Page 6 of Stalked By the Vet

"Greg." My voice is a whisper, laced with every ounce of yearning that simmers beneath my skin. The air between us crackles with electricity, with words unsaid and touches unmade. I'm caught in his gravitational pull, helpless and entirely willing.

His eyes search mine, as if he's looking for an answer or maybe permission. In them, I see a man who's fought battles but now stands before me, fighting something far more intimate. And I know, whatever he needs to say, I'm here for it, ready to dive into the depths of his soul.

"Talk to me," I urge, my tone soft yet insistent, because understanding Greg, seeing all of him, feels essential—like breathing.

Greg's hand edges toward me, a slight tremor betraying his soldier's steadiness. His fingers brush against my cheek, and it's like a spark to dry tinder. Heat races down my spine, igniting every nerve ending into acute awareness.

"Kelly," he whispers, the sound rough like gravel, yet it caresses me in ways I didn't know possible. I lean into his touch, my skin hungry for more of his warmth, my body alive with a thousand unspoken promises.

"Greg," I breathe back, daring to close the gap between desire and reality.

And then we're kissing, his lips pressing urgently against mine, telling stories of longing kept at bay for far too long. It's a clash, a dance, a melding of two people starved for this very moment. His mouth moves over mine with a fervor that speaks of raw need, and God, do I need him too.

The world tilts, fades, becomes nothing more than background noise to the symphony of our combined breaths and the soft sounds of surrender. My hands roam over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart through layers of muscle and bone.

His arms encircle me, strong and unyielding, drawing me closer until there's no space left for doubts or fears, just the searing connection of his body pressed against mine. This kiss is more than just an act of passion—it's a lifeline, a silent vow exchanged in the language of touch and taste.

"More," I gasp when his lips trail fire along my jawline, exploring territory that begs to be claimed. His response is immediate, a low growl that vibrates against my skin, sending shivers of anticipation to the very core of me.

I'm gasping for air, my heart racing like it's trying to break free when Greg's lips finally leave mine. He pulls back just enough to lock his intense gaze with mine, those deep-set eyes now swirling with a storm of emotions. His chest heaves, and I feel his breath, warm and ragged against my skin.

"Kelly," he starts, the timbre of his voice rough around the edges, cracking under the weight of what he's about to say. "I've got these demons, shadows from my time at war. They don't just haunt me—they're part of me."

His admission hits me hard, right in the gut, but it's his vulnerability that slices through me, raw and unguarded. There's a tremor in his hand as it falls from my face, like he's laying down his last line of defense.

"PTSD. It's this...constant battle in my head. And I'm scared, so fucking scared that one day I might hurt you without meaning to." His words hang heavy between us, a confession laid bare by the dying light of the sun.

"Greg," I breathe out, my own voice shaky with the swell of emotions that threaten to overflow. "You won't hurt me. You're the strongest person I know." I reach up, daring to trace the scar on his jaw, a stark reminder of the hell he's been through. "You've survived battles most can't even imagine. We'll fight this one together, too."

There's a fierceness in my vow, an unwavering determination that I hope he can feel. Because I mean every word—from the deepest, most stubborn part of my soul, I mean it.

"Supporting you isn't just something I'm willing to do, it's something I need to do." My fingers curl around his, squeezing tight. "I'm here, Greg. For all of it. The dark, the light, and every shade in between."

He searches my face, looking for the truth behind my words, and I let him see it—all the love, all the acceptance.

“Fuck, you beautiful girl, I love you,” he finally groans out before he crashes his lips back onto mine.

And my soul soars. He loves me! I don’t even get a chance to say the words back because his lips are trailing down my neck, leaving a rush of fire in their wake. All I can do is whimper and moan as our movements turn frantic.

He’s pulling my dress up as he pulls me onto his lap and unleashes his cock from his pants. We’re both still dressed enough that no one can see our nudity, but if anyone looked hard enough, it would be obvious what we’re doing when Greg lowers me down onto his hard length and starts bouncing me up and down on him.

I wrap my legs around him, clinging to him as if he's the only thing keeping me grounded in this whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The rhythm we find is desperate, unapathetic to the setting sun or the encroaching night. It's just us, here and now, pulsating together in a frantic ball of need.

His hands are on my hips, guiding me, urging me on in a silent plea for more—always more. And I give it willingly, losing myself in the push and pull of flesh against flesh. The sounds of the ocean fade into a distant murmur, drowned out by the thrumming of our hearts and our labored breathing.

“God, Kelly,” Greg grunts, his voice strained as he thrusts upward, driving deeper into me with each rise and fall of our bodies. His eyes are closed tight, creases forming at the corners as if he’s trying to memorize this feeling, burn it into his mind where no shadow can reach.

The cool sand beneath us grows damp with the evening tide, but we're too lost in each other to care about the chill. I can feel him everywhere—not just physically but seeping into the spaces inside me that had too long been cold and vacant.

Suddenly, his grip tightens, a warning without words. I nod slightly against his shoulder, acknowledging what’s to come. With a few more fervent moves, we’re both tumbling over that edge, crying out against the rush of release that overtakes us. His name spills from my lips like a prayer as wave after wave crashes through me, leaving behind nothing but satisfaction and soul-deep contentment.

As our breaths even out and our grips loosen slightly, Greg presses his forehead against mine. “I didn’t know...I needed this,” he whispers hoarsely.

“I did,” I whisper back with a gentle certainty as I stroke his hair back from his forehead—a small gesture that feels deeply intimate in its simplicity.

We sit there for a moment longer under the cloak of twilight—the world holding its breath around us—as we memorize this perfect imperfection. Finally pulling my dress down and helping Greg adjust himself back into his pants, we laugh softly at our disheveled state.

I lean back against the worn blanket, feeling the coarse sand shift beneath its thin fabric, and let out a long breath. The sky blushes with the colors of an impending nightfall, and there's a kind of beautiful stillness that wraps around us—a rare moment of peace in our otherwise chaotic worlds.

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