Page 44 of Bombshell

I bury myself inside her, leaning back to accept the weight of her body so that I can push deeper, until I’m as far inside her as possible. She whimpers needily, her hips swiveling in a little circle to stroke her clit against me. It’s a few short steps to reach the long, broad-armed couch beside the floor-to-ceiling window, and when we arrive I lift her from me, leaving her with an anxious, longing groan. I spin her around, draping her across the arm of the couch, presenting her swollen sex to me like a goddamn work of art.

“Tell me again. What do you need?” I ask, enjoying the listless way her body moves, unable to find release from the rapturous surge of longing.

“I need you to take me, Sterling,” she says, the words thick and slow.

“Take what?”

“My body,” she says, but I can tell she’s unhappy with the answer. I brush the head of my shaft across her seam, providing a jolt of clarity. “Me. Take me. I’m yours.”

I slide into her slowly, savoring her every response. The way her muscles loosen. The sound she makes, a thing without thought or intention, as varied and as natural as a storm. The near-hysterical, vibrating thrum she experiences the closer she gets to taking all of me. The utter, blank release of her completion.

I’m not sure how long we make love. Everything simply falls away. The things in our past. The distinction between her and me. Time itself. She is mine, and nothing will ever come between us again. We’ll take back everything. And God help anyone who stands in our way.

I feel the hot explosion of my orgasm, feel the implosion of hers. I lift her limp form and lay her across the couch before settling next to her. She wraps herself around me instinctively, our bodies tangling together like vines.

She was mine once, five years ago, and she might have forgotten, but she’s been mine every day since. She always will be. I won’t allow her to forget again. I won’t allow myself too, either. “I love you.”

“Hmmmm,” she sighs, the curve of her pink lips weaving a contented smile on her face. “I love you, too.”

“And you won’t forget?” I say, brushing the tip of my nose on the downy spot behind her ear.

She bites her lip, her green eyes flickering to meet mine. “I’ve never forgotten. I’ve always been yours. All of me. All of you.”

I smile. “All in.”

We linger there, knowing that the real world waits for us, cold and hard and unforgiving. Here and now, we shelter together, and nothing can touch us. We’d lost sight of that years ago. I won’t make the same mistake twice. But learning from our mistakes, means we can’t avoid the truth forever.

I nuzzle her neck, drinking in the intoxicating scent of her one more time. Then I finger her necklace. “You kept it.”

“I figured a little extra luck wouldn’t hurt,” she says in a soft voice.

She’s right. We could use more of that. But luck or not, we can’t avoid the past forever. “We should talk.”

Her languid body stiffens instantly.

“Don’t panic,” I coax. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’ve imagined every terrible scenario. I might not know exactly what we’re up against, but I can’t fathom there being a possibility I haven’t already considered. Not a single one can shake me. I’ll continue to remind her of that, even knowing that only time will prove it to her.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispers. Her index finger trails my forearm, following along the lines of my tattoo.

“I’ll start,” I say, earning me a blink of surprise. “Ask me something.”

“What is this?” she points to the ink. “Jack has one, too.”

“So does Luca and Noah, but he regrets his,” I say, my mind fading back to a different time and a different place.

Summer five years ago

Considering I’m supposed to spend the next three weeks proving that I’m at the pinnacle of physical fitness, it’s a bit amusing to discover most of the dining options at Camp Lejeune consist of fast food. I settle for something they claim is barbecue and survey my situation. There are no empty tables. Quite a few families crowd around tables, moms and dads barking orders and cleaning up spills. It’s a jarring sight after being at bootcamp. I’d come to think of my choice to enlist as a way to cut off the world. It had felt that way surrounded by a bunch of isolated recruits. Now I’m reminded that life—and the world—continues, even for a Marine. I finally spot two of the guys I saw in orientation this morning sitting at a table in the corner. I don’t recognize either of them from Parris Island, so I assume they came from San Diego.

I walk over and set down my tray. I’ve learned that etiquette doesn’t extend to necessity in the armed forces. If I need to sit to eat, I just sit down. Though it feels a lot more comfortable to do it with two men rather than a family with three kids fighting over chicken nuggets.

My appearance doesn’t phase either of them. The blond continues devouring chicken fingers, but the black guy shoots me a warm smile.

“Jack Archer.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake it firmly.

“Sterling Ford. I saw you two at orientation. You’re here for assessment.” It’s a statement of fact, but one that opens the door to conversation. Whether they want to chat or not, I don’t really care. But I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I’m alone.

“Yeah, we came from San Diego. Were you at Parris Island?” Jack asks.