Last True Hero (26 page)

He stares at me, eyes wide. I realize belatedly that this is the first time I've ever told him I love him. His face changes with a myriad of emotions. Finally, he settles on deep, hungry desire. My body turns liquid, just waiting for him to strike.

He does. He grabs my face and melds his lips to mine. The gentle caresses of his lips and tongue from a moment ago are gone, and my fierce, ferocious soldier is back. He kisses me like he wants a piece of me.

And God, I hope that he does.

T
hank God the girl's already naked, because with the way I'm feeling, her clothes would have been ripped to shreds. I need her under me, and I need it
now.

She loves me. I know how I feel about her, and I know how I hoped she felt about me. But now I know.

She fucking loves me.

I try, and fail, to remember the last time anyone uttered those words to me. It hasn't happened since I lost my parents. So many families I belonged to since then. No one ever, ever loved me. I didn't realize how starved I was for it until that very moment.

When those words fell out of her mouth, she put a cast on all the pieces of me that were broken. She healed me in ways the doctors never could.

Now I'm starved in a whole new, dangerous way. I'm starved for her.

My body is reacting of its own accord. All of her naked, smooth skin slides underneath me as I lean over her. Her soft curves, so sensual and hot, curl around me in exactly the right places. I couldn't have fantasized this better, and I fantasize about naked Berkeley a whole hell of a lot.

She whimpers as my hand grips her good wrist and holds it above her head. I don't want the distraction of her hands right now. I just want to appreciate this goddess-like body that's been placed in front of me on a platter.

I trail my lips down her neck, forging a moist trail down until I reach the round curve of her breast. Remembering the feel of it in my mouth a while ago, I reinvest in this activity full-force. Her answering cry of encouragement is like the universal thumbs-up letting me know that what I'm doing is invariably awesome.

“Baby, if you're going to stop me…now's the time to do it,” I growl. Shit, I don't mean to sound so gruff, but I really don't want her to ask me to stop. I actually might cease breathing if she does.

“Don't stop.” She breathes. “Like, ever.”

I grin against her sweet skin as my hand strokes her stomach.

Berkeley's body is something men like Homer and Virgil wrote about ages ago. It's not like any other girl's I've dated. She respects it in a way that I've never seen. She doesn't starve it; she doesn't abuse it. She takes pride in it and refuses to hide it. It's elegant and erotic at the same time, with all her soft, plump curves and lean, strong limbs. I'll gladly worship this body, as often as she'll let me. It's the kind of body men
really
want to see in magazines, and yet she's here lying naked in this bed with me.

My hand reaches the junction between her thighs, and the skin there is stripped bare. I almost convulse right there, and I'm really regretting the fact that I'm still wearing my jeans.

Bare.

My finger easily finds the sweetest spot on her body, and as I draw tiny circles she begins to unravel beneath me.

Holy fuck, she's beautiful. She's writhing and tugging her hand, trying to yank it away from my pinning hold. I lean over and whisper in her ear. “Tell me, Berkeley. Tell me what this does to you.”

Her eyes slowly open, dark and wanting, sending an intense need straight to my manhood. I fight the urge to reach down and adjust everything that's going on down there.

“It's…it's driving me insane,” she whispers. “Your touch, Dare…it's freaking, God, it's gonna…”

Ah, there it is. My Berkeley's nothing if not vocal. I circle my finger a little bit faster, watching her face closely as her lips part and a moan escapes. Fuck, just watching her is going to make me lose it. “It's gonna what?”

She squirms as I draw my finger through her wetness and back to stroke her most tender spot once more. Her legs wrap around my waist, clenching in a death grip I think leaves dents in my sides. “Oh, God, Dare…please!”

I don't want her to beg. She doesn't have to. I'm right the fuck here. I move away from her to stand, and she groans softly.

“Don't, baby. Look at me.” She responds to my order and looks up, watching me as I unclasp the button on my jeans and pull them down. The wrinkle in her forehead appears as she bites her lip, and I step out of my boxer briefs. Reaching down to my jeans, I grab a square foil packet and tear it open. Holding it up to her, I raise a brow.

“This?”

She nods emphatically. “That, and then
you.
”

I roll on the hardware and then take my place on top of her once more. Spreading her legs wider with my knee, she gladly opens them for me and we're closer than we've ever been before. Closer than I've ever been to anyone, because it's so much more than just my body that's involved here.

She reaches down and grasps the length of me, running her hand down my shaft and back up again. I freeze, closing my eyes and trying desperately to control my urge to slip inside her and just start thrusting wildly.

I take my hand and run it across her cheek, staring into her eyes with the now-familiar ardor I always feel when I look at Berkeley. “Let's take this slow, okay? I want this to be perfect for you.”

“It's already perfect for me,” she whispers as her fingers take root in my hair. I fucking love it when her hands are in my hair. I close my eyes and she guides me toward her. I can feel her before I get there, she's hot and ready. “It's been perfect for me since that first night on the beach, Dare. We don't have to take it slow, I just want you. I want my no-holds-barred soldier. Nothing less.”

Growling, I rock my hips into her and she cries out from the force of the impact. It's…
Jesus
.

It's bliss.

I can't take it slow if I tried, now that I've started. I pull back out and then thrust back inside of her with abandon. My mind travels to a place where it's only me and my sexy, evil vixen siren. Acute ripples of pleasure pulsed through my entire body, focusing on the very center of me, at the place where our bodies are joined together. It's unrivaled; nothing I've ever experienced can ever compare to this. Nothing I ever experience from this point forward
will
ever compare to this. Being inside of Berkeley is the key to what I've been searching for since my parents died.

I'm home.

She cries out beneath me. “Dare!”

The way her body is arching beneath mine, the way her muscles are clenching and unclenching around me, I know she's close and I want more than anything to push her over the edge and watch her break in my hands before I follow her into the abyss. I pull out slowly, agonizingly slowly, and reach a hand down between us.

“Berkeley.” My voice is rough, strained with all of the heat and passion she's stirred up inside of me. “Let me see you, baby.”

She lifts hooded eyes to mine, and I use a finger to circle her once more. God, she's soaking wet and pulsing gently beneath my finger. Oh, God, I can't hold out.

As if in answer to my silent thought, she stiffens, her whole body quivering with impending release.

I circle my finger faster and keep my gaze focused on her beautiful face. Her lips part as she screams my name. “Let go, Berkeley. I protect what's mine, remember? Let go for me, honey.”

“Dare!” she screams, and her body relaxes. Her chest heaves as she stares up at me.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I'm not a fucking superhero. With those words, I can't hold on any longer. I bury my face in her sweet-smelling neck, bathed in the scent of roses, and groan into her skin. My release overcomes me, and I think I actually black out for a few seconds. When I come to, soft fingers are trailing along my back, my side where my scar usually lies hidden, and my neck.

Once again, I have the immensely comforting thought that I've finally made it home.

“I love you, too,” I whisper against her skin.

I wake up to the sunlight streaming in through Berkeley's window. The gauzy curtains on either side of the opening do little to suppress the light, and I groan before reaching out for her. I instantly remember every single detail about the previous night, and I want her close to my side.

When I realize she's already lying on her side, I open my eyes and find her amber ones burning into mine.

“Hey.” I smile sleepily. “You're staring at me. Did you write on my face?”

“No.” She giggles. “Your face first thing in the morning is something I thought I'd never get to see again. So, yeah, I'm staring. Can't blame a girl.”

I pull her closer. “I'm not going anywhere, ever again. So you can stare all you want.”

She nods. I see the hesitation in her eyes, and I reach out to smooth the wrinkle on her forehead.

“What?”

“You didn't have a nightmare?”

Oh. Huh.
“Uh, I guess not. The last thing I thought about before I fell asleep was about how I finally made it home. Meaning, you. You're my home.”

Her lips turn up in a smile that brings her dimples front and center. Every soft part I have inside melts at the sight of that smile. She's reduced me to sappy-ass inner monologues. It gets better and better.

She snuggles into my side. “I'm glad you're back. I don't care what my parents say. I don't care what anyone says, Dare. I want you, and I'll fight for us if I have to.”

“Me, too.” I kiss the top of her wild, curly head. “You just made it to the very tip-top of my list of Top Five mornings ever.”

She laughs. “I still want to hear that list.”

“I bet you do. Breakfast?”

“Oh, Dare,” she says breezily. “You'll learn. I
always
want breakfast.”

I smile at the repetition of the phrase she used the first time she spent the night with me.

She jumps out of bed and heads for her bedroom door. I almost choke at the sight of her. Her bare ass waves at me as she walks.

“Get dressed, Berkeley,” I growl.

She looks back and smirks. She heads back toward her closet. “Gotcha.”

There's nothing shameful about this walk. When I enter the living room a few minutes after Berkeley, the gigantic grin on my face fades when I get a look at Grisham sitting on the couch, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. He looks perfectly comfortable.

Here, in my girl's apartment on a Sunday morning at around—I check my cell phone—9:00 a.m.

What the fuck is he doing here on a Sunday morning at 9:00 a.m.?

“Good morning, Dare,” says Mea. She's bright and chipper in the mornings, but I think that's her normal state of being. “Coffee?”

I nod. “Please.”

Grisham keeps his eyes locked on me, a slight frown etched in his features. I don't see Berkeley.

“She went out to grab some breakfast,” explains Mea. “We didn't have any eggs in the house.”

Shit.
I wish she'd let me go with her. After her kidnapping and being with her last night, I'm a changed man. I don't want to let her out of my sight.

I sit on the couch next to Grisham, wondering how to best pose my question.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
seems rude.

Mea perches on the edge of a barstool, eyeing us warily, like she's waiting for an explosion to erupt. She might not have to wait long.

I focus on Grisham, whose expression is calm. But I can see that under the surface of that placid expression, anger is simmering just below.

“You want to know why I'm here?” he asks quietly, his jaw clenched.

Leaning back against the cushions and propping my right foot over my left knee, I stare at him.

He leans forward and sets his mug down on the dark wood coffee table. Just as he's sitting back, Greta emerges into the kitchen. She stops cold when she sees the two of us sitting on the couch. Assessing us, she continues her trajectory into the kitchen, raising her eyebrows at Mea speculatively.

“Everything okay?” She keeps her tone casual, but her gaze is locked on the two of us while she pours herself some coffee.

I nod, trying to put the girls at ease. “Fine. I'm just waiting for Grisham here to tell me what he's doing in my girlfriend's apartment at nine in the morning on a Sunday, that's all.”

My voice is light, with an edge that lets Grisham know I want the answer, and I want it now.

“I'm here because I've been here every single day you haven't.” The anger in his voice is palpable now, traveling around the room like a comet that won't be slowing down anytime soon.

Feeling like I've been punched in the gut, I wince. Mea's eyes are suddenly downcast, and Greta clears her throat loudly.

“You weren't here two days ago,” I shoot back. “You know, when she was kidnapped? Where were you then?”

I can see the same injured look on his face that I probably just had on mine. Taking a deep breath, he continues.

“And since when is Berkeley your girlfriend? Didn't you just dump her and run last month? What the hell are you doing, man?”

The hostility in his voice is muted, but the dude is clearly pissed. I take a deep breath, because shit…he's got a point.

I haven't been here.

And it was entirely my own fault that I wasn't here. The fact that he has been…it stings. I allow my mind to wander back to the fact that maybe he hasn't just been here as Berkeley's friend. But then her voice telling me she loves me echoes through my head, and every jealous thought I have is stamped out.

“Look,” I begin. I see both Mea and Greta subtly lean forward, because they want to hear what I have to say just as much as Grisham does.

“I fucked up. I left before I had the whole story, but in my defense I thought Berkeley was just screwing with my head. I fell in love with that girl a long time ago, and it hurt to think she didn't return those feelings.”

Grisham's brows arch toward the ceiling and he barks out a laugh. He runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes. Everything about his body language says he doesn't believe a word out of my mouth.

“But everything is different now.” Berkeley shuts the front door behind her as she enters the living room, carrying a grocery bag.