Page 26 of Forbidden Passions

“Beautiful,” he murmured, one hand cradling my face as he maintained that unrelenting rhythm that was rapidly rebuilding my pleasure.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the full weight and heat of him. Ourbodies moved together as if we’d been lovers for years instead of minutes, finding a perfect synchronicity that made every thrust, every touch, feel like coming home.

This time, when release came, it crashed through both of us at once. I felt him pulsing inside me as my own body clenched around him, drawing out our shared pleasure until we collapsed together, spent and breathless.

After, he gathered me against his chest, one arm wrapped protectively around me as if he feared I might disappear. I traced idle patterns on his skin, marveling at how quickly intimacy had developed between us.

The rain was still falling outside. But inside, in his bed, in his arms, the storm felt far away.

I didn’t know what would happen tomorrow. I didn’t know if he’d let me stay, but right now, in this moment—he was mine. And I was his.

Even if he’d never say it out loud.

Even if the silence was the only promise he could give me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gabriel

I didn’t sleep much after Callie passed out in my arms.

Not because of her.

Because of me.

She curled against me soft and warm and so damn trusting. One arm was draped across my chest and her thigh hitched over mine like she wanted to hold me even in sleep. It should’ve felt good.

It did feel good.

And that was the problem.

The cabin was dark and still. Outside, the rain had quieted to a steady rhythm. Inside, the only sound was her breathing and the occasional rustle of Max shifting on the rug near the bed.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the weight of her touch heavy against my skin. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the way she had looked at me when I’d finally given in and taken her to my bed. She had looked at me as if I was something she wanted and someone she could trust.

But she didn’t know.

She didn’t know what I’d seen. What I’d done. What kind of man I’d become after the last tour.

My eyes drifted shut sometime around dawn, and for a little while, I let myself fall. The dream came fast, like always. It wasn’t a dream though; it was a memory wrapped in denial.

I was back in the desert. Heat was radiating off the sand like fire. The sky was a pale, blistering white. The smell of gunpowder was thick in the air. The silence after an explosion—the kind that left a ringing in your ears so loud it drowned out everything else.

My boots pounded the ground, instincts driving me forward, my unit fanning out around me. Except they weren’t. I turned—and they were gone. The men I’d trained with, bled with—they were gone. One second they were there. The next—

Nothing.

I stumbled over something solid. A body. A brother. His helmet was gone. His face barely recognizable. But I knew him. I always knew him. Not from memory. From guilt. Every time, it was someone else. Every time, it was everyone. I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing trembling fingers to a neck that had no pulse. He was still warm. Still there. Except he wasn’t.

I looked up. The sand stretched forever. Endless. And I was alone.

I woke with a gasp, my whole body locked in tension. My shirt clung to me, soaked through. My hands—fuck. My hands were clenched into fists so tight my nails had broken skin.

The cabin was cold. And so was I. That deep down, soul-killing cold that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with my past. Callie stirred beside me. I tried to slow my breathing. I tried not to shake.

“Gabriel?” Her voice was groggy. Concerned.

“I’m fine,” I lied, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My skin felt cold and clammy. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

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