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This is different.

This is the heaviness of having said too fucking much.

I still can’t believe I told her about the compound. The woman. Things I’ve kept locked up so tight I forgot how much they still hurt.

But she listened. She didn’t judge me.

Then again, I didn’t tell her everything.

I turn my head to look at her, my gaze landing on the curve of her bare shoulder, glowing in the dim, gray light of the moon. Her lips are slightly parted, her lashes fluttering occasionally. She looks peaceful. Innocent. But I know there’s something beneath that softness. A fire. A determination.

And something worse.

Something treacherous.

I didn’t miss the way Brett used that word. I stole the nigga’s money, so it makes sense to use it to describe me. But what didshedo? That’s the hundred-thousand dollar question.

It won’t be answered tonight, though. And I’m not even sure it matters. And if it matters, I don’t think I care. Not after experiencing her. Not now that I know just how fuckinggoodshe feels.

I still hear her soft voice in my head, urging me to cum inside her, to enjoy myself for once. And I damn sure did. Because being inside her…it unraveled me.

I’mfullycompromised now. And not even because I had sex with her. It’s because Ifeltsomething.

I shift closer. Just a little at first so I don’t disturb her. Then, more. She’s drawing me to her like a magnet. My chest presses against her bare back. My knees slide behind hers. I drape my arm over her waist and smile when she lets out a quiet sigh in her sleep. Then she melts into me like she was waiting for this in her dreams.

I smell her everywhere. Warm skin. Lavender. The lingering musk of sex. I bury my face in the back of her neck, nuzzling the delicate space behind her ear. I let my fingertips trace over her body, exploring the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, the back of her thigh. Her skin is so fucking soft. Like silk warmed by the sun. I move slowly, savoring every inch I can reach, mapping her like she’s a destination I have to reach.

My eyes close, and for one brief second, I let myself imagine something impossible.

A life with her.

SomeBrady Bunchshit.

They loved that show over there. That, andHappy Days. Our TVs played them constantly. Those people were family. Smiling and happy. It was as foreign to me as the country I was stationed in. But maybe life can really be like that. Maybe I could have her in my arms like this every day, without the shadow of death hanging over us. We could laugh. We could make love. And she’d feel safe.

I’m hard just thinking about it.

I press a kiss to the back of her neck, slow and deliberate. Then another, just below her ear. She stirs slightly, murmuring something I can’t make out.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers into the darkness.

“I can’t sleep,” I murmur, lips brushing her skin.

She turns her head slightly, and I take the invitation. Another kiss, softer this time, just below her jaw.

“Can I make you cum?” I ask.

She hums, “Mm hm,” in response, and it sounds like music.

I slip beneath the covers, easing between her legs. She parts them without hesitation, welcoming me. I kiss my way up her inner thighs, finding her pussy warm and wet. I tell myself she was dreaming about me. And this.

She said she likes slow, so I take my time with her. I lick. I suck. I french kiss her pussy. I tease and taste as she arches into me, rolling her hips, one hand on my head and the other twisted in the sheets. My dick pulses hard when she moans my name.

When she cums, her trembling thighs clamp tight around my head while the sounds she makes carve themselves into my brain. It’ll be nice to have a good memory in there for once. Something pleasurable I can flash back to.

I kiss my way back up her body. She pulls me in, in every way. Arms, legs, and pussy. They all invite me, and once again, I oblige.

I go slow again. Deep.