Page 82 of Guarding Grace

“Mortar wound.”

“I can’t imagine how terrible that must have been.” He was just like Pete had been, waving off the injury as part of the job.

He took a deep breath. I stayed quiet, hoping for more.

“The guy I was with died. I lost half a kidney and had to leave the Marines.” His words carried pain.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “I joined LAPD SWAT because one and a half kidneys were good enough for them, and that brought me here, to you. So in a way, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And there was thegoodin Terry Goodwin. He’d spent years putting his life on the line, doing the hard jobs so the rest of us could sleep safely, protecting others, and now me.

“You’re talking too much,” I reminded him.

In a quick move, he covered me with his hard, heavy body. I yelped in surprise, but relished the passion in spite of my wound. He pinned my wrists above my head and began a long kiss. I squirmed at first. Like all our interactions, this was partly a battle. That was our dynamic.

Knowing I’d lost, I gave in. But with him ravaging me like this, I’d actually won what I realized I’d secretly wanted for the longest time—the strength and passion of this man directed at me. “Is that all you got, big guy?” I teased when he broke the kiss.

He released my hands and sat up to pull off my skirt.

I raced to unzip the zipper before he ripped it. A second later I was bare to him since I hadn’t found my panties from before.

“I bet you have no idea how gorgeous you are.”

My blush came unbidden.

“If you want to torture me, wear a thong tomorrow. I’ll be hard all the damned day knowing what’s under your skirt.”

“That can be arranged,” I said with a lick of my lips—any way to get to him was a good way.

He yanked off his shirt and tossed it to the floor with my clothing.

When one of those clever fingers finally split my soaked folds, I moaned long and loud. Then a sharp gasp escaped me when it slowly entered me.

He followed that with a second finger. “Wet is right.” As he slid in and out of me, his thumb found my clit.

I rocked into his hand. “Terry.” I grabbed for his belt.

“No. You’re going to come for me first. You’re going to come on my hand before you get my cock.” As he settled next to me, his other hand stroked my breast and teased my nipple.

I continued rocking into his hand, taking the pleasure he doled out.

“Or you can come on my hand and my cock,” he added after a moment. His thumb didn’t let up, nor did his breast play.

My hips kept bucking to the rhythm of his hand. Unstoppable moans escaped me as he tickled that secret spot inside my channel and strummed my clit. With incredible speed, the ecstasy built, and I felt the cliff approaching. “I’m gonna come.” My hissed words matched the desperation I felt.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” He added pressure on my clit.

As much as I wanted this to go on forever, I couldn’t hold off. My eyes clamped shut. He sucked on my nipple, and I came splintering apart into a million desperate shards, crying out his name. The waves rolled over me, my inner muscles convulsing on his fingers.

When the waves receded, the limpness arrived, and I opened my eyes again. His beautiful face came into focus, gigantic smile and all.

He brought his hand up and proceeded to lick and suck his fingers. “Baby, you taste so sweet.”

Yes, we had arrived at a place I hadn’t visited before—Dirtyville—and it excited me. I reached for his belt. “That was great. Now it’s your turn, and we’re not answering a phone this time.”

Of coursegreatwas way too mild a word for the experience he’d given me.