Hard to Come By

  “That was fucking beautiful,” he said, pulling out from under her and coming up behind. He hugged her, his front against her back, his arms around her belly. “Beautiful, Emilie.”

  “That was amazing, Derek, but I want you inside me.”

  “Aw, you’re aching for me, aren’t you?” he whispered against her ear, his cock twitching against her sensitive opening. She nodded, and he kissed her cheek. And then he was gone.

  Emilie turned to see him shed his T-shirt, kick off a shoe, and lower his jeans and boxers to his ankles. He stepped out of the clothing with his good leg, but left it hanging around the ankle of his prosthesis.

  All she could do was stare. Because Derek was all lean, cut muscle covered in ink. Beautiful, bold colors sat side by side with stark black abstract lines and patterns. Some sort of large bird—a phoenix?—covered his entire right shoulder. A flock of blackbirds flew over his heart. A strand of upright bullets circled his left biceps, initials underneath each one. All the way down his left side, there was a thorny vine twisted with barbed wired, which wrapped around his thigh where it appeared to draw blood. And there was lots and lots of writing in all different sizes and styles.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  His back was every bit as impressive. The phoenix reached over his right shoulder and down to his shoulder blade. The rest of the top half of his back was a series of interconnected tattoos—a large abstract design punctuated by dark red roses, big stars filled with the American flag, and a symbol made up of a pair of crossed arrows and a dagger. And more words. Who would’ve thought all of this was under those clothes? God, she wanted to lay him out and explore him until the morning.

  “You’re beautiful, Derek,” she said. His cock stood straight out as he turned, and it drew her gaze lower, to the black sleeve that hugged most of his right thigh. Below that, a metal cylinder attached to a thick rod that extended down into a low, brown boot. Was it weird that she found his prosthetic limb so sexy? It meant that he’d survived, adapted, and thrived. It revealed a man who could bounce back from life’s hardest knocks, which in turn was evidence of a man with a whole lot of inner strength. Plus, damn, it just looked hot.

  He stroked his cock, his trademark grin forming on his face. “You like what you see, Emilie?”

  “Very much,” she said, her gaze focusing on the way his hand worked himself.

  Holding the base of his erection with one hand, he jerked faster with the other. “Maybe I should just let you look, then.”

  “No!” she said, desire spearing through her. “Need you.”

  He grabbed a condom from her suitcase, then stalked to the bed and sat on the edge. Working his pants leg off over his prosthetic shoe took a little work, but as soon as he was free of his jeans, he hoisted her further up the mattress and settled himself between her spread thighs. “I’m all yours, baby. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I will give it to you freely. All you have to do is ask.”

  Chapter 22

  Marz hadn’t meant to lay himself out there like that. The words had spilled unthinkingly from his lips—and they hadn’t just been about the sex.

  All the time he’d spent with Emilie this week, they’d just seemed to click on every level . . . A man could get used to all of that, especially a man who’d never had it before.

  And he didn’t want it to end.

  But right now, she needed him. And he had no intentions of making her wait.

  Kneeling tight up against the backs of her thighs, Marz took himself in hand and guided his head to her opening. He didn’t want to be fast about it again. He wanted to savor, to memorize all her little tells and reactions, to indulge in every wicked fantasy they both had. But something about Emilie always took him from aroused to nuclear in mere seconds.

  Slowly, he sank into her core until she’d taken him all. “Look at your body suck me in, Em.” Nothing had ever felt more right.

  She lifted her head and looked down her body to where they were joined. “So good together,” she whispered, and then her eyes met his.

  Something about the way she’d said those words reached inside his chest and drew him down on top of her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hunched himself around her as he withdrew and thrust. “I want to wear you over every inch of my skin,” he said against her ear.

  As fatigued as his right thigh was, Marz wouldn’t last long in this position, but he didn’t want to give up the closeness, the intimacy, the depth of his body within hers just yet. He came at her hard and grinding, but kept the pace slow so she felt the impact of every thrust.

  Emilie uttered a stream of pleas and moans, her hands grasping his shoulders, his back, his ass. She locked her ankles around his lower back, and the sensation of being claimed had him groaning into her neck.

  He wanted more of it.

  “I want you on top of me, Emilie. I want you to get off on me and use me and take me however you want.” He kissed her then withdrew. Lying on his back, he guided Emilie on top of him.

  “I’m going to take all of you, Derek. Are you ready?” She used two fingers to separate her lower lips.

  “Do it. I want it.” And, aw, fuck, the sight of her sinking down on him, her body swallowing his, speared a jolt of electricity down his spine and into his balls.

  Bracing her hands on his chest, Emilie raised and lowered her hips in a series of fast, shallow thrusts. He jerked his hips upward on each one, trying to bury himself deeper. He wanted it. He wanted it all.

  Then she started taking him deep. Instead of lifting and lowering, she ground her clit against his lower belly, shifting her hips forward and back. And between her heat and her wetness and her tight little channel, Marz was going fucking insane. “It’s so good,” she said, her hands going to her breasts, massaging and plucking and pinching her nipples.

  Marz grabbed her hips and moved her faster. “You want to come all over me again, don’t you?” He ground her hard against his pelvic bone.

  She nodded and gasped. “Yes.”

  “Make me wet with it, Em. Close your eyes and picture something that especially arouses you,” he said. Her eyelids fell shut. “Now, what are you looking at?” he asked, nearly gritting his teeth as her core sucked and tugged at him.

  Small whimpers spilled from her throat. “You, fucking me from behind, like in my bedroom. But not there this time.”

  A thrill shot through him. “Where?” He rocked her harder, faster.

  She licked her lips, her breaths coming in pants. “Somewhere . . . public. You come up behind me in a library and pull up my skirt like you did before.”

  Aw, hell, yes. “And then I take you right there against the stacks, where anyone could walk by, where you have to swallow every single noise you yearn to make.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Or at a crowded concert where you have to stand tight up against my back. The crush of all the people hides what we’re doing as you pull up my skirt and sink in deep.”

  Jesus, he liked the way his girl thought. “But some of them know, don’t they, Em? They know you opened yourself up to me right there in the middle of everyone, some of them pressing up against you, their heat warming your body. The other men are hard knowing what we’re doing. But they don’t get to have you.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice going tight. “Only you.”

  A fierce male satisfaction roared through him. “Goddamned right. Now, where else? Tell me everything.”

  Her hands fisted against his chest, her nails scraping over his skin. “Oh, God, Derek.”

  “Keep talking,” he bit out, the effort to hold back from chasing his own orgasm turning into a burn low in his belly.

  “On a crowded subway. You wear a long coat that hides us as you press me to the window, pull up my skirt, and drive into me. And I’m already so wet from you teasing and fingering me that my thighs are slick.”

  “We are making every fucking one of those come true,” he growled.

  Emilie’s face crum
pled and she cried out, her core squeezing him over and over like a white-hot fist. Her arousal poured over his cock.

  “Come here, baby,” he said, urging her down flat onto his chest. He banded his arms around her back, grabbing the remains of the thick braid for good measure, and then lifted his knees so he could use his heels for leverage to fuck her hard and fast.

  He let himself off the leash and slammed upward into her, his hips pistoning, his cock gliding easily in and out of her because of how wet they both were. Emilie’s moans got louder, more desperate. “Take me. Just take me,” he gritted out.

  “Yes, yes, yes, Derek. Don’t stop,” she cried.

  Not a fucking chance. Keeping the hand pulling her hair tight around her back, he reached down with his other and grabbed her ass. He kneaded her cheek, used his strength to push her down harder on his cock, and let his fingers roam closer and closer to the tight pucker of her rear. Dipping his fingers lower, he wet the tips with her slick arousal, and then swirled circles against her hole.

  Emilie’s back arched and she moaned.

  “Has anybody ever played with you here?” he asked, pressing a little harder against her.

  “No,” she whispered. “But it’s so sensitive.”

  Marz nodded. “Would you like me to play with you here?”

  She wriggled against his hold and pressed herself backward toward his touch. “Yes, just . . . slowly.”

  “Aw, baby,” he said, lifting his head to kiss her forehead. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  He swiped his pointer finger through her wetness again, and then he pressed the tip against her opening. “Bear down, Emilie, and you’ll take me easier.”

  A string of babbled whimpers fell out of her mouth.

  Marz felt it the moment she complied, because her muscles squeezed his cock inside her pussy. His fingertip slipped inside her ass.

  “Oh, God,” she said, rearing up so hard that he released her hair and back. “That is insane.”

  He swirled his finger against the tight ring of muscle inside her, familiarizing her body with his invasion. And Emilie started pushing back on his cock and his finger, taking him in to the knuckle, then more.

  Marz’s orgasm barreled through his blood, grabbed him by the balls, and had him shouting as it erupted out of him. He had enough presence of mind to remove his finger gently before grabbing her hips and slamming her down on his cock as his body flinched and shook.

  “Aw, Jesus,” he said, the spasms turning almost painful from the force of his release.

  He gently withdrew, removed the condom, and pulled her down to the bed beside him. They lay facing one another, their knees and legs intertwined. And she was totally relaxed, her eyes soft and unguarded. The fact that her shin and foot rested against his prosthesis didn’t seem to bother her at all. His heart was already opening to her, and that just wedged it apart a little more. She really did accept every part of him.

  And he’d never felt more like he’d found a person he could belong to in his entire life. He stroked strands of hair off her face. “You’re so fucking special to me,” he said, kissing her softly. In that moment, he didn’t care one bit that he was laying himself bare to her. Because with each passing moment, she was owning him more and more.

  THE WAY DEREK was looking at Emilie made her heart feel too big for her chest. God, he’d cracked her wide open—all her darkest fantasies and forbidden needs on display—and accepted everything he found inside her. It was like she fit inside her skin for the very first time.

  “You’re special to me, too,” she said, so, so surprised to be experiencing feelings like this again.

  They lay there for a long time, looking into each other’s eyes, exchanging soft, affectionate kisses, and just touching.

  “We’re falling asleep,” Derek said after a while. “Let’s get ready for bed?”

  Emilie’s body felt almost sluggish as she dragged herself out of bed and to her feet. She grabbed some things from her suitcase and carried them into the bathroom.

  You just had sex, she thought at her reflection in the mirror.

  Emilie shook her head. I just had the best sex ever.

  Yeah, that was more like it. All this time, she’d been a caged bird and hadn’t even realized it. One night with Derek and she felt freer than ever before. Despite the horrors of the past two days, it lifted a weight from her shoulders.

  Minutes later, she emerged in a pale pink nightgown that ended just higher than mid-thigh. Derek smiled, pushed off the bed, and kissed her before he took his turn getting ready.

  When he rejoined her, he sat on the edge of the bed, his back mostly toward where she leaned against the headboard, and he appeared decidedly less relaxed—shoulders bunched, jaw tight, eyes no longer at ease. With his lean muscles and miles of ink, he was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, but she wanted the sweet, playful light back in his eyes. Emilie frowned. What could account for the change?

  Her eyes scanned over his back and side. Tucked under his right arm, inked script on his ribs read, “For those I love I will sacrifice.” He’d certainly proven that. Her gaze scanned down, and found the words Carry On in block letters running sideways down his right hip to the top of his thigh. Derek was a living embodiment of the idea of wearing your emotions on your sleeve—except he wore his on his skin.

  “What’s wrong?” she finally asked, her belly threatening to take a nosedive. Please don’t let her have misread him. Please don’t let her be the only one getting sucked into this.

  Because they might’ve been a crazy, too-fast whirlwind, but Emilie definitely felt herself taking a step off a cliff. It wouldn’t take much at all for her to actually be falling.

  Derek shook his head and shrugged. “Gotta take my prosthesis off.”

  Emilie waited for more, but that was all he said. “Okay.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, drawing her gaze to the intricate collision of tattoos across his back.

  “Derek, talk to me.”

  He shifted toward her, drawing his right leg up on the bed so he could face her. “It’s not attractive, Em. The amputation site, I mean. And sometimes, the whole prosthetic limb thing feels downright emasculating. If I get up in the middle of the night—which I almost always do, because of phantom pain or nightmares or just plain old insomnia—I either have to use a cane, crawl on the floor, or go through the steps to put the limb back on.” His words spilled out faster and faster as he spoke, and his eyes were almost bleak. “I’ve adjusted to that to the point it’s almost second nature. But I . . .” He dropped his gaze like he was suddenly fascinated with the architecture of his prosthesis. “In all the months since I’ve had to wear this, I’ve never gone through a night with another person. You’ve been through so much today, and I don’t want to ruin this moment of . . . fucking perfection we managed to carve out of the chaos—”

  “Hey, no, don’t worry about any of that, Derek,” Emilie said, grabbing his big hand in both of hers. As if his fears didn’t melt her heart enough, the fact that he also thought what they’d shared was perfect absolutely lit her up inside. “I want to know all of you. And I don’t want you to hide your challenges and struggles from me. I want to help, where I can. Or just be there for you, where I can’t. To me,” she said, laying her hands over the metal shaft of his limb, “there’s absolutely nothing emasculating about the fact that you wear this. I look at this and what I see is a badge of honor. You saved Beckett’s life, Derek. He lives because of what you lost. That is the opposite of emasculating.” She scooted closer to him on the mattress. “That is strength, courage, selflessness, friendship. I’ll echo what Beckett said this afternoon—when I look at you, I don’t see a single ounce of weakness. And there’s nothing you could do to ruin what we shared.”

  His eyes were ablaze with emotion, and the glassiness she thought she saw there reached inside her chest and squeezed her heart. “I just don’t want you to think I can’t protect you,” he said in a
voice so low it was just above a whisper.

  Emilie’s heart raced in sympathy and understanding. She hadn’t worked with many amputees, but she’d read enough to know that they often struggled with issues of body image and negative self-esteem. They had to relearn skills of daily living like bathing and dressing, and retrain their bodies in the basics of balance and agility. She imagined that process might be especially frustrating for someone who’d served as an elite warrior in some of the most dangerous conflicts around the world. But not one bit of it changed how she felt—or was starting to feel. “How could I ever think that when you’ve saved me again and again?”

  “Shit,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “Just getting all caught up in my head. Happens sometimes.”

  She took his face in her hands. “Hey, give yourself a break. That would be understandable under normal circumstances. But today was nowhere near normal, Derek.”

  “You’re easy to talk to, you know that?” He leaned his face into her touch.

  Emilie grinned. “I’ve been told that a time or two.”

  His eyes went wide. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. But will you . . . do you think you could talk to Easy?”

  “About?”

  “He’s the friend I told you about at dinner the other night. The one struggling with thoughts of, uh—”

  “Suicide?” she asked, a knot lodging in her throat. “Easy’s suicidal?” she asked again. Derek nodded. In two days of interacting with him, she hadn’t seen anything in his behavior that tripped a red flag. But, then again, he did always sorta hold himself out from the others in the group. And social withdrawal was one of the most common signs of depression. “Damn, I’m so sorry, Derek. If he agrees, I’d be happy to talk to him.”

  “Come here,” Derek said, pulling her into his arms. He held her for a long moment, and then sighed. “Okay, let me take this off so we can get some sleep,” he said.