Page 7 of Indirect Attack
It wasn’t a question.
“Why?”
I sighed and pulled her into me. She came, unresisting, although I could feel a stiffness and slight tremor.
“I don’t see this working, Jasmine.”
“Why not?” Her voice was muffled by my chest, the tremors intensifying.
“Because I have to go tomorrow, halfway across the world. Your life is here. You have to get your degree and follow your dreams. You can’t just sit here waiting for me to come back. I don’t want you lost in that space.”
I’d seen it happen to my mom as a kid, the frantic way she would take up all her time and space taking care of us four boys and her art so that she didn’t have to think about what terrible thing could be happening to my father. That was the absolute last thing I wanted for Jasmine.
She was too bright, too alive, too joyful, too driven in her goals to have me dragging her down.
I looked down into Jasmine’s face, my heart thudding when I saw the telltale shimmer in her eyes and the quivering of her lower lip.
“Jasmine, what I do is dangerous, and I’m not going to know when I will come back. I don’t want you waiting around for someone who”—I took a deep breath and let it out—“who might not come home again.”
Her throat worked, and she coughed on something that might have been a sob. But then she dragged the back of her hand across her eyes.
“I understand.” Jasmine’s voice was still shaky even as she looked up at me, her eyes impossibly big and beautiful. “We have separate lives. You have your path, and I have mine. I understand,” she repeated.
I got the feeling that she was only telling me what I wanted to hear, but I also knew it was the only sensible thing.
“I’ll let you know when I have leave again,” I offered, then wished I hadn’t when her eyes flicked up to me before flitting away again. But not before I saw a look in them that broke my heart.
“That would be nice.” The words were quiet and spoken to the comforter.
My heart cracked even more, and I wrapped my arms around her again.
“You’re only eighteen,” I said, burying my face in her hair. “You have your whole life ahead of you, and I don’t want to put you through that.”
“You’re only nineteen,” came the reply, but nothing more. Instead, Jasmine’s arms curled around me, her fingers digging into the skin of my back like she didn’t want to let go.
I picked my head up and drew away again, just enough so that Jasmine looked up at me, her eyebrows drawn down in a question. Was I leaving already?
Instead of answering with words, I dipped my head and pressed my mouth against hers. Drawing in a sharp breath, she responded. There was nothing of the tentative softness of last night—her kiss was demanding, desirous, scorching.
My body answered, springing to life, and I pulled her impossibly close. But I knew this would only make things more difficult for both of us.
“Jasmine—” I started, bracing myself to pull away, but she held on fast. Her gaze found mine and wouldn’t let go.
“One more time, please. Just once more, in case this is the last time we see each other.”
I held my ground for only a heartbeat before my resolve crumbled entirely, and I gave in to the desire that had flared hotly to life.
What had been soft and gentle the night before was desperate now. We were nothing more than feelings and emotions and desperation to hold on to one another and what we had. I kissed at the wet tracks of tears on Jasmine’s cheeks, trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. There was no holding back, no awkward fumbling, no movements hesitated or wasted.
Jasmine cried out as I grasped one breast, her head falling back as I replaced my thumb with my mouth, my tongue lapping at the sharply erect surface. I’d been too afraid to do this last night, but if this was the last time, I wasn’t going to hold back.
“More,” she demanded, bringing my hand up to her other breast. I felt her convulsive shiver as my thumb brushed the pebbled surface of her areola, her chest rising and falling in gasped breaths.
My mouth found hers again, our kisses harsh and demanding as her arms wrapped around my back, her nails digging into my skin.
“I want you. Ben, I want you now.” Jasmine’s demand left little room for interpretation or hesitation, and my body was entirely ready, desire pulsing through me, my erection almost painful. I paused only long enough to grab another condom from her bedside table and roll it on. She was already on her back when I finished, the green of her eyes glowing with shimmering tears and desire.
She cried out as I plunged in again, and I was dimly aware I should have asked her if she was sore. But she was pulling meback to her, her mouth on mine, her hands running up and down my back.
