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” his father asked.

“I don’t know that he will, but he needs to talk to someone.” God knew he’d tried, but Blake wasn’t listening to him these days.

“The guys get benefits and career counseling months before separation from the teams.”

“He needs more than a job.” All branches offered spec ops counseling before separation, but some guys needed more. “He’s drinking himself to death.”

“Nah . . . He’s just finding his land legs. He’s a SEAL. He’s faced worse than life as a civie.”

“I think he might have PTSD.” Beau had hired some vets with PTSD. Worked around some of their issues and knew some of the signs.

“Bullshit! He’s a goddamn SEAL sniper with eighty confirmed kills. Not many men have more than your brother.”

And they were all aware that Beau had seventy-two. “It wasn’t a competition.” Not between him and his twin. Every kill shot saved the lives of U.S. and coalition military personnel as well as innocent civilians. They’d both done their job, but they hadn’t been in competition about the targets they’d removed. “I’m not asking you to agree with me or admit that Blake might need the kind of help he isn’t getting from a bottle.”

“He’ll work it out.” William Junger had never suffered from post-traumatic stress, therefore it was a weak man’s excuse. Beau’s own transition from the military had been fairly smooth, but that didn’t mean his brother didn’t have issues. They had identical DNA, but different fingerprints. They were two different men. “You can’t expect a Rottweiler to act like a poodle.”