21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (36 page)

“Get naked. You need a shower.”

“I don’t want to take a shower.” She stared at him. Her expression tensed, and she focused on his face, but her gaze kept drifting down to his body. Her nipples strained against the front of her shirt, clearly outlined by the material. He didn’t smile, but her obvious reaction to him eased the worry gnawing inside his gut.

“But I do want one. I want to take one with you. I want to hold you. I want to touch you. I want to fuck you.” Logan didn’t mince the words. He could dress them up, call it making love, but the unbearable tension in his balls didn’t want pretty words. “I want to have hot, wet, blow-your-mind sex.” He didn’t tack on the
like we used, too
.

Desire flared in her hazel eyes. “I—”

“You?” He knelt down, pressing right up into her space, flattening his palms on the bed on either side of her. “You what?”

“Logan.” She shifted her weight, not quite squirming, but the troubled cloud darkening her expression stabbed at him.
What was she afraid of
?

“I’m right here, babe.” He caught her wrist and pressed her hand to his chest. “You can touch me. You can feel me. You can see me.”

“It’s not that.” She glanced to where her hand rested on him. Her right hand. The one she struggled with and cursed about. Her fingers curled against his skin, the barest of friction, but it sent need raging through his blood.

“Talk to me, babe. We can’t fix it if we don’t know what the problem is.” He laid bare the core of his anger. She wasn’t talking to them. She wasn’t telling them what nibbled away at the inside of her soul. Logan would face any battle, he’d take on any enemy, but he couldn’t fight what she would not allow him to see.

“What if the problem is you?” The lack of conviction in the words eased the injury they offered.

He settled his weight onto his right knee, the left didn’t like the pressure still—even on the thick padding of the carpet. “If the problem is me, then I really can’t fix it if I don’t know the source.”

“I’m not that woman anymore. The one who walked into that hotel room in Vegas. I—” She tugged her hand away. Rubbing it against her face, she jarred the hat loose and jerked to secure it.

Eyes narrowing, he pushed her hands away and swept the hat off. Her wince stabbed him. “No, you’re not
that
woman anymore.
That
woman was a stranger, one I damn near missed out on meeting because I wasn’t me anymore. I hadn’t figured out how to really be me after the surgeries. I’m not a handsome man—”

“Yes, you are.” Her swift defense demanded a kiss, but he fought that urge, silently promising he’d reward it later.

“I’m not. But it wasn’t the physical scars, Jazz. It’s the scars on the inside, the ones no one else can see.” She needed a push, a very hard push. It would hurt like hell if it backfired, but he was tired of the distance she kept trying to put between them. Watching her struggle and fight as though she were alone exhausted him. He’d never left a man behind, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to start now.

Starting at her cheek, he stroked his fingers up and down the side of her face. “You’ve been through hell. I know that. I’d like to say I know exactly what you feel, but I don’t. I know what I think you’re feeling. But I’m not inside that beautiful head of yours.”

Her unspoken denial of the compliment flared in her eyes. He knew it would. She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror. She saw the damage, not the strength. She saw the horror, not the joy. She saw the pain, not the survival. Steeled against the consequences, he touched the stubble where her hair should be. They’d shaved all of it off. The stitches were healed, but the fresh pink scars betrayed the recent damage.

The flinch warned him away, but he wasn’t about to shy from a battle that had to be won. If she truly believed that her scars made her unattractive, it was up to him to prove otherwise. He rose to his feet. Shifting to slide sideways onto the bed next to her, he pressed his lips to the first scar he saw. The stubble was rough and soft, almost downy in spots. He traced the long scar where they’d removed the shrapnel. She froze against him. Her right hand clutched at the air, but she didn’t push him away.

“You know what the scariest thing has been for me?” A circular scar dimpled the back of her head. “It wasn’t the news, the hospital stay, or the surgeries.” He stretched around her, punctuating each word with another soft kiss. It was truly the first time he’d been able to see the scars. She covered up whenever they were in the room and resisted their presence when the neurosurgeon or other physician checked on her.

He waited her out until her silence cracked under a damp sniffle. “What was the worst part for you?”

“The part where you pushed me—both of us—away.” He whispered the last against her ear. “If you don’t want to have sex. Fine. If you think you’re uglier for whatever reason. Fine. But sweetheart, that’s not what I see and that’s not what I feel. I just want to hold you, to be there for you, and to face this down with you.”

The last made him a bit of a liar. It definitely wasn’t fine if she didn’t want to have sex, but he could wait and would wait, if that was what she wanted. He lifted his head, backing off enough to see her face.

“I want
you
.” Warts and all. He couldn’t make that any clearer.

“This is so messed up.” She wrinkled her nose and laughter hinted around the edges of her watery smile. “I’m messed up. Why would anyone want that? You guys have lives—had them—before you got stuck with me.”

Unfortunately, no matter how much she believed that statement, it only pissed him off. He closed the distance and captured her mouth in a kiss that was equal parts affection and anger. Cupping her face in his hands, he gave her no room to evade or escape. In this, if nothing else, she would accept his leadership. She might be lost in the woods and uncertain of how desirable she was, but in this he demanded submission. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, requesting access. Her mouth softened, opened, and welcomed him.

A long, low groan of need thrummed through him. He’d kept his distance, pressed her only about what she needed to do physically to recover, watched her medication, and hounded her about her appointments. He’d done everything except show her with his body how important she was to him.

An issue he planned to rectify immediately. Her nails scraped his scalp, tugging him closer. The kiss was far from gentle. The contact threatened to do him in, his body screamed readiness at the flood of heat, the wash of hunger. He fought to hold steady, to pour his need and desire into the contact.

When he finally lifted his head, she stared at him, slack-jawed and panting. Her nipples pressed eagerly against her shirt. Her hands held onto his head and her eyes were wide, liquid. She trembled, but it wasn’t weakness he sensed at all. But need.

“Damn.” Zach’s low whistle sliced through the tension. Jazz didn’t quite jump, but a flush of red stained her face and she jerked to look at the Marine leaning against the now open bedroom door. “That’s hot.”

“In or out, but you’re killing the mood.” Logan didn’t spare his best friend a look. The guilt and confusion edging into her wanton expression begged his attention.

“I am heading out to pick up some things. You ladies need anything?” Zach’s words said he was leaving, his tone asked to stay. Logan didn’t care, but he wasn’t as certain about Jazz.

“Sweetheart?” He gave her a nudge. It was her call, if she wanted ménage shenanigans, then that’s what they’d give her.

“No. I mean…no, thank you.” She stole another look at Zach.

“’Kay. You two have fun.” The door’s soft thump indicated he left.

“Did it bother you that he walked in?” Logan wanted to understand what was going on inside her head. She was still dressed. He was buck-ass naked. “It was just a kiss.”

“It shouldn’t…I mean, we’ve all…well, I’ve been with both of you, right?” Was she asking him or telling him?

“It’s not a matter of would or should, it’s a matter of does.” His balls ached, but he shoved their demands aside.

“Most men are more possessive…they don’t want to be excluded.” She began to lean back, but Logan still held her face. He gave her a half an inch. No more. He liked feeling her pressed against him.

“I am possessive as hell. You ever look at another guy the way you look at us and you may find his continued good health in serious question.”

“But not Zach?” Her brow furrowed. Was she really asking this question? Hadn’t the way they met set those rules into motion in the first place?

“There’s no jealousy with us.” He massaged her face. The frown and confusion needed to go. Zach was his brother, his best friend, and the lighter hearted side of his soul. It had taken him years to understand they were flip sides of the same coin. “We don’t need it, we don’t compete, and we never have.”

“So you could walk in on the two of us having sex and it wouldn’t bother you?” For whatever reason, she needed these questions answered.

“Nope. I might want to join in—I might even watch, especially if his hairy ass isn’t on top.” He grinned. “But it’s just as hot to watch you getting off…he got you off in the shower a few weeks ago—”

Realization slammed into him.

“Babe? Is that what this is about? You got off with Zach in the shower and worried that it would upset me?”

She glanced down to stare fixedly at his chest. “Yes and no. That night in Vegas—it was amazing. It was everything I wanted it to be and more.”

Hell yeah, it had been. He’d walked in that hotel room with negative expectations and walked back out a changed and proud man.

“I never asked myself what came after. I went to Afghanistan. I saw you in Germany. I saw Zach in Italy. Logan—how the hell is this supposed to work?” The hesitancy in her voice flattened to crisp anxiety. “You can’t marry two men. You can’t choose between them. If I have sex with you, I have to have sex with him and then it gets even more complicated. You throw in the fact that I’m a cripple, and I’m leaving the two of you to decide who gets to babysit me.”

“Whoa.” Logan held up a hand. He had to get a grip on his temper. “Who the hell said you had to do anything you didn’t want to do? Having sex with either of us doesn’t mean a damn thing unless you want it to mean something. But let’s be clear, you call yourself a cripple again and I’ll kick your ass.”

Her jaw tightened and flexed. Heat flared in her eyes—good, he’d pissed her off.

“I’m a mess, Logan. I still can’t walk…I’m working on getting my hand to cooperate, and my last assessment recommended six months to a year. A year. They’re recommending that I accept a permanent disability discharge.”

“That sucks.” And it deflated his anger. Permanent disability would earn her benefits and an honorable discharge from the service. No more trips to Afghanistan. No more duty in the line of fire. No more doing the job she enjoyed. It sucked. But sucking had benefits, too. “It’s not a final decision. It’s a recommendation.”

His disability discharge was final. He couldn’t pass the physical now, even if he tried. He could do most of it, but the uneven ground would throw him. It sucked. But he accepted it, although the news was a bitter pill and left an acrid taste in the mouth.

He imagined it was the same for her. No wonder she withdrew from them and painted herself a cripple. He tugged her close and kissed her, hard and fierce. Heat swelled between them and when her hands roamed down his body, he groaned.

Too long without the feeling of her naked flesh against his, and finally, she seemed to be tired of it, too. He pulled away only long enough to help her strip. Fortunately, he knew where every button and zipper lay. He scooted her further up the bed and stretched out next to her. Light years of progress in seconds and Logan lifted his head to look at the nightstand, long enough to check that the condoms were there.

God, he hoped he would need them.

She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. The caress skated down his neck to his chest. He refused to remain still while she explored, tracing the line of her throat to her chest. He slid a hand over her breast and it peaked, stabbing his palm. She was a woman who demanded pleasure, even now. He skimmed the palm back and forth across the nipple. It darkened to a deep rosy shade, straining desperately. She arched up and he met her stormy gaze.

“Logan?” Need strained her voice.

“Yeah, babe?”

She sucked in a breath. Her pink lips were swollen from his kisses. “I want to have that really hot, wet, sex now.”

Hallelujah
.

He caressed lower, cupping her sex and sealing her lips with a kiss at the same time. She rolled toward him, lifting her hips to drive against his hand. He’d like to fuck her senseless, but as much as he needed to exert control over her body—he maintained it over his. His cock already beaded with pre-cum and shivers of pleasure tightened his balls until he thought they might explode.

He took his time, stroking a finger up and down along the delicate slit. He swirled his thumb against her clit. She bucked, riding his touch. Zach said she’d been wildly sensitive in the shower. Now he had his first opportunity to taste her responsiveness.

Already pathetically close to coming on the bed cover, he focused his attention on her. Her kiss grew demanding, her tongue twining with his as though fighting to taste all of him. He teased her pussy until he slipped a finger inside her slick channel. Her heels dug into the mattress and her legs spread.

“More.” She broke the kiss, gasping. Pleasure spiked in her dark tone. He was selfish. He wanted her to come for him and he wanted to watch. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and he damn near went cross-eyed. “Logan, I don’t want to play—I want you to fuck me. Give it to me…please.”

She did not have to make that request twice. Groaning, he rolled over her on the bed and grabbed for the condoms, the box flying as he pulled one out. Seconds later he settled the sheath into place and lifted her hips. One thrust and he would be inside her. He shook with need seething beneath the reins of his control.

She wrapped her legs around him. He grinned slowly. She pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs. He braced with his good arm. He didn’t want to squash her.