Page 56 of Delta (Alpha #12)

I t's the longest, slowest, most infuriating recovery of my life.

I won't bore you with the details, but it very much sucked.

Definitely don't go getting shot in the lungs.

The doctors don't exactly use the word "miracle" in reference to the fact that I survived the damage done to me, but it was definitely on the more unlikely side of things.

So I suppose I should be grateful to even be alive, let alone back on my feet.

Yeah, I still have to drag a stupid oxygen cannister around on those stupid wheely guys, and the cord gets tangled on things, and it's all very annoying.

But I've been assured that in time, with patience and hard work, I’ll get off the oxygen.

It'll take months more before I'm able to start the much longer road to returning to operational fitness, which is purely maddening.

Not being able to get out there and help the guys look for Killy, Cal, and Story is almost harder than the recovery. Especially because Pugli and Mercado are still out there, alive, unpunished, and perpetrating evil upon the world.

Which means Bryn, Eliza, and I have become our own little family. It doesn't do to think about it too closely or I’ll start blubbing, as Eliza calls it, because I'm just so damned happy. I'm still wary of it—the happiness, that is. The peace I feel.

For now, as frustrating as it may be to be physically limited, I'm content to savor this period of life. It's a transition. I'm letting go of the past. Putting aside the trauma of everything, the guilt.

Just…be happy. That's a hard thing to do, you know, especially if you've had to fight for everything your whole life.

Right now, for example, I'm watching the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.

Our new home is not large, but it's luxurious.

Windows form walls on all three sides, which can be accordioned open to let the whole house get the fresh air coming off the water.

Palm trees sway. Gulls and other sea birds cry and play.

Water laps quietly in the channels on either side of us, and the open ocean spreads away in the distance.

Eliza had a sleepover with the women last night—a real girls night while I spent time learning some of what Lear does—he and his wife, Cuddy, have temporarily moved into the compound as well to provide additional security while the rest of the guys hunt down Pugli and work on locating the missing people.

Lear and I worked late into the night, tracking Killy and Cal's movements while Bryn and I were gallivanting about the globe—apparently, Pugli made plays against them not long after he realized who Bryn was, but either Pugli was successful in covering his tracks, or the boys have been successful at staying off-grid.

Or a third option, but that brings us into the world of conjecture, and that's useless.

The point is, they've been AWOL for weeks. There've been clues here and there that they're still alive, but the hunt is on.

A sound brings me out of my thoughts—a crunch of feet in the sand.

A moment later, Bryn appears in the open doorway, the rising sun backlighting her. She's wrapped in a red, white, and pink floral knee-length kimono-type thing, her feet bare and dusted with wet sand. Her hair is loose and wild and windblown, her lovely, rich brown skin sun-kissed.

"Hey, you," I say, smiling at her. "How was the girls’ night sleepover?”

She shrugs. "It was fun. Ren was there, too, of course, so we decided he could be an honorary girl for the night.

He got his fingers and toes painted blue.

He's a sweet kid." She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze lingering on me—I'm in nothing but a pair of rather short shorts. "You?"

"I'll never be a hacker like Lear, but I’m a decent hand with simpler computer stuff."

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick of that fuckin' question," I growl. "Fine, mostly. Ready to get rid of that thing for good." I fling a hand at the oxygen canister. "I only need it now and then. It’s an improvement."

She pushes off the frame and prowls toward me, gaze lingering hungrily on my chest, flicking to my bare shoulders, my abs, my arms. "Do you need the oxygen right now?"

“Not anymore." I pull the cannula out and toss it onto the canister, stop the flow, and move to push up out of the chair.

She reaches me first, pressing her hands onto my shoulders, pushing me back down onto the chair. "Ah-ah-ah," she scolds. "Stay where you are."

I relax into the oversized easy chair, letting her take over. "As you wish, my love."

She levers the footrest down. Braces her hands on the arms of the chair, nuzzling her nose and lips across my cheek, huffing a hot, teasing breath into my ear. "I've knotted this robe too tight," she breathes. "I need help untying it."

“Is that so?" I say, trailing my fingers up her thighs, lifting the hem of the robe as I go; I reach her hips, and discover she's not wearing any underwear.

"Get me naked, Rush," she whispers. "Now. I need you inside me."

A thousand responses, each dirtier than the last, rampage through my brain. My idiot tongue manages none of them. "God, please," I whisper, overcome by need, by desperation, by love.

I fumble at the tie of her robe—the little minx has barely knotted the thing at all. One tug and the knot comes apart, the edges of the robe draping open, revealing her nude, perfect body.

"God, Bryn, you're so fucking gorgeous." I ghost my hands over her shoulders, brush the robe off.

It flutters to the floor in a pool, and the sun glistens off her lush brown skin, slivers and shines through her dense black curls.

Her curves tease and tantalize, all trim hips and tight waist, strong thighs and heavy breasts.

We never did find any time alone in the hospital, not even for any handsy sort of fun.

Too many doctors and nurses coming and going, or Richard, Evelyn, and Eliza, or the A1S crew, or I was too fucking exhausted, honestly.

But now…

It's been fucking weeks since I’ve done more than chastely kiss her lips or cop a greedy feel as she curls up in the bed next to me.

I'm absolutely ravenous for her.

"You're pretty fine yourself, Mr. Bellamy." She pushes her hips between my thighs, rests her hands on my shoulders. "You should do stuff to me."

I grin up at her, letting my hands carve up the backs of her thighs, a groan escaping me as I fill my hands with the plump, taut perfection of her ass. "It's been so long I’ve forgotten what to do. You may have to teach me, Miss Harris."

She looms over me, hips pushed forward, back arched, chest high and proud, chin tucked to gaze down at me, hands in my hair. "Just keep touching me. Everywhere. Please, Rush."

Up her back, over her shoulders. Down her arms. Scoop the weight of her tits into my hands, pulse pounding at the glory of her body, my whole body thrumming with anticipation. With joy. With love.

"Like this?" I breathe, rolling my thumbs over her nipples.

She gasps. "Yes."

I lean forward and lift up, suckle her nipple into my mouth. "And that?"

"Perfect." Her fingers dimple my scalp, trail through my hair and down my nape. "Keep going."

I kiss her belly, her navel. Feather a finger down her seam—she's wet for me. Fuck, I need to taste her. "Turn around and bend over for me, Bryn."

"Rush, you—"

I cut her off. "I'm not an invalid, sweetheart.

And if you think anything is going to stop me from tasting the sweet sugar of your tight little cunt, you're greatly mistaken. I’ve dreamed of the taste of you for weeks.

" I slip a finger inside her channel, coating my finger in her slick, wet essence.

Withdraw my finger and pop it into my mouth. "Turn around. Bend over."

With a soft gasp at the loss of my finger inside her, Bryn obeys. Turns on a heel, watching me over her shoulder. Bends at the waist, feet wide apart, presenting her ass to me, her pussy open and begging, dripping desire. "Rush…please."

The only thing wrong with me is my lung capacity—I lose strength swiftly, still.

Lose my breath. But my limbs function just fine.

The hole in my arm is not much more than a scar, now.

So it's not a hardship to move to my knees behind her.

Her upside-down gaze locks on me between her legs.

Her tits hang, swaying. I cup one, the other, just because.

Shift closer. Trail my finger along her seam, teasing her.

She whimpers softly. "Rush, please. Don't tease me. It's been forever—I’m dying without you."

I can't bring myself to draw it out any longer. I need her as much as she needs me—maybe more. Who knows? Who cares? We need each other, we need this.

So, I give it to her. I bury my face in her sweetness, groaning my delight at the taste of her.

She cries out as my tongue slides inside her, shaking already.

I palm her ass and devour her, then. No teasing, no playing around.

Just eager, ravenous pleasure. I bring her to the edge of climax, and when she's there, I plunge my fingers inside her slick hot pussy and fuck her with them until she detonates, knees threatening to give out.

She comes on a wild cry, and I take my fingers away—she mewls in protest, but I give her mouth instead, my lips suctioned around her thick little clit, tongue flicking.

She comes again harder, and this time her knees do give out.

She collapses in front of me, dropping to her knees on the floor, panting. I bend over her, kiss her back, caress her ass. After a moment spent catching her breath, she turns.

Pushes me away. "Sit."

I slide up and back into the chair. She drags my shorts off and tosses them over a shoulder, a greedy grin lighting her face as she gathers my iron-hard cock in her hands. For a moment, she just toys with me, squeezing, twisting, rubbing the tip with a thumb—getting reacquainted, as it were.