Page 37 of Striker

O sobbed into his mouth, clutching at him as she lifted her hips, rolling her pelvis hard against him. He roughly slid his hand under her head and locked his other arm around her buttocks, working his mouth hungrily against hers as he lifted her higher, then rolled his hips against hers. She made a choked sound, and he drank it in, his mind blurring with a red haze when she countered his thrust, her body moving convulsively beneath him. Dean dragged his mouth away and gritted his teeth, a fine sheen of sweat dampening his skin as he moved against her, trying to give her the maximum contact, to exert the right amount of pressure where she needed it most, to hang on until she came apart in his arms. She made another wild sound, and her counterthrusts turned desperate and erratic, and Dean tightened his hold. His senses on overdrive, he roughly buried his face against her neck and thrust into her, fighting to go the distance, the red haze governing him.

O arched stiffly beneath him, convulsing around him, pulling, pulling at him. Then, with a ragged groan, he went rigid in her arms and let go, emptying himself deep inside her. Holding on to her with convulsive strength, he held her head against him, her face wet against his neck. Feeling as if he had been turned inside out, he pressed his mouth against her temple and closed his eyes, his pulse choppy and erratic, the feeling in his chest almost too much to handle. God, but she filled him up—made him feel indestructible.

He kissed the corner of her mouth softly stroked the angle of her jaw with his thumb. Realizing that her hair was caught under her, hampering her movements, he braced his weight on one arm and hip, lifting her with him, then dragged it out from under her. He spread it on the pillow, releasing the fragrance of wild roses and inhaled deeply, letting the shiny length slither through his fingers. Taking another deep breath, he shifted his weight so his hips again settled between her thighs. Realizing that she needed something to ease the emotional rawness, he tipped her head back and brushed a light kiss against her mouth, letting a touch of humor surface. “I think you took me down for the count, woman,” he murmured against her mouth, taking another slow, savoring taste. “I’m defenseless.”

He felt her smile against his mouth; then she tightened her arms around his back and slid one hand back and forth across his shoulders. “I don’t think you’ve ever been defenseless in your life.”

Dean grinned, loving her smart mouth. “Warrior through and through, babe.”

She poked him in the ribs, and he jumped and grabbed her wrist, trapping her hand above her head. In the faint moonlight that filtered through the window, he could see the smile in her eyes. He caressed the pulse point in her wrist with his thumb and said, “I still bet you can outshoot me. No fooling around.”

She gave him a wry smile, idly massaging the base of his spine. “I never fool around, Teller.”

Continuing to stroke her wrist, he lowered his head and slowly explored her mouth, taking great care to do it well. He released a soft sigh, and she slid her free hand up his torso, finally cupping the back of his head. He deepened the kiss, and O yielded fully to his questing tongue. Finally, Dean let go of her wrist and slid his arm under her, holding her with infinite care. After a long, satisfying kiss, he reluctantly drew away, gazing down at her as he caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. He stroked her face, tracing her high cheekbones, the arch of her eyebrows; then he gave her another quick kiss, braced himself, and abruptly withdrew from her melting warmth. He held her until he caught his breath, then he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. He brought her against him. Snuggling her head against his shoulder, he drew her long, muscled leg between his. Cradling her hips against him he ran his hand up her naked back, then tucked his head and kissed her brow. “We need to talk, Ophelia,” he said gruffly.

She went still in his arms. “Ooh, sounds like I’m in trouble when you call me by my first name.”

Pressing another kiss against her hair, he simply enjoyed holding her. He considered all he wanted to say to her; then he said, his voice very quiet, “This is serious.”

She nodded.

“Do you remember when I started skipping school to ride dirt bikes, and you got so ticked off at me?”

She stirred and shifted her head, then he felt her eyelashes against his skin when she opened her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “I remember.”

Staring into the darkness, he let his hand rest on the swell of her hip, giving her a small squeeze. “Do you remember what the argument was about?”

She smiled and answered, “About you taking stupid, reckless chances.”

His expression thoughtful with recollection, Dean absently stroked the rise of her hip with his thumb as he considered her response. “For me, it had nothing to do with taking chances, O,” he said, in a rough tone. “It was about dealing with disgust. It was about a kid hating everything his old man stood for.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless smile. “It was about sticking it to him.”

O lay still in his arms for a split second; then she rose up on one elbow and looked down at him, her hair creating a waterfall of inky blackness around her shoulders, tickling the tips of her gorgeous breasts, the bruise not detracting from their loveliness. She stared at him, the faint light from outside washing across her face. A glimmer of pain appeared in her eyes. “I know exactly how you felt,” she whispered.

He painstakingly hooked his thumb under a thick swatch of hair and drew it back, tucking it carefully behind her. “This is about the things we never talked about,” he answered quietly. “About the things we—about the things I should have said to you and didn’t.” Finally, screwing up his courage, he looked up at her again and took the step he knew could change everything. “Do you resent me for not coming after you when you left?”

Now it was her turn to avoid his eyes. She lightly ran her fingertips along his collarbone, lingering at the place where he broke it during a night HALO jump. Dean waited, sensing in her a similar struggle to his own. Finally, she said, “I left, too, Dean.”

Feeling disappointed, Dean grasped her face and turned her head up, forcing her to look at him. “I did go after you. I flew to Paris. I even walked up to the gates of that stupid school I thought your parents forced you into. I wanted to break them down, rescue you.”

She tried to turn her face away, but he held her firmly. “But then I realized, if you wanted to be rescued, you would have reached out to me. I left without saying anything.”

“We were on different paths, Dean. So, no. I don’t resent you for not coming after me.” She swallowed. “Do you resent me?”

“A little when I was younger, but now…now that I understand what happened, no. You did what was best for you. No one can fault you for that, O.”

She closed her eyes. “I wanted to be with you with all my heart, but I broke my own heart. I can see that so clearly, and I broke yours. For that I am truly sorry. I had to fight for my independence. I didn’t want to be under my parents’ thumb. I didn’t want them calling the shots and telling me how to run my life. And I sure as hell didn’t want their damn money. They would have suffocated me, and I knew it. I had to get out—had to make it on my own.”

It was as if he’d been let out of a dark, tight space, and he closed his eyes and hugged her hard, feeling as if he could take his first deep breath in days. He pressed a kiss against her brow, then hugged her again.

“What about our paths now, O?”

“They have yet to be paved.”

“Tell me. What made you come here last night?”

“Well, after my case was snatched out from under me, my commander gave me a card with an address. Said I was to be here this morning to liaison with the military. I wanted to check it out, so I didn’t walk in blind. When I got here, I realized it was your place, your business. I needed to talk to you, so I stayed.”

“I’m glad you did.”

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