Unfinished Hero 03 Raid (16 page)

“Okay, Raiden.”

“And you’re not leaving.”

My belly flipped.

“Okay,” I breathed.

“You should also know there’s a good chance you’ll fall asleep during church.”

I figured I knew what that meant. It brought on a shiver and my arms moved to wrap
around him.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He rolled so he was on his back and I was on top
. O
ne of his arms
was
clamped around my waist, his other hand in my hair.

“Now, Hanna, kiss me,” he ordered, his voice rough and commanding.

“Okay,” I repeated then did as I was told.

The roll lasted about two seconds
,
then he did another one and I was on my back again.

Half an hour later Raiden had me coming apart at the seams.

It was glorious.

Chapter Ten

Church Sunday

My eyes opened slowly
,
and at first I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get the heavenly softness that covered my body.

I didn’t get the bright sunshine that seemed to be coming from everywhere.

I didn’t get what sounded like a shower coming from not too far away.

I didn’t get the languorous feeling that permeated every inch of my frame.

I didn’t get the pleasant ache between my legs.

Then I got it and I shot up to sitting in Raiden’s bed, leaning into one hand, the
other one clutching the afghan I gave Raiden to my naked chest.

Holy Moses, I slept naked.

Holy Moses! I never slept naked!

But I knew why I did.

I slept naked because the second time Raiden did what he said. He played with me.
He worked my body until I was drenched. And when he gave me an orgasm, it felt like
I was coming apart at the seams.

He did things to me
. A
mazing things, wild things, things I knew about and things I didn’t. Things that,
if I told someone, might sound strange or kinky
,
but things that, the way Raiden did them to me, were absolutely not.

I let him.

And I loved every second.

And I slept naked because the time after
that,
Raiden did not take an excruciatingly long and exquisite amount of time making love
to me.

No.

He took an excruciatingly long and exquisite amount of time
worshipping
me.

There was no other way to put it.

If the first time was fast, wild, out-of-control and phenomenal, the second time was
slower, wilder
,
totally in Raiden’s control
,
but out of mine and it was sensational.

But the last time was like an out of body experience.

It was magnificent.

So much so, waking naked in Raiden Miller’s bed the morning after our second date,
I didn’t feel like a slut or a skank, mortified by either.

I felt happy.

So I smiled.

I looked down at the afghan Raiden obviously wasted no time using and I slid its beauty
up my chest, smiling into the cashmere.

Seconds later, I dropped the blanket back to my chest, looked around and my smile
died.

I was on a stacked set of queen-sized mattress and box springs that sat on the floor.
The sheets were white and appeared clean, bright, even almost new. A comforter with
a subtle geometric design in masculine colors of blue and red was on the floor, only
the afghan on me.

The bed, as it were, was in the middle of an enormous room made entirely of wood,
the walls punctuated profusely by huge, multi-square-paned windows that definitely
needed to be cleaned. There was a lamp on the floor by the bed, its ceramic base chipped,
a long extension cord running across the rough wood floor, plugged into the wall.
Also by the bed was a small pile of condoms, some paperback books and strewn magazines.

Mostly to avoid the pile of condoms and what they said, my eyes wandered.

On the wall across from the foot of the bed was a wardrobe, one door open and dangling
drunkenly
. S
ome clothes could be seen hanging haphazardly inside, a variety of athletic shoes
and boots spilling out the bottom. More clothes in a tangle on the floor that led
to wardrobe.

To one side, a dresser, all the drawers open
;
tees, thermals and boxer briefs dangling out the drawers.

On the opposite wall, a battered countertop covered in boxes of cereal, crackers,
jars of protein powder and piled dishes
. A
sink that was piled with
dirty
dishes
. There was
a fridge to one side of the counter that long ago should have been put out of its
misery,
and
a crusty, old range at the other end that might actually be a health hazard.

In front of the scary kitchen, there was an old, chrome sided Formica-topped table
with two chairs, their black vinyl seats torn, padding coming out. The top of the
table had a laptop and papers
,
with more papers scattered on the floor.

There was a big, locked trunk against the back wall with a stenciling on the side
that read “Cpl. Miller, R”. In the corner by it, a weight bench and a rack of weights
surrounded by a mess of dumbbells on the floor that looked the size only Hercules
would work out with.

And last, there was an old, faded plaid easy chair with a rickety standing lamp beside
it and an even ricketier spindly table that also was covered to overflowing with paperbacks.

The whole thing screamed Beverly Hillbillies before they struck oil.

The only hints at décor were an alarming number of shotgun racks on the walls, three
of them. Two were empty, one had two guns in the slots and boxes of ammo on the shelf
under them. I was no gun expert, but they didn’t look like shotguns
. M
ore like fancy rifles.

And the other piece of decoration was a framed eight by ten photo on the dresser.
The space was huge and the picture was far away
,
but I could see it was a mess of men, some holding guns, all wearing smiles and desert
fatigues
,
probably because a bleak desert landscape could be seen behind them.

Raiden’s unit.

The unit that was mostly lost.

Nearly all of the men in that picture were gone.

Holy Moses.

I narrowed my eyes on the picture, like doing this would engage superpower vision
I did not have and would make it come into better focus just as I heard the shower
turn off.

I twisted to look at a rough plank paneled room that jutted out in the far corner.
A room that looked like it had been added in a hurry, the work done by five year olds.

The bathroom.

I couldn’t believe Raiden lived here
,
but he obviously did. I recognized some of the cargo pants on the floor from the
days I was crazy, creepy stalking him.

Actually, I couldn’t believe
anyone
could live here.

He didn’t need a housecleaner.

He needed
a house
.

On this thought, hinges screamed in agony. A section of the wood paneling swung open
and Raiden strolled out, wet hair slicked back, droplets of water on his broad shoulders,
a towel around his hips and the rest of his lusciousness on display.

The second and third time last night, I got to see (and explore) Raiden’s body.

It was amazing in clothes.

It was way,
way
better without them.

His eyes came to me. They grew warm and he appeared to be heading to the kitchen-ish
area
,
but switched directions, walking to the bed.

He didn’t enter it or put a knee in it. He didn’t say hi.

He bent
and
hooked me around the back of the neck with his hand in a way that I had no choice
but to go up, which I did. Once partially up, his other arm closed around me
,
and when I was crushed to him his head came down and he took my mouth in a good morning
kiss that made my toes
and
my fingers curl, the latter of which did it in the hard muscle of his shoulders.

When my hands slid up into his wet hair, he lifted his head, caught my fluttering
eyes and said, “Mornin’, honey.”

“Good morning,” I breathed.

He grinned then pulled me out of bed, incidentally pulling the afghan with me as it
was squashed between our bodies, and he put me on my feet.

“Get dressed, babe, runnin’ late. We gotta get you to your house. You gotta do whatever
you do to get cute then we gotta get your grandmother and get to church,” he gave
his order and after issuing it, he let me go and sauntered toward the end of the bed.

I hurriedly wrapped the afghan around me and watched him go.

Then I froze because now I had his back and I could see marks on his skin. Three of
them; red, and in sections the skin was broken.

Scratch marks.

From my nails.

Oh my God.

“Did I do that to your back?” I whispered
.

Raiden stopped, turned to me and smiled a smile I felt right at the heat of me.

“Oh yeah,” he answered in a voice that ratcheted up the heat so significantly it was
a wonder I didn’t burst into flames.

He liked that.

A lot.

Wow.

Then it hit me he said
we
had to get Grams and get to church.

“Uh…” I mumbled then got lost in watching his lateral muscles shift and undulate as
he bent and gathered my jeans, top and underwear from the floor and tossed them on
the mattress.

I came out of my stupor when he moved to the wardrobe and the entire thing swayed
dangerously as he opened the closed door. I fought the urge to rush across the room
and put both hands on the side to brace it before it settled. Then Raiden reached
in and yanked some clothes off hangers. Repeat the swaying and me fighting the urge
to rescue his wardrobe before he turned, tossed the clothes on the back of a chair
and moved to the dresser.

I found my voice and asked, “Are you going to church with Grams and me?”

“Yep,” he replied, digging in a drawer.

I looked down at my clothes on the mattress then reached to grab my panties, finding
I was totally okay with that.

I had on panties and bra and was pulling up my jeans when I spoke again.

“Can I ask you question?”

“You can quit askin’ if you can ask and just ask,” Raiden replied, a smile in his
voice, his eyes coming to me. Then he yanked off his towel.

My mouth went dry.

He was perfect everywhere.

Everywhere.

This made me suddenly aware that I was not.

I had great legs, this I’d already noted. I had an ample chest, which sometimes worked
for me, sometimes was annoying when blouses gaped at my breasts. I also had a tiny
waist, which made buying jeans a pain in the patoot
,
but looked good in dresses.

I also had a little pouch at my belly that no amount of cycling and snowboarding got
rid of
,
mainly because I did crunches and pushups about twice a week rather than what I told
myself I’d do
(four times
)
. I also liked hot fudge sundaes, Grams’s biscuits smothered in apple butter and a
variety of other things that weren’t real good for me
,
so it was a battle I had no hope of winning.

Raiden had an eight pack (yes,
eight
), noticeably limited body fat and hip muscles so significantly cut you could lose
yourself in those valleys for days.

Therefore, I decided no more hot fudge sundaes, definitely five days a week of crunches,
pushups
and
I was adding planks. I was also cutting out sandwiches and eating salads for lunch,
just in case the rest didn’t take.

“Baby, you stare at my dick any longer, Miss Mildred’s gonna have to send out a search
party.”

My body jolted and my eyes shot to his to see the creases at the corners standing
out in amusement.

“I was staring at your hip muscles,” I corrected.

“Whatever,” he muttered, his lips now smiling too, then louder, “just sayin’, anything
in that vicinity, your eyes on it, it’ll get thoughts on its own.”