The illustration of the world with an anchor through it looks almost three-dimensional. Its detailed shading contains so many variations of gray that it almost seems to be made up of colors. Amazing. The eagle stands on top of the earth with its wings spread proudly. Above it, printed in striking bold letters, is Semper Fidelis. That, I know, means “always loyal.” But below the art, on his ribs, is something else in flowing, scripted letters: Si vis pacem, para bellum.
What does that mean? There’s a story there, but I’ll be damned if—Ooooh…
Blake’s big strong hands rub circles into the soles of my feet. I drop my head back onto the bed. “Mmm, that feels good.”
He chuckles, his laughter laced with arrogant pride. “This ain’t shit, Mouse. You’re in for a lot of feelin’ good.”
My tummy somersaults. I know he feels like he’s on a mission to reform my no-cli**x status, but I hope he’s not disappointed when it doesn’t happen. “Um… don’t expect too much. You’re dealing with sixteen years of bad programing.”
“Remember, Mouse. Nothing more than you’re willing to give. You can trust me.”
And that’s it. That’s what it is about Blake. I can trust him. It’s not logical to put my faith in someone like him, and yet here I am. When he tells me I’m safe, and that I can trust him… I believe it. To the core of my soul, I believe him.
He puts a knee between my legs on the bed and braces himself over me. His big body hovers and sends me shrinking back into the mattress. Trapped. My mouth goes dry, and I struggle to take a full breath.
As if reading the panic in my body language, he frowns. “Fuck.” Shifting to the side, he drops to his back and pulls me on top of him. “I’m not him.”
I pull in a shaky breath. “I know.” Boy, do I know.
My heartbeat calms against his ribs, and my arms tuck in tight to his sides. The warmth of our skin ignites a desire to taste him. I run my lips along his tan skin. It’s unnatural for a man this strong and intimidating to be so soft. Moving lower, I concentrate on his tattoo, dropping kisses against his ribs. He groans and shifts his h*ps beneath me.
I smile against him at his restlessness. “This is really beautiful.” Peeking up from beneath my eyelashes, I find him staring at me.
His vibrant green eyes burn with hunger. “Nothing close to as beautiful as what I’m looking at.”
His simple compliment flips around in my belly. I dip my lips to his torso. “This script? What does it mean?” I hold my breath while I continue to rain kisses on his tattoo, hoping he’s relaxed enough to open up about his past. Then I tilt my chin up and see that he’s looking down at me.
“If you want peace, prepare for war.” His expression is serious, and I wonder what his story is.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you fight. Anything worth having in this life, you fight to get. And you don’t stop fighting until you get it.”
Yes. Exactly. Where was he seventeen years ago when everyone was telling me to do the right thing? I had plans and dreams. I’d never have given up Elle, but I had options. I could have fought harder for what I wanted, rather than giving in to what everyone wanted for me. His words remind me that it’s not too late. That it’s never too late to fight for our future. To fight for our peace.
A wave of contentment washes over me. I skate my open mouth from his ribs to his belly button, dragging my tongue along to savor the mild salty flavor. His hands fist in my hair, and I can feel the evidence of what my attention does to him digging between my br**sts.
A ravenous hunger hits me hard. The overwhelming desire to devour him, to gorge until I get my fill.
I move lower, making sure to keep my eyes locked on his. “Blake, I want to taste you.”
“Your show, sweetheart.” His tense smile confirms the worry I see in his eyes.
Confused by the mixture of signals he’s sending, I slide back up his body, making sure to drag my bare chest along his until I’m at his mouth. “Stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl. I know what I want.” I place my lips to his in a tender kiss, hoping to reassure him. “I want you.”
He pinches his eyes closed for a moment before looking deep into my eyes. “Promise me this won’t f**k things up between us. If you’re not ready or if—”
“I promise.” Cupping his strong jaw, I run my thumb along his stubbled cheek. So handsome. “Now, may I?”
“Never say no to you, Mouse,” he whispers. “Never.” He grips my head, and brings his lips to mine in a passionate kiss.
Our tongues thrash together, desire pushing our bodies impossibly closer. Hips grinding, hands roaming, breathless moans and whimpers filling the room. He sits up and pulls me close so that I’m straddling his lap. He moves to my breast and sucks one nipple deep into his mouth. I roll my h*ps in approval. My body heats, feeling like it’s on the verge of catching fire from the attention of his skilled mouth. “Blake—”
“Need these off.” He tugs at the waistband of my pants.
Grateful that they’re drawstring, I make quick work of the tie and open them enough for him to slide his hand in. The intrusion of his fingers beneath my swim bottoms drops my head back on a purr.
“Fucking beautiful.” He slides two fingers in, and my breath hitches. “Everything about you is so damn perfect.”
With his hand engaged between my legs, he drops back to the bed. I look down to see his forearm running the length of his impressive abdomen. It flexes as he rolls his fingers, and the tightening in my belly coils deeper, bringing me to the edge of delirium.
Reaching up, he hooks me behind my neck and pulls me down to him. I’m swirling, light-headed. Greedy for more, I straighten my legs, and with the help of his free hand, I kick off my pants and bikini bottoms.
I’m completely nak*d. Totally exposed. But I don’t feel powerless or ashamed.
I feel desired. Worshiped. Cared for.
His fingers move in sensual and tender strokes. “Damn, look at you.” He runs his gaze over my face. I’m surprised, with all of his available options, he’s choosing to keep his eyes on my face. “Those eyes. So f**king sexy.”
Bared to him completely, and yet he praises me for something so everyday. A smile twitches my lips, but fails to develop. My nerves are on high, skin vibrating as my need pushes me higher and higher.
Reaching between us, I grip him beneath his shorts, and curb my reaction to jump back at his size. Heated steel warms my palm, and I tighten my hold. A hiss of pleasure shoots from his lips. I stroke him and then latch on to his mouth to swallow the deep groan that bubbles up from his throat.
His abdominal muscles flex and release in time with my caress. I pull back to watch, but he chases my lips, insisting I stay with him. The kiss becomes urgent, like no matter how much I give him, it’ll never be enough.
“Can’t take it anymore.” He pulls at my h*ps to roll me on top of him.
He scoots down the bed beneath me while encouraging me to crawl toward the headboard. He trails his lips between my br**sts, down my ribs, and over my belly button, making sure to hit every erogenous zone on his way down. Oh, wow.
The new position releases a million butterflies that start in my middle and race all over my body. I grab the headboard and pull myself up while he continues his journey down.
I’m lost in sensations, responding to the contact and begging for more.
The tender touch of his lips whispers along the skin just above my pubic bone. Deliberate swipes of his mouth and gentle nuzzles of his nose. I’m lost, gone in a flurry of euphoric bliss.
He grips my bottom tight. “What the fuck?”
My muscles tense when I realize what he’s found. Oh shit.
Blake
She tries to wiggle away, but I clasp her hips, keeping her in place. The jagged scar, well below her belly button, is the focus. I know scars. They’re common in the life of a professional fighter. But a scar down here, so close to—that motherfucker. Fury, hot and catching, floods my veins.
“What happened?” My barked question says accusation, not curiosity.
She tries to scamper away again, and I flip her to her back, my shoulders between her legs. I keep my grip on her hips.
“Blake.” The warning in her tone gets my attention.
“Mouse, don’t worry. I’ll let you go.” I place a delicate kiss on her scar. “I’m just curious.”
She bucks once and throws her forearm over her eyes. “I got caught up in everything and I forgot. Dammit.”
I run my finger along the silvery strip and kiss the surrounding skin. What could it be? It’s too big to be a stab wound, but seems too sloppy for a surgical scar. “Don’t shut down on me. Tell me what happened.”
Her tensed muscles relax fractionally at my whispered words. I continue to brush and pull at her tender skin with my lips, urging her to calm, silently begging her to trust me.
I don’t move any lower, but linger, content to stay between her legs as long as it takes for her to talk to me. If Stew did this to her, I’ll hunt him down like a pig and slaughter his ass. I keep this information to myself, knowing that my flipping out will only chase her away.
“C-section scar,” she finally whispers.
Well, thank God.
My breathing slows, and I study her skin. It looks like the damn procedure was done with a box cutter. The line isn’t straight, and the skin is puckered, like it healed wrong in some places. “Why?” It sounds like a stupid question, but I don’t know shit about baby delivery.
She clears her throat. “I’m small. I was smaller at sixteen. Axelle was almost ten pounds.”
“Fuckin’ hell, Mouse.” I don’t know much about babies, but I know weight. A ten-pound baby coming out of this tiny body? I resume my kissing hoping to hide my grimace, and trace the line with my lips. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s hard to explain. Kind of numb, I guess.” She coughs out a laugh. “Guess this is the first time you’ve ever been nak*d with a mom before.” Throwing her hands over her face, she groans. “Embarrassing.”
She’s right. I’ve never been with a mom. I don’t tell her that women with children were on my list of sexual no-no’s. It’s possible I unknowingly hooked up with a chick that had a kid, but I’ve never seen a scar like this before. I’d remember that.
I slide up her body and pull her hands apart to see her face. She looks up at me with unease.
“No, never been with a mom.” She rolls her eyes, and I catch her arms to keep her from covering her face again. “Scars aren’t ugly, Layla.” She startles, the sound of her name from my mouth getting her attention. But I need her to know how dead f**king serious I am about what I’m about to say. “They’re badges. Reminders of the experiences in our lives that were important enough to leave a mark.” Gazing down the length of her perfectly nak*d body, I skate my finger from her throat straight to the scar. “This is a reminder of what you have and what you went through to get her here. Not a damn thing ugly about that.”