Page 53 of Fighting for Valor
“Ripper couldn’t stop Faruk’s men.” I can barely get the words out, but once they escape, it’s like a dam breaks, and I’m being swept away. Out to sea without a boat or an anchor or even a life preserver. I’m drowning, gasping for air, and alone.
Cara’s kiss brings me back. Her warmth all along my body. Her hands in my hair. And when her tongue traces the seam of my lips, I let her in. She tastes of my tears, and for a second, I want to pull away, but then my arms are around her, and I’m holding on like she’s the only thing tethering me to this world.
Rolling her onto her side, I let my hand skim her breast, and when I find her nipple, I pinch lightly, and the noise she makes…it sends my dick rocketing to attention. Deft fingers slide under my t-shirt, her warmth traveling up my back, over my scars. “Off,” she demands, and the first rays of the morning sun stream through the window as I strip off my shirt.
Cara lets her gaze rove over my chest, over the scars, the muscles that are just now, with semi-regular meals, starting to look like they used to. Rising up on an elbow, she kisses one of the round welts from the scorpions. “You survived,” she whispers.
For the first time since Ryker pulled me out of that well, I think maybe I did. Tugging at the hem of Cara’s shirt, I expose her breasts. She’s perfect. Soft, yet strong. With real curves, a pink blush spreading from her neck almost down to her waist. Dipping my head, I fasten my lips around one dusky nipple, laving my tongue over the pebbled nub until she’s practically panting.
I can smell her arousal, and when I dip my fingers under her waistband, I find lace, then slick heat, and Cara whimpers, her hips thrusting against my hand.
“Turnabout,” I manage as I help her out of her shirt, then drag the shorts down her hips. A flash of embarrassment darkens her eyes, but once I press my lips to her lace-covered mound, she shudders.
“Oh God, Ripper. Please…”
“I want to taste you.” Her panties land next to the shorts, and I cup her cheek and meet her hooded gaze. “Tell me you want this? You’re not just…this isn’t…”
“A pity fuck?” Her huff might be my new favorite sound. “I want you, Ripper. I want the man who refused to let me limp home on a sprained ankle. The man who brought me to his apartment and offered me his bed because it was the best way to keep me safe. I want the man who trusted me enough to tell me his secrets.” Cara arches a brow as she takes my free hand and presses it to her mound. “I’m naked. And about ready to beg. You going to do something about that?”
Hell, yes.
When I spread her thighs, the scent of her shoots straight to my dick. Her brown curls glisten in the morning light, and my first taste…fuck. Tracing patterns with my tongue, I savor each mewl, her little gasps, the way her hips thrust against me when I score my teeth along her clit.
“Ripper...” Cara claws at the sheets, her breath coming in short pants as I slide a finger inside her. “Please. I need to come…”
Adding another finger, I twist and find her G-spot as I suck at her clit. Cara’s entire body bucks, and she cries out, flying over the edge with my name on her lips. I drink her in, my salty tears mixing with her taste.
This moment—this perfect, beautiful moment—heals a part of me I thought was too broken to ever see the light of day again.
As she comes down from her release, our breaths the only sounds in the quiet room, my head starts to swim. My vision tunnels. The sensation of her hands on my skin and the sound of her voice in my ears fades, and I hear that name.
Isaad.
I try to hold on. To stay with Cara. With this woman who understands me. But I can’t. I slide down, so far that I can’t feel the soft sheets or see the freshly minted sun. There’s nothing but darkness, sand, and desperation.
Warm hands cup my cheeks, and I brace for whatever they’re going to do to me next. For the humiliation. For losing my tenuous hold on reality. For Faruk to take whatever of me is left.
“Ripper. Come back to me, handsome.”
Cara’s face swims into focus, and I expect to find horror—or pity at the very least—because she sees everything. Every memory. Every inch of my shame. Before I can push her away, she coaxes me closer with her soft gaze.
And then she’s under me, her palms still molding to my face. Her hips tilt, and my tip grazes slick heat. As if she knows I can’t take this last step without help, she presses her mouth to mine.
“It’s okay,” she whispers against my lips. “You’re okay.”
“Protection,” I manage. “I don’t have—”
Another kiss and she cups my jaw, her thumb tracing my cheek. “Are you clean?”
“Y-yes. I made them run every test under the sun when I got back.” And then had to relive every moment of my humiliation in front of the medical staff treating me.
“I’m on birth control. And it’s been years for me. I…I want you, Ripper. Any way I can have you.”
My eyes burn, but I won’t let myself break down. Not now. Not when I have this amazing, beautiful, perfect woman in my bed, and she’s mending my broken soul one piece at a time. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
My breath catches in my chest as my crown slips between her folds. The memories flare, but just for a second. Then, it’s nothing but her. Her hands on my skin. Her kisses. Her soft reassurances. Redemption lives in her eyes, and I lock on, desperate to feel like me again. Like I’m not a failure, not afraid, not…broken.
