Page 55 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

When I make it back to his room, he’s covering his eyes again, but appears more restless, clenching and unclenching his fists like he’s raring for a fight. I reach to stroke his foot so he knows I’m back, but end up startling him instead. He jolts and kicks out, striking my packed tray.

The soup sloshes against the sides of the bowls. I barely keep everything from spilling. He hurries to his feet, trying to help me steady the tray.

“Sorry,” he says.

He’s breathing fast. It’s not as bad as last night, but it’s far from the slow methodical breaths he usually takes. It scares me.Hescares me. I don’t want him to fall back into that darkness I found him in?that terrible place where he sees his friends dying around him.

I place the tray on the dresser and face him, his hands gripping my hips when mine glide along his chest. My stare latches onto his. But the way he takes me in, I’m no longer certain that panic and trauma are what’s escalating his breathing.

My focus trails along every inch of his form. A small scar mars the spot below his right nipple. I’m not sure if it’s an old wound from Iraq or something from childhood. Right then, I don’t care and bend to trace it with my tongue.

His breath catches. In my exploration I see another scar. This one’s thinner, longer. It must have been painful, whatever caused it, but it doesn’t detract from his beauty nor does it discourage me from tasting it. My tongue continues to discover him, going down until I’m almost to his belly button.

Callahan’s hands slide along my curving spine, stopping where my T-shirt has ridden up to rest against my lower back. When his fingers skim the edge, I’m certain he means to pull it over my head, and strip me out of it. As scared as I am, I won’t stop him. I want to lie naked beneath him and have him push inside of me. Just like I want his hips to pound and grind with each thrust.

The thought of him pumping into me makes me dizzy with desire and sends chills streaking down my limbs. Is it normal to be drawn to someone so sexually? I’m not sure, but I don’t care. All I know is that I need him.

No one’s ever evoked such primal need like Callahan. I envision myself spreading my legs for him, him sliding in, and working me until I cry out with pleasure . . . just as I did this morning when he roused an orgasm with his long, thick fingers.

I continue to kiss the planes of his hard stomach. I’m past his navel, and want to go lower. Yet instead of freeing me of my shirt, he clasps my elbows and guides me to him, stamping his lips on mine.

His kiss is desperate and needy, the kiss of a man who’s dying and wants to be saved. I return his affection, circling his neck—wanting to be the one to spare him from his pain and lure him away from his past. With the weight of my body, I press against him, falling with him and onto the bed. I lift off enough just to rid myself of my shirt. But when I dip my head to renew our kiss, he turns his head away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, panting softly.

He doesn’t answer. I stroke his soft hair, letting my fingertips skim down to his beard, hoping to speak to him with my touch.

Instead of allowing me to soothe him, he rams his eyes shut. The movements of his chest so pronounced, they lift me with him.

“Callahan,” I say. “Please talk to me.”

Slowly he turns to face me, the fire lighting his irises so intense, my hand freezes in place. “I want to make love to you,” he rasps. “All night if you let me.”

I nod, barely able to control myself. “It’s what I want, too.”

I bend forward to kiss him, only to have him jerk his chin away from me. I don’t understand what he’s doing, or why he appears so torn. Can’t he see how bad I need him?

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw tight as he speaks. “Not like this, Trin. Not the way I am.”

I try to reach for him only to pull away before my skin makes contact, my hand shaking with how much I desire him.

Callahan grasps my fingers, bringing them to him, his eyes closing as he runs his cheek along my knuckles. “I want you so bad,” he breaths against my skin. “And I want it to be good. Right now, I’m not okay. Do you understand?”

I don’t answer because I know how bad he hurts. Yet that doesn’t stop me from wanting to give him pleasure. It’s what his body demands of me, and the one thing I can do to make him feel better . . . if he’ll just let me.

“Trin,” he groans. “Don’t cry, baby.”

I don’t realize that I am until the first tear escapes. He sits us up, carefully holding my face as he presses small kisses to my eyes, the tip of my nose, and lips. “Let me get through tonight, and the next time we’re alone, I’ll prove to you just how bad I want you . . .”

Chapter Sixteen

Callahan

I wake sometime around ten. My first instinct is to reach for Trin. But she’s not here. My bed feels strangely barren without her. I rub my eyes, but then drop my hand irritably against the mattress.

Once again I’m in my self-imposed isolation. But that sweet little thing has more than proven it’s no longer where I want to be.

Annoyed and pissed at myself, I shift out of bed. The more I think about last night, the more my fury builds. I hate how there are days where I think I’m all right. Not great, but functioning and doing well enough. But then that darkness creeps up on me, reminding me it’s still there and threatening to kill me where I stand. Maybe it was Billy’s death that started it all. Or maybe it was fireworks. Whatever it is, I’m tired of it.

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