I whimper out a protest when he pulls away. His hand settles on my back as he pushes me, so I lie face down, bent over the table. I can’t see him from this angle, and from the fact that I didn’t turn on many lights when I got home. The dim light heightens the intensity of this moment.
I feel him moving behind me, and I inhale quickly when he rips my leggings over my ass and yanks them down until they’re around my ankles. Ian’s warm palms grip my hips and maneuver them where he wants them. Any thoughts swirling in my head are obliterated when his tongue runs up the back of my thigh to my ass cheek. All I can focus on is how good it feels to have Ian touching me again. My face tingles, and my eyes start watering at how much I don’t want this to end.
“It’s a shame it’s been so long since I’ve been here.”
I’m going to respond when he bites down hard on the globe of my ass. Instead of words, I let out a moan-filled gasp.
He groans, and his breath caresses my core. “So fucking perfect. Spread your legs a little for me, beautiful.”
I obey, and Ian doesn’t say anything else as he busies himself eating me out from behind. His hands are squeezing my cheeks as he shifts me slightly in one direction or another so he can give me the perfect amount of pleasure.
I whimper when his mouth leaves me, but his thick fingers quickly slip inside to fill me up. “I can’t decide if you’re ruining my life, or if you’re the reason for it.”
At his statement, my heart stutters and my body tenses. But I don’t have time to react further as he rubs my clit hard while massaging my G-spot, leaving me a sweating, crying mess. My orgasm overtakes me completely, so much so that if I weren’t lying on the table, I probably would have collapsed—my legs barely able to hold up my bottom half as it is.
I’m still catching my breath when a feather-light kiss is pressed to the back of my thigh—so light I wonder if I imagined it—before the door slams, confirming his exit. I pop upand spin around as carefully as I can with my leggings still around my ankles.
Ian is gone. He left me. He didn’t stay for me.
I give in to my body and sink to the floor, not bothering to pull up my pants. The tears don’t stop until I fall asleep, curled up on the floor, wishing that anything about my life was different. Just one change is all I need.
13
Ian
Two months later - May
“How’s the tour going?” Pamela asks as she drops into the chair across from the couch.
Nate and I have been on tour with one of the more popular country music singers. There was a falling out with her previous security company, and they ended up hiring us. There’s a break in the tour this weekend, and Jack and Ella moved their engagement party so that we could attend.
“It’s fine. I don’t love traveling all the time, but it’s been relatively uneventful.”
Nate and I share the sentiment of not enjoying being on the road, given how much we traveled while in the military. We would both rather be home. Except he’s developed anobsession with one of the flight attendants, so he seems to hate it less than I do.
“Are you excited about the party tonight?”
I shrug because I know what she’s about to bring up. “Just go ahead and spit it out. We both know what you really want to ask.”
She laughs. “Fair enough. Maggie will be there. How will it be seeing her again?”
I knew it was a bad idea when I took a rideshare to her house two months ago after having a few drinks with some of the guys from work. But I needed to see her. I needed to touch her. My desperation was overwhelming. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I didn’t plan what happened when I got there, but it was amazing. And I’ve gotten off more than once to the memory of that.
I never told Pamela about it, mostly because I didn’t want her to tell me she didn’t think I should’ve done that. Pamela thinks Maggie isn’t good for me. She told me that what Maggie said to me was unacceptable and unnecessarily cruel.
But my heart, and my dick, apparently, don’t care. I’m still just as obsessed with her as I was last June when I first met her.
I left her apartment that night, pissed at myself for doing what I did and at her for letting me. I’m just torturing myself, knowing she doesn’t think I’m a worthy enough man to take a chance on. I don’t know how to get over her. There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t thought about her at least once, but if I’m being honest, it’s much more often.
Uncomfortable with the feelings thinking about her brings up, I clear my throat. “Can we talk about something else?”
Pamela gives me an understanding smile. “Sure. Did you think about what we talked about the last time I saw you?”
My gut clenches. “I did. I started writing the letters.”
Her face lights up. “That’s great, Ian. I think this will be really good for you.”
We’ve been working through the guilt I have regarding the decisions I made on the mission that killed my friends. While I can recognize that it was an impossible situation, it does nothing to absolve me of the guilt that they died and I lived. Pamela suggested that I write letters to their families. She said I didn’t have to send them, but felt that it might be good for me to put some of those feelings on paper, while including some of the happier memories I have of each of them. I shift so I can pull the folded-up papers from my back pocket.
