More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (7 page)

Her eyes are gray—one hidden behind a strand of hair fallen from the loose knot on her head. I run my finger across her forehead, her lids slowly dropping. Her lips are wet again, parted slightly allowing her shaky inhales, followed by even shakier exhales. My finger’s behind her ear now, my palm on her jaw.

Her head tilts back.

I lick my lips.

And then I do something I’ve wanted to do since I saw her in that dress. I lean down, close my eyes, and press my lips to hers, and I kiss her. I ignore her loud intake of breath, her palms as they flatten on my stomach and I kiss her some more. I kiss her until her lips part against mine and her tongue slides across my bottom lip and then I do the same, and with both hands on her face, I use my lips to memorize every single thing about this moment.

It’s the slowest form of slow dance.

The most passionate act of foreplay.

It’s not until she moans into my mouth, her arm curled around my neck as she drops down to her feet that I realize she was as desperate for the kiss as I was. I remove my left hand from her face and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her into me. Then I push us back until her back hits the counter. I swipe my arm along the counter, discarding the once moment-defining cupcakes and I lift her onto it, standing between her legs as they wrap around me. We break the kiss, just long enough for her to remove my shirt and for me to do the same with her dress and fuck—she’s not wearing a bra. I blink hard, staring at the perfect pink of her nipples contrast against her pale skin and lower my gaze to her white panties. I run my hands up her bare thighs as I take one of her nipples in my mouth. She arches her back and releases a moan so fucking sexy, it takes everything in me not to rip off her panties and dive right in. Her hands are on the back of my head now, my thumb running across the dampness between her legs. She reaches for the band of my sweats as I move to the other breast; paying it the same attention I did the other. I circle my tongue around her nipple, flick it, then suck it into my mouth while I push her panties to the side and now my thumb can feel the full effect I’ve had on her.
She’s wet
. Soaking fucking wet. So wet it drives me to the brink of explosion. I moan, releasing her nipple and move back up to her mouth. She bites on my bottom lip as she takes my cock in her hand, slowly stroking it, and if she keeps it up, it won’t be long. Before she can push my sweats down with her free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet, then dump it on the counter and blindly retrieve a condom. My sweats drop to my ankles while I insert a finger into her pussy, my eyes drifting shut when she runs her thumb across the head of my dick. I pull away from the kiss, place the condom packet between my teeth and open my eyes but she’s already watching me, her breaths heavy, her cheeks flushed.

With my eyes, I ask a silent question—but then I realize… we don’t ask questions.

I tear the packet with my teeth and roll on the condom at the same time she removes the only piece of clothing that’s stopping us from going all the way.

I have
to ask. I can’t not. I don’t want her to regret it. “Riley,” I breathe out.

She responds by pressing her lips to mine, her hand around my neck, bringing me down until her entire back is lying on the counter. I grasp her thighs as best I can and pull until her ass is on the edge. Then I reach up, groping her breasts in both my hands, watching and listening to the results of her pleasure. In a single thrust, I’m inside her. She’s warm. And so fucking tight. Her back lifts off the counter, her quiet scream of pleasure and pain mixes with mine and we start to move. Slow at first, and then as one, we speed up. Her hands are on my waist as I lean up, watching her tits bounce with each thrust. My gaze moves lower, my cock getting harder as I watch it slide in and out of her perfect fucking body. She’s fucking ridiculous. Every move. Every sound. Every touch from her pushes me closer to the edge. Then she tightens around me, her body heated and covered in sweat as her stomach contracts, her release as close as mine. I hold out, just long enough for her to finish and when the shaking stops and her breaths seem to settle, I go off, releasing a grunt into her neck while her fingers curl into my back.

And then… silence.

I’ve never hated silence as much as I do right now.

Because reality hits.

And reality’s a bitch.

She’s drunk.

Beyond drunk.

And now I’m regretful.

She breaks the silence.

I wish she didn’t.

Because she’s crying, pushing away from her.

I lean back. “Riley, it’s—”

She pushes until I’m completely off her, wiping her tears and covering her mouth like she’s about to puke.

I make her sick.

We
make her sick.

She rushes to the sink and empties the content of her stomach. Then grips the edge of the counter, her shoulders heaving with every breath.

I discard the condom in the trash and pull up my pants before going to her. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I say, “Riley, it doesn’t—”

“Mean anything,” she cuts in.

“
—change
anything,” I finish.

Slowly, she turns to me, using her arms to cover her most private parts—parts I was drowning in only minutes ago. “Dylan,” she cries. “It changes
everything
.”

Dylan

S
he asks me
to leave.

I do because it’s not one of those times where she’s joking around or pretending she hates me. The look she gives me mixed with the regret in her eyes is proof of that.

And as much as I don’t want to admit it, she was right. It changes
everything
.

Because now I’m in deep. Too fucking deep.

So I do the only thing I know when nothing in the entire world seems to make sense.

I drive.

And then I drive some more.

And when the sight of the sun dipping down on the horizon doesn’t give me the calm I was hoping for, I head home and face reality.

Eric’s standing in
the garage as I pull into our driveway,
my
tools and
my
engine parts in his hands. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” I yell out, getting out of my truck and making my way to him.

“Nope,” he says, popping the
P
. “This car stuff has always been you and Dad’s thing. Kind of pissed me off, to be honest.”

I stop in my tracks. “What’s with you?”

“Where have you been, Dylan?” he says, facing me.

“What are you talking about?”

He places his hands on his hips and widens his stance. Fuck, he looks like Dad. Acts like him, too. “You’ve been home over a week, and I’ve barely seen you.” His eyes narrow, as he cups my chin. He tilts my head from side to side while he steps closer, his eyes right on mine. “Dylan?”

“Uh…what?”

“Are you on The Drug?”

I swat his hand away. “Fuck off.”

“Dylan.” He stifles his laugh. “I’m being serious. Are you, or are you not, on The Drug?”

“Oh my God, Eric.” I push him aside and start replacing the tools back where they belong. “I’m not on The Drug… whatever the hell that means.”

“Good.” He leans back on the workbench and crosses his arms again. “I just feel like I should be looking out for my kid brother, you know?”

“I’m not a kid anymore, E. I can take care of myself.”

He points to my shoulder. “Clearly.”

I freeze. So does Eric when he realizes what he’s just said. “I didn’t mean that, man. I overstepped.”

“Yeah, you did.” I shut the lid on the toolbox and face him, matching his stance, waiting for him to leave.

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Did you… want to talk about it or something? About what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath. “Well, if you do—”

“I don’t.
Ever
.”

“Right.” He nods but doesn’t look away. “Your friends know your back?”

I shake my head and drop my shoulders.

“Why not?”

“Not ready,” I rush out, and when I realize this is the most we’ve had to say to each other in ten years, I ask, “What’s with the twenty questions? Dad ask you to talk to me or something?”

“What? A brother can’t talk to his brother to see if he’s okay?”

With a sigh, I reply, “I’m fine, Eric.”

“Cut the shit, okay? None of us are
fine
. You, me, Dad—we’ve all been there, but you’re the only one who’s come back with a scar to remind us of it. If ‘
fine’
is the story you want to spread for everyone else, then good for you. But don’t use it on us. We’re your goddamn family, Dylan.”

I turn away because if I look at him any longer I’ll probably punch him. “You’re right. It happened to
me
. Not you. And if I say I’m fine, I’m fucking fine. Leave it alone.” I walk to my truck and pop the hood, then spend the next few minutes ignoring his presence, pretending to fix something that isn’t broken. Which, I guess, is exactly what he’s doing… trying to fix me. I’m not broken. Or at least I wasn’t. Not until I decided to take advantage of the drunk and damaged girl next door.

“You want to know why I came home?”

I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”

My truck sways when he leans against it. “For Dad.”

My hands freeze mid-movement. “He asked you to come home?”

“No. You know Dad, he’d never ask. But think about it… the man lost his wife, raised two boys on his own. Then I go and enlist, deploy, and eight years later you do the same and he has no one. We’re all he has—just us and the constant thoughts of where we are and what we’re doing and if we’re even fucking alive.”

I drop my gaze, my grip loosening around the wrench in my hand.

He adds, “So if I ask you if you’re okay or if you want to talk about shit, I’m not doing it to set you off or because I feel like I need to. I’m doing it because I fucking love you. And I love Dad. And if me coming home and giving up on early retirement means Dad will at least have one of his family members alive and standing next to him until the day he dies then that’s what I’ll do.”

I release my anger with a shaky breath and blink. Once. Twice. Then over and over until the dryness returns. Then I swallow loudly, pushing down the lump in my throat.

“Dylan?” he asks, his voice softer, and I’d give just about anything to be in Riley’s room again. Away from everything… away from what he’s making me feel and making me think and making me remember.

“Look at me, Dylan.”

I inhale deeply and prepare myself. Then lift my head from under the hood.

He asks, “Are you okay?”

With my eyes on his, I slowly shake my head. “Not yet,” I tell him, my voice strained.

He nods in understanding. “But you will be?”

I raise my chin. “Yes.”

“You want to go back?”

I don’t hesitate. Not for a second. “Yes.”

He motions to my shoulder. “When’s your next checkup?”

“Tomorrow.”

“VA?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“No, Eric. I’m good.”

He takes a step back, his features relaxing a little. “So,” he says, hands in his pockets. “Who’s the girl?”

I shift my gaze. “What girl?”

“You’re such a shitty liar.”

“Am not.”

“Okay Mr.
I wasn’t playing basketball in the house, Grandma’s spirit broke her own urn
!”

A chuckle bubbles out of me. “Shut up. Totally happened.”

“Sure.” He starts to leave, but stops just beside me. “Call your friend… the one who was over a lot when we first moved here.”

“Why?”

“To thank him for dropping by and visiting with Dad whenever he was in town.”

“He did?”

Eric shrugs. “People do that, you know? Join forces when they miss or worry about the same person. Makes it easier to deal with, I guess.”

Riley

I can’t tell
if it’s the tears building or the water I’m drowning in causing the sharp ache pricking my eyes.

I welcome the pain—the burn in my lungs, my throat, my lips as I press them tight—holding my breath… keeping the bubbles from forming.

There’s pressure forcing its way into my eardrums…

…the water’s winning.

For now.

But in the end, my body will give in.

It always does.

It’s just a matter of time.

Tick. Tock.

My mouth fills with water first, then my throat, then my lungs. And finally my eyes as they snap open—my surroundings a blur. My fingers dig into my palms when my hands form fists. My legs kick. My body shakes. A single muffled sound escapes me.

One bubble. Two. Then many more.

I choke on a gasp when I quickly sit up, the water cascading down my naked body. It’s cold—the water, the air, it’s so cold.

And so damn perfect.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I breathe through my nose. A regular routine I use to keep my desperation for air almost silent. My gaze shifts to the floor of the bathroom where water’s spilled over the edge of the tub.
At least it’s just water
, I tell myself. The pain, physical and emotional, now all-consuming.

Because I don’t want to forget…

…and he’s making me forget you, Jeremy.

Dylan

“S
o you know
how long it’s going to take to heal?” I ask Dr. Garvis—the doc assigned my case at the VA hospital. I could have easily opted to use someone in town and, honestly, I’d thought for a second about asking Dr. Matthews, Logan’s dad. But that would mean betraying Logan in a way. And betraying seemed a lot worse than just not telling him at all.

He looks up from his clipboard and taps the pen against it. “I’m going to be honest with you, Lance Corporal Banks. It’s different for everyone, but you’re doing everything you can. I know you want to get back, but doing more than you should and forcing it might make it worse. It’s still early. It’s been less than three weeks.”

“You can call me Dylan,” I tell him, rubbing my neck in frustration.