Chapter 35

Nate's first cohesive thought? He'd piled on too many blankets last night. He was hotter than hell. The second thought being, Bones had grown awfully affectionate if he was licking Nate's neck to wake him.

Wait...

A female hum vibrated his skin, followed by the scent of rain.

On a sharp inhale, his eyes flew open. Olivia's room. Sunlight. Auburn hair in his face. Breasts crushed to his chest. Her hand roaming from his hip to his ass as they lay on their sides, facing each other. Her tongue...driving him insane.

He groaned. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight." She kissed his chin and smiled at him, her cornflower eyes alight. "Good news. At breakfast, Nakos said he gave the guys the rest of the weekend off to gear up for spring harvest. We can stay in bed all weekend, if you want."

Want? She was grabbing his ass and sending the nerves behind his ear - make that his neck again - into hyperactive by using that damn talented mouth, and she wondered what he wanted?

He tried to think through her assault. His heart thundered. If it was almost eight, he'd slept nine solid hours, nightmare free. Plus, she'd already had breakfast, which meant she'd snuck in and out of bed without him knowing. Christ, she was some kind of sedative if...

"Ah, the rest of you is fully awake now, too." She lifted her head. "Good morning." Her husky voice and wild morning hair were a one-two punch of sexy and cute.

Since he needed to kiss her more than he needed air, he did. He slanted his mouth over hers and she welcomed him inside with lazy, seductive strokes of her tongue. She tasted like melon and smelled like heaven.

Though the blood heated in his veins, the kiss was unrushed, and he didn't mind. Any of it. The fact that one of his first instincts of the morning was to kiss her, an act he rarely participated in, and that it was more about sentiment than seduction, should have his triggers kicking in. Instead, he sank into her, oddly turned-on and confused.

Hell, her lips were soft. She was soft everywhere, but her mouth fascinated him. She always seemed to use the right amount of demand, depending on his mood, and kept pace like she could read his mind. She had this quirk of going after his lower lip before parting hers, caressing and testing, then exploring. She was a hot, wet cavern he could spend hours navigating. No two experiences were alike with her and with each instance he found himself falling deeper into her web.

Another thing he didn't mind and should.

She eased away with a contented hum, nuzzling his jaw, and the rasp from his stubble scratched the air. "Think you can let me run the show?"

He paused.

Honestly, he didn't know. He'd never ceded control in the bedroom and rarely did out of it. Twice now, he'd taken her rough and hard. According to her and her reaction, she'd enjoyed herself. Hell, he'd more than enjoyed it. She was dragging him out of his world and into hers bit by bit each second of the day. Damn if she wasn't making him feel less like an asshole and more like a part of the human race, too.

Would it kill him to try her way? She hadn't steered him wrong yet.

Panic didn't pound his temples, so he nodded.

Urging him to his back, she straddled him. His pulse shot up twenty beats, but he was more curious than uncomfortable. She leaned over him, hands planted on the mattress above his shoulders, her hair a red curtain. The position had her pert nipples grazing his pecs in a groan-inducing tease.

"Let me know if it's too much." Her gaze warm, her smile warmer, she gave him a brief kiss and dipped her head to swirl her tongue over his collarbone. "Still breathing?"

No. Seemed he'd forgotten how. At the reminder, he sucked oxygen and closed his eyes.

Between her sexy little mouth and the feather-light brush of her hair, his skin was on fire. Just when he thought he was getting used to her touch, she proved him wrong. As she moved lower, he got caught up in her slender frame shifting over him. The fair skin, the scattering of freckles, her auburn strands...the fact he was letting her be on top.

He was so enthralled that when she sucked his nipple into her mouth, he barked a shout of surprise. He bucked into her ministrations and grew frustrated not knowing what to do with his hands. Twice he reached for her and wound up fisting them instead. By the time she got to his other nipple, he was losing circulation in his fingers.

She knelt between his legs, kissing his navel, and her intentions became clear. Air burned in his lungs at the effort of breathing. She grabbed his hips, kneading, and he slammed his eyes shut.

It had been eons since he'd had a woman go down on him. He considered it foreplay and too much of a hindrance to his in-out motto. Truthfully, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd allowed it and he'd still have fingers remaining.

Closer, closer, she inched.

Once her breath fanned his shaft, he was throbbing and climbing out of his skin. Anticipation clawed his gut. His heartbeat cracked ribs. His muscles threatened to solidify with tension. Loving and hating every second, he pressed his palms to his eyes.

And then she took him in her mouth, and it was lights out. Scorching heat and wet suction. Firm fingers around his base, pumping the life right out of him. He bowed off the bed in an effort not to thrust, grinding his hips. His crown hit the back of her throat and he roared.

He slapped his palms to the headboard. Said her name a thousand times.

Christ save him, she started using her tongue. He sprang from her mouth with a pop, and she licked the underside of his shaft. Swirled around his crown. Cupped his balls.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought the urge to shove himself deeper, to let his baser side take over. Utter torment. Sheer pleasure. The combination felled him. Worse was he had no clue how to handle it. Though there was something tragically exhilarating about handing her the reins, it went against every rule he'd put in place. For a reason. The level of trust he'd given her alone had his windpipe collapsing.

Again, she took him deep in her mouth, and he dug his fingertips into her headboard. He bent his knees, pressed his heels into the mattress, and carefully rolled his hips, making sure not to raise his pelvis off the bed and hurt her.

She hummed around his shaft as if encouraging him. Vibrations. Fire. His balls tightened and his lower back pinched in warning.

"Baby, I'm..."

Faster, her hand pumped. Harder, her mouth sucked. Firmly, she massaged his sack.

Uhn. "Shit...baby." A growl raked his already raw throat. "Now."

He threw his head back and came on a blinding stream of misery wrapped in bliss. Jerking, he let out a carnal groan that emptied his lungs. She swallowed his jets, mercilessly never easing up, and his release dragged out an eternity.

When his shuddering finally subsided and he collapsed, arm over his face, she kissed his hip, his outer thigh, then the inner. Her fingers traced patterns on his skin and wove through the light hair on his legs.

Chest heaving, he lifted his head to look down at her. And mercy. If he were the type of man to weep, he might've right then.

Cornflower gaze on her task, she outlined the series of red scars from where shrapnel had embedded itself during the explosion. There were seven in total, all ranging from a one-inch circle to a three-inch linear line. Some were raised, others barely noticeable. He'd been lucky that none had completely severed muscle or tendon and had been easily removed surgically.

But the tender way she touched them, ran her lips over the marks, was like getting hit all over again. This time square in the gut. Like he was five-years-old and had scraped his knee, she acted as if she could kiss it better.

His chest tightened and he rubbed his eyes, unable to watch. Jaw clenched, he shook his head. Some memories couldn't be erased or rewritten, no matter how endearing the attempt. But she just kept right on trying, going at him with enough compassion to level even his glacially reserved heart.

And it was working. Sometimes, she even had him believing her efforts were worth it.

It had been so long since he'd allowed hope to take root. He didn't trust the emotion. As a kid, he'd prayed to someday not be transferred from one foster parent to another. None had been home, nor the people inside his family, and he'd desired only that. The displaced faith of a young, stupid boy. As a teen, he would've settled for a friend. Just one person who didn't seek him out for an end game or because they needed him for dirty work. By the time he'd grown into a man, all humanity had been stripped from him. His life had become about existing, nothing more.

One foot in front of the other. Rinse and repeat.

Then Justin Cattenach had landed in his unit. He'd shared stories of his family as if incorporating Nate into the fold, welcoming him in. Had made the effort to ask about his life, not only hearing the answers, but truly listening like he gave a damn. He'd been the only genuine friend Nate had ever known. With one lopsided grin, he'd turned Nate into a somebody. Proved he wasn't a ghost among the fray.

And Nate had repaid the favor by getting the poor, sweet bastard killed.

On Justin's dying breath, he'd sent Nate to Olivia. To look after her. Protect her. But she'd picked up where her brother had left off, infiltrating Nate's mind and body until he didn't know whether to believe a lifetime of experiences or the whispered words and actions of an abandoned angel.

Hope? Love? All weaknesses he thought he'd scraped from his mind, had purged from his soul.

Damn it to hell. He had to tell her the truth. Somehow, he had to find a way to explain he was the guy who'd screwed up, that he was the reason her brother was gone. Until then, he was only compounding more lies and hurting her. If Nate - a frigid, useless asshole - was falling as hard for her as he suspected he was, then she was probably already there.

How was he supposed to rip her world apart a second time.