Page 28 of Hearts to Mend

He responds almost immediately: Enjoy the ride, doll.

I silence my phone when he texts a bunch of eggplant emojis and follow his advice, enjoying the ride.

* * *

Rico pulls his Charger into the spot beside Sweet Priscilla, my precious purple girl, then turns off the ignition. I stare at the empty seat he leaves behind when he gets out and shuts his door, then jump when he opens my door and offers a hand to help me out.

For some reason, I accept his help, even smiling a little when he gets my crutches out of the car for me.

Then he asks, “Which one’s yours?”

I point to the second floor.

“Not very accessible. I’ll help you up the stairs.”

I should decline; I’ve managed these stairs just fine for the last two weeks, but I’m inclined to accept his offer. I think it’s his scent; it’s fogging up my brain, making me say and do dumb things. As he climbs the stairs with me, I consider all the reasons I should send him home, all the reasons I don’t need his help, don’t need his proximity. But with his fingers gently set against my back, making sure I don’t fall, I can’t remember reason at all.

Once we’re on my landing, it’s time to thank him kindly and send him away. But I keep silent as he walks me all the way to my door and waits while I put the key in and swing the door wide. I step in and feel the relief of the conditioned air, air that doesn’t smell like Rico. You’d think it would be enough to clear my head. But the way his Army tee pulls taut across his chest distracts me. Jesus, he’s so sexy. I hop a little, like I’m making room for him to enter, a silent invitation. But one of my crutches gets caught on the entrance rug, and I nearly tumble backward.

Rico is quick to reach for me, wrapping one arm around my waist as he helps me steady myself. It’s a relief, and it pisses me off. I don’t need his help. I’ve never needed his help.

To demonstrate my strength and take the control back, I balance on my good leg and let my crutches fall as I clasp my palms against his cheeks, holding him in place, our lips so close, eyes staring deep into each other. I ask, “That consent still good?”

“Very.” His voice rumbles straight through me.

I smash my mouth to his, kissing him furiously. His kiss is furious too. We’re a pair of cannibal piranhas devouring each other in a violent, delicious frenzy. I put all my heartache into that kiss, biting his lips, tangling my fingers in his inky black hair, and pulling like I want to hurt him. But not like this. I want to hurt him in much better ways than hair pulling.

Slipping my fingers from his hair, I go for his shirt, trying to tug it over his head, but I wobble on my feet. In an instant, Rico picks me up and carries me to the couch. He sits with me straddling his lap and leans up to press his body against mine as he tugs his T-shirt over his head.

A pair of dog tags clatter as they fall back against his tanned, toned chest. I frown at them, this symbol of his service, the tracker of his life or death in a desert on the other side of the world. A mix of emotions overwhelms me as I stare at them now, like they embody the separation that came between Rico and me.

With that reminder of all that’s come between us, I feel the need to remind him too. “This means nothing.”

Rico kisses my neck, that sensitive spot right below my ear as he whispers, “What means nothing?”

“This.” I sigh as he nibbles my earlobe. “If we’re going to fuck, it’s just fucking. Nothing more.”

Rico licks all the way down my throat to the indentation in my collarbone and murmurs against my skin, “What if I want more?”

I pull back enough to look him in the eyes and smirk. “Tough. This is all you get from me. Take it or leave it.”

He reaches up and cups his hand against my cheek so sweetly, too sweetly. I close my eyes, the softness of his gaze too much to bear. I repeat, “Take it or leave it.”

After a moment more, he answers, “I’ll take it.”

Awesome.

My eyes spring open, and I give him a wicked grin as I clutch his dog tags and move them aside, the metal warming in my grip. I kiss the place where they’d lain, right over his heart. Rico’s fingers tangle in my hair, like he wants to hold me there. But when I start to kiss my way down his chest, he lets me.

He tastes salty and sweet, delicious. I lick my way down the ridges of his muscles, smiling each time he reacts with a spasm, like I’m tickling him. He leans back as I crawl down between his legs until my knees hit the floor.

Rico watches me, likely wondering where I’m taking this. I’m wondering that too. What the hell am I doing? Despite his acquiescence to my terms, I know this is more than just fucking; we have far too much history for it not to be. This man, whose thighs flex as I stroke my fingers up to unzip his pants, is the only man who ever held my heart and the only man who ever broke it. And here I am, on my knees for him.

This is fucking stupid. I’m losing control of this situation, and fast, but I can’t help myself. Rico is a fucking magnet, and I’m iron, helplessly attracted to him. Coaxing his hips up, I pull his jeans and briefs down enough for his cock to spring out, fully erect, weeping, desperate for me. At least he’s helplessly attracted to me too.

And, God, I love this cock. Rico’s is the first dick I ever sucked, and I loved sucking it. His responses were invigorating, his hands roamed, clutching, needy for me, and his orgasms were so rewarding, always getting me wet and desperate for him.

Now, I’m better at giving head. I’ve had more practice. I want to show him. I want him to know what he’s been missing. I want that knowledge to sting. Staring deep into those dark eyes, I lick my lips, bend forward, and slide my mouth over his length, sucking him deep to the back of my throat.

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