Flynn's Kiss (Disarmed & Dangerous) (12 page)

The fleeting thought of whether he considered her worth seeing a psychiatrist for was squashed without further consideration. She expected him to sit in silence, but he surprised her by speaking quietly in the dark.

“I did once. When this first happened.”

She waited.

He sighed.

“I haven’t seen him in three years. I don’t need to.”

She thought otherwise, but unless he made the move himself, it wouldn’t be worth it.

“Would you tell me how it happened?”

“Sure. It’s not a secret, I’m surprised you haven’t been told already.” At the shake of her head, he continued.

“Unlike you, I had a brilliant childhood. I had everything I wanted, no one denied me anything. In fact, I was a spoiled little bastard. Even Carl tells me that now. At the time, I had no idea. I thought I was invincible.”

“Most kids do, whatever their background.”

“Yeah. But I was worse. I was full of myself. Like you, I was bright, but where people were scared of your intelligence, they encouraged mine. I did really well in college, finished up early, and got recruited into the Special Tactics Squadron. I loved it. It underpinned my whole theory—I became a god in uniform.” He shook his head and let out a bark of self-recriminating laughter. “Jesus. They made me one of the youngest ever Combat Controllers and I was good.” He blew out a breath, stared into the fire, and she couldn’t resist moving closer to rest her hand on his arm.

“We went out on a mission. We’d been on loads. It seemed routine, but we were betrayed, by one of our own. He led us into an ambush. They slaughtered three. Two escaped and I was injured. They caught me, tortured me.”

She could make out his hand in the orange glow as he smoothed it over his face and skimmed over the details.

“They said I was too pretty, they wanted to teach me humility before I died. They suspended me upside down from a meat hook in the ceiling.” A wave of queasiness unexpectedly shot through her. She’d not allowed herself to think too deeply about what had happened. She’d had no idea it had been so violent, so personal.

“They slashed my face. They were about to slit open my throat.”

Nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach.

“How did you get away?”

“The one who survived came back and rescued me.”

“You said two escaped.”

“Yeah. Only one survived. She put a bullet through the other one’s brain for betraying us.”

“I see.”

“Anyway. She saved me.”

“She must have been very tough and brave to come back and rescue you single-handedly.”

“Hard as nails.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name? Barbie.”

She snorted, breaking the heavy atmosphere.

“You were rescued by a woman named Barbie?”

“Sure.” He laughed, this time genuine and free. “You should see her. She’s about your height, blonde—bright white blonde, with breasts…” he held his hands out from his own chest and wiggled his fingers, and then nodded at her chest. “…bigger than yours.”

Her laughter choked in her throat as his smile spread wide across his face in genuine affection for the woman called Barbie.

“Did you and she…?”

“No.” He snorted the word out and looked sideways at her through narrowed eyes, his smile still in place. “We got along really well. Still do, when I hear from her. But she was just as likely to slit my throat as bounce on me.”

“Bounce on you?”

“Yeah, you know…”

“Yes, I do know what you mean. Is that what you were doing with me? Bouncing on me?”

He lifted his hand and stroked soft fingers along her jawline. His eyes looked deep into hers, and she could see the amusement twinkling through the shafts of firelight playing across his face.

“If I remember right, Liberty, you were the one bouncing on me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you were—enthusiastic.” She smiled. Their faces were so close she could have leaned in and kissed him, but she sensed the moment he realized and deliberately withdrew, rolling to her feet.

“I think I’d better get the sleeping bag, it’s getting a little chilly.”

He stared up at her, the warmth of the firelight highlighting his features, and her heart almost stopped. “Sure, I’ll go take a p…a walk.”

•●•

Every time he brought his face close to hers, he felt a desperate need to kiss her and a wild chill of fear. Fear of failure.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful when he’d told Liberty about the psychiatrist. He may not have seen him in years, but they’d remained in contact. They’d spent a long time together in the beginning, and now and again Flynn felt the need to speak to Dominic. But he was resisting the temptation at the moment, trying to decide how important it was.

It seemed pretty important now, with the bundle of dips and curves wrapped inside the same sleeping bag as him, her ass snuggled comfortably into his groin, her back pressed into his chest, and her icy feet wedged firmly between his knees. He tucked his nose into her hair and inhaled. It smelled of green apples, clean and fresh, but if he moved his head down a little and sniffed just behind her ear, there was a warm, inviting, womanly aroma. He closed his eyes and absorbed her varying scents. Warm, black velvet enveloped him, soothing his mind and enticing his body to relax.

“Flynn?”

Shit. It was okay, he told himself, to swear inside his head, but the woman had almost had him leaping out the sleeping bag. He’d thought she was asleep.

“Yup.”

“Are you asleep?”

He cleared his throat.

“Not anymore.”

“I can’t get to sleep.”

“Uh-huh.” He was still floating in languid warmth.

“I think your penis is poking into my backside.”

His eyes shot open and pitch black greeted him. He tried to find a source of light, but a thin cover of cloud blocked out the stars and the moon.

“I think you’ll find it’s my Bowie knife.”

Silence greeted him and he closed his eyes again, a small smile touching his lips at her gullibility, and he allowed the comfort to engulf him once more.

“Flynn?”

He could barely manage a grunt.

“It’s a really stupid place to keep a sharp knife.”

His eyes shot wide again.

“Apart from that, with the heat emanating from it, I would be seriously worried unless it was a penis, it might be about to self-combust…”

He had to wonder for a moment if the woman was serious, and then he realized she was holding her breath, and her little body had a gentle tremor going on.

“I can’t help it if my dick has a homing device.”

Her laughter stopped.

He hummed, the sound vibrating from the center of his chest. He huddled himself in, snuggled her soft body up close, and welcomed oblivion.

He wondered how the hell he’d survived two nights, nestled into the depths of her sleeping bag, her constant closeness driving him insane. By the third day he’d been almost ready to call it quits. He had two choices, he could leave her and ride back home, get on with his own life, or he could tell her he’d known all along about the extra sleeping bag, insist she give it to him, and sleep over the other side of the fire to stop torturing himself.

Trouble was, he’d never been one to quit. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want to give up, he just knew he didn’t, and there was no chance he was going to vacate the sleeping bag voluntarily. She would have to evict him. He suspected she almost had several times.

He grinned to himself as he remembered waking on the first morning, having turned over in the night, his hands full of Liberty’s ass and his face pressed deep into her cleavage. Best sleeping position he’d ever experienced, and tempted though he was to nuzzle his nose deep into her welcoming tits, he’d unraveled himself before she’d stirred properly so as not to suffer her wrath.

Strange they’d spent two full days together, and he’d started to appreciate how peaceful it was being around Liberty. Her level of concentration was so high when she was extracting delicate little samples of the earth and water, taking each sterile sampler from its packet and measuring the depth to such accuracy she held her breath. When she stopped, it was as though she had emerged from a fog. Her eyes were still misted, a small smile played over her lips, and the temptation to pull her into his arms and stroke her hair until the violet depths cleared became almost overwhelming.

The rest of the time, she entertained herself with her atrocious singing, so out of key it was almost impossible to tell what tune she was killing, and she’d learned to jiggle her head so the Stetson tinkled in time with the beat, making her laugh every so often at her own cleverness.

The best time was in the morning, though, when she bathed in the stream and he wasn’t supposed to be looking. He considered it his duty to check her ass for bruises after the way she slapped it up and down in the saddle every time they rode.

He allowed her to pull ahead as they meandered along at a slow trot so he could get a thrill watching her ass slapping on the saddle. Tight little ass, not a wobble to it as it smacked against the leather, bringing back memories he’d rather not forget.

One more night wouldn’t harm.

•●•

Instant arousal made his eyes fly open while his body shot from comatose to fully alert. His heart throbbed in his ears, adrenaline zipped to make his pulse fly. Flynn lay perfectly still and held his breath as he tried to establish what danger his instincts had alerted him to. He blinked. Blew out a long, calming breath. He must have been having a dream. A wet dream. His dick was as hard as a steel girder. He smiled in the dark. Hardly surprising with his arms full of soft, warm temptation, Liberty’s smooth, pert ass tucked snug into his groin, one breast palmed in his hand, while the fingers of his other hand were cradled between her thighs. Couldn’t blame him for the hard-on. He dipped his head to snuggle his nose into the back of her neck and inhaled her warm, aroused scent. And stopped his breath once more to hold the taste of her at the back of his throat, across the top of his tongue.

It wasn’t his wet dream responsible for awakening him. It was hers. This time his breath came out in a rush. He should wake her, move away, stop her from dreaming.

Her soft whimper made him pause, the gentle roll of her hips bumped his fingers higher to nudge her tiny panties to one side, to touch the satin skin between her thighs, to slip through her honeyed warmth. Her curvaceous body undulated, and indescribable torture filled him. He ground his teeth and toyed with the idea of remaining completely still and letting Liberty have her own wicked dream. Her hardened nipple pressed into his palm, begging for his attention; her ass pushed against his erection, and in a blind panic, he made a snap decision to wake her.

“Liberty.”

“Flynn, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Heavy with desire, her voice rasped out, setting his nerves alight. He gave an experimental contraction of his fingers between her legs, and she groaned, flexed her hips again, her entire body awash with small vibrations.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes.” Her breath rushed out in a wild gasp.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh God, yes.”

He ripped his hand from between her legs to shove his boxers out of the way, and before she could change her mind, he positioned her ass in front of his hips, and true to his statement the night before, like a homing device his dick found her already stimulated entrance and he was inside her. His hand once again groped to find her hot wet center, his hips surged against her backside pushing himself high inside her.

He slipped his fingers between her slick folds and gave a long slow slide through her moistness to find the treasure of her clitoris. The small vibrations of her inner walls grew as her body tautened, every muscle straining as he pumped inside her hard and fast, their bodies held tight together, constricted by the sleeping bag. Strong tremors flowed through the palm of his hand from the well of her chest, up her throat, and emerged as a low keening wail as she shuddered and broke in his arms, and with one last surge, he emptied himself inside her, held deep, and clung tight.

He buried his face in the soft curve of her neck to allow the thick lethargic drowsiness to envelope him. His eyes closed, his body relaxed, and the comfortable sensation of floating returned. Replete and content, he allowed himself to drift, hover on the edge of oblivion, and then topple over.

“Flynn.”

Sharp torment slashed unexpectedly across the tender flesh along his scar, his entire body spasmed, desperate panic shot through his system, and a frantic need to escape consumed him. He grabbed the person in front of him, his muscles hurtling to attention as he strained to throw her away from him.

“Flynn, no. Stop. It’s me. I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck are you doing touching me?”

She’d obviously turned around in his arms while he’d been unconscious, secure in his dark cocoon.

Her breath came in short, frightened gasps.

“I didn’t know you were asleep.”

Heat shot from his toes and burned its way straight through his body into his head to expand and swell enough to explode. Claustrophobic, he pulled at the sleeping bag zipper. Panic stricken, his fingers tore at it, fumbled until he wrenched it apart with a rending tear, and lunged out of the bag, flopped onto the cold, hard ground. Still trapped within the bright white confines of his cell, blood coated his teeth, slicked over his thickened tongue, the nightmare never ending.

“Don’t ever fucking touch my face again.”

In the dark, her sweet breath stuttered to a halt and smacked his brain back into reality.

Regret coursed through him, making him weak, and he rolled to his knees to peer through the darkness at her glinting eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he stumbled over his words but couldn’t fathom what to say to make it right again. “Liberty. I’m sorry. You caught my face with your nail. I was asleep. I overreacted.”

Her voice, when it eventually emerged from the darkness, was small and quivering, sending a wave of remorseful agony to pulse through him.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scratch you. I was only trying to touch you in the dark. I had no idea you were already asleep.”