I increased my pace, driving into her with renewed purpose.
She slid her hand between us, closing around the root of my shaft, and the sensation of her touching me while I moved inside her nearly undid me right then.
I shifted slightly, adjusting my angle to hit that spot inside her I remembered was there.
“That’s it,” I encouraged, watching her mouth gape open. “Take what you need.”
Within minutes, she was coming again.
“Rav!” she screamed, louder than in the kitchen. Every time in Afghanistan, we’d had to hold it in, biting through the ecstasy, but here, we could let it all go.
The sight of her freely calling my name pulled me over the edge. I followed, spilling inside her with a groan that tore its way from deep in my chest. “Brooke! Fucking hell, Brooke!”
Afterward, I rolled to the side, pulling her with me so she lay half on top of me, her head resting on my chest. Her weight was perfect—substantial and real, anchoring me to this moment, to the reality that we were here, together, after everything.
“That was worth waiting for,” she murmured, letting one arm drape across my sweaty chest.
I stroked her back, from her shoulder to her ass and back again, unable to stop touching her. “We’re only getting started.”
She lifted her head to look at me, raising an eyebrow. “Confident in your recovery time, soldier?”
I grinned at the challenge in her voice. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
She laughed, settling against me. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We lay in comfortable silence for a while, my fingers continuing their exploration of her skin. How had anyone ever been repulsed by her scars? Why did she have to spend so many years hiding from the world? There was nothing hideous about them—they were simply another part of her, evidence of her survival, her strength.
“I meant what I said,” I whispered finally. “I do love you.”
She inhaled, held it for a moment, then released. “I know.”
My hand stilled momentarily, then resumed its path. I didn’t push for more—didn’t need to. After everything we’d been through, the walls she’d built around herself were understandable. The fact that she was here at all, naked in my arms, was miracle enough.
She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow to look at me. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, as though searching for something. Maybe for the truth, for evidence, or simply trying to figure out what to say next. “I tried hating you for so long. I thought it would make things easier.”
I’d been such an idiot.
No, not an idiot. I’d simply been too deep in my own self-pity. After Scarlett had stopped me from ending it all, I’d started seeing a psychologist. After a while, he suggested I talk to the people I’d served with, as though our shared experiences would help put my own into perspective.
I never did.
Because if I’d started talking to people, they would have told me what happened to Brooke, and I would have had to face that all over again. Instead of seeing her in my dreams and my nightmares, when it was only me, I’d have to share her story with others again.
The awful truth was that I was afraid of what I’d hear. That she’d moved on, married, had children. That she had a happy life and that her world was better without me in it.
And that was too close to my thought that everyone’s world would have been better without me.
I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had hated me.”
She gave me a crooked, uncomfortable smile. “Honestly, some silly little part of me might have hoped this would happen someday.”
I let out a long, slow breath, absorbing those words.
“So let’s stop living in yesterday,” she said, pushing herself up so she could press her lips to mine.
The kiss deepened quickly, igniting embers that had never quite died out. I gripped her hips, pulling her on top of me, and I felt myself hardening against her thigh much faster than I’d anticipated. “I believe you wanted to go for a ride?”
“I’m not sure it’s been fifteen minutes,” she teased, grinding against me.
