Tough Enough (15 page)

“What are you smiling about?” comes a rough yet soft voice from behind me. My smile grows.

“How do you know I’m smiling? You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I am? You should’ve told me,” he teases, nuzzling me with his scratchy chin. I shrug my shoulder automatically because it tickles. “Please don’t hide from me like that.” His voice is audibly pained, like my action was a grave insult to him.

I turn to look back at him, reaching up to stroke his cheek, noting the worry in his eyes. The curve on my lips turns tender. “I’m ticklish. That’s all.”

“Oh. My bad.” His face relaxes into the lopsided grin that I love so much and he pulls me in closer, hugging me tighter with his strong arm. “I just don’t want you to think that they bother me or that they’re all I see when I look at you or touch you. I’ve felt that way before and it sucks balls.”

I settle back in against him, cradling my head on my folded hands as Rogan’s fingers rub soothing circles on my stomach.

“Felt what way?” I ask.

“Like my scars are worse than what they are.”

“Your scars aren’t that bad, though.”

“To me they are. I just learned a long time ago that I couldn’t let
them, or that part of my life, ruin everything for me. I had to fight to survive, yes. But I also had to fight to live. To have some kind of happiness in life.”

His tattoo.
Fight to survive. Fight to live.
Not just a tattoo. A credo.
His
credo.

I pause, debating the wisdom of asking the questions that are burning to be voiced. I mean, I
did
just share a huge piece of myself with him. And not only the physical; I shared the hardest part. But that doesn’t mean that he’s at a place where
he
will feel comfortable sharing with
me
. In a way, my hand was forced. His is not.

Before I can talk myself into or out of asking, Rogan starts to talk again. So I let him.

“I wasn’t always comfortable with violence. I wasn’t always a fighter. The first few years, when Kurt was just a baby, things were pretty good, pretty normal. It was after Mom died that it all went to shit.”

“What happened to her?”

“Cancer. We didn’t have much money and she always put her needs last. Eventually it cost her her life.” I’m quiet while Rogan is quiet. I don’t know if he needs time to collect himself, but I’m giving it to him anyway. I feel the storm of his story brewing, like an uncomfortable static in the air. “He didn’t start drinking or anything. That’s what the social workers always thought—that he was a mean drunk. But he wasn’t. He was just a mean son of a bitch,
period
. He didn’t need anything to bring it out. Life did. Just life. When Mom died, she took the only good in him with her.

“I was ten the first time he hit me. He was mad because I’d left my basketball outside. He found it when he came home from work. I was watching cartoons with Kurt and he walked in the door and threw the ball at me. Hit me right in middle of the face. Smashed the shit out of my nose. I started crying and he walked over, jerked me up by the arm and punched me in the stomach. Told me to stop
acting like a little pussy bitch. Told me I wasn’t tough enough, but that he’d make me tough. Tough like a man.”

My hand is pressed to my mouth and my eyes are squeezed shut. Too easily I can picture a young Rogan, abused and grieving, struggling to make it from one day to the next.

“It only got worse after that. The older and bigger I got, the more creative he was. He’d burn me with lit cigarettes if I didn’t wake up on time, he’d whip me with my football cleats if I missed a catch, he’d slice at me with a box cutter if I ran from him when he was mad. And there was nothing I could do. He told me if I told anyone about what happened, he’d kill Kurt. I believed him. And I think he would’ve done it. But I knew as long as I was around, he’d never lay a hand on him.”

My stomach sloshes with nausea at the pain, at the heartache. At the betrayal and the loneliness he must’ve felt. I have to wait a few seconds, swallow a few times so that my voice doesn’t reflect my inner turmoil.

“You mentioned social workers . . .”

“Yeah, I had a couple of concerned teachers over the years. I always made excuses, though. I knew if Dad ever found out, he’d hurt us. Hurt Kurt. And I couldn’t risk that. And if they
were
able to help get us away from him, Kurt and I might’ve been separated in foster care. I guess to a kid like me, there were too many unknowns, too many risks. Besides, Dad was careful. He never broke bones and he was a star employee at work. But still, I heard them whisper. All my teachers thought he was a mean drunk that no one could catch.” His laugh is bitter. “Anyway, he started working nightshift for the extra money when I was sixteen. I thought that might put an end to it, but it didn’t. That’s when I knew I had to find another way to protect us, so when I got my license, I started taking his car while he slept. I’d drive down to this dojo on the other end of town and I’d watch the
boys in there as they trained. I practiced in my room after school, just waiting for the day when I could fight back.

“The old man who owned the studio caught me watching one day. I thought for sure he’d tell me I could never come back, but he surprised me by being cool about it. Not too many people were nice to me for a lot of years, but he was one who was. He offered to teach me how to defend myself.

“He didn’t show me just one style, and none of the pretty stuff that they like to do at exhibitions. He taught me a little of everything—Muay Thai, Taekwondo, Krav Maga. He showed me how to take a man twice my size down to the ground. He didn’t instruct me like he did his students—that violence was a last resort. No, he taught me how to fight so that I could survive. He knew that, for me, to survive
was to
fight. And so I did. I fought to survive.”

As his story goes on, I feel the surge of satisfaction to come. Like watching a movie, knowing the climax is coming, I find myself anxious for Rogan to get to the part where he stands up to his dad, to get to the part where he finally gains his freedom.

But that’s not how his story goes.

“My time eventually came. I’d been looking forward to it for so long. I was practically swimming in satisfaction the first time I ever hit Dad back. He just looked at me and then turned around and walked off. I felt pretty damn good about it until the next day when he beat the shit out of Kurt with a phone book. My poor brother was bruised from head to toe. Bloody lip, busted nose, black eye, blue splotches all over his chest and stomach and back. Even his legs. Dad came into his room when Kurt was curled up on his bed and I was looking him over. He just stood in the doorway, staring at me. That’s when I knew. I knew I’d caused it. I’d caused him to hurt my little brother. That’s when I realized that I was stuck. That
I’d have to suck it up and take it until I could find a way out. Or until Kurt could. And then we’d both be free.”

Behind my hand, I bite my lip. I don’t want to make a sound as the tears slip between my lashes and roll down my cheek to soak the pillowcase. I hurt for Rogan, for the little boy who lost so much, who had to endure so much. Within a few months, his entire life fell apart, yet here he is today—healthy and whole. And charming as the day is long. It’s obvious that his strength is much more than just physical. This man is a survivor. Down to his soul, he’s a survivor. And a winner.

“I’m so sorry, Rogan,” I offer in as steady a voice as I’m capable of, but even to my own ears it sounds watery and weak. I feel him stiffen behind me, so I roll my shoulders back and turn to meet his eyes. They’re dark in the low light and the set of his jaw is like steel. “What is it?”

“I told you I don’t want your pity.” I can hear that his teeth are gritted.

“I know you did. And you’re not getting pity. My heart hurts for the little boy who lost so much, but I feel nothing but admiration for the
man
, Rogan. The man you’ve become is . . . he’s amazing. I only wish I was as tough as you were. As you
are.
”

His expression softens and he leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. When he relaxes behind me again, I melt into him, something I’m finding is surprisingly easy to do.

It’s nearly a full minute later when Rogan rises over me, his lips descending to cover mine. And when they do, I know the sad memories are over. He’s put them back where they need to be, where they can’t hurt him anymore.

Despite the heartbreaking conversation of moments before, a fire is kindled within seconds of his large palm skating down my
stomach. He finds me unerringly. His fingers know the way to my core just like his words do. He touches me. Always he touches me, it seems.

I reach behind me to drive my fingers into Rogan’s hair, fisting them when his tongue slides between my lips. Gently, he tugs my top thigh up onto his legs and guides his tip to my entrance from behind. He hovers there, his mouth devouring mine, his fingertip back to tease between my folds. When he stills and lifts his head, I open my eyes to find him staring at me. We stay like this for endless seconds until, with his gaze locked onto mine, he eases into me, slow and deep.

He covers my mouth again, my gasp perfectly timed with the breath he exhales. I breathe him in, take as much of him as I can into my body. And it’s in these sweet, quiet moments that I realize I’ve never felt more myself than when Rogan is inside me.

Rogan

I don’t know what I expected when I woke up, but to be in bed alone at nearly noon wasn’t it. I can’t believe it’s so late! I haven’t slept that well in years. Maybe ever.

I roll over to face the sun streaming in around the shutters that cover the windows. The other side of the bed is cold. I guess Katie has been up for some time.

For several minutes, I stare at the dent in her pillow, considering the woman who made it. I’m not surprised that once I unraveled the mystery of the shy girl with the haunted eyes that I’m
still
interested. Something told me right from the start that this one was special. And I wasn’t wrong. She’s different and special in the best possible way.

I finally drag my pathetic ass out of bed and find the bathroom directly across the hall. I pause in the doorway to listen. All I hear are sounds of battle coming from the living room. I smile to myself,
shaking my head as I walk naked to the toilet. It’s hard to tell what other surprises this woman might hold.

I borrow Katie’s toothbrush and brush my teeth. I figure since we’ve licked each other from head to toe, she surely won’t mind if I use it. In the mirror, I catch sight of my stiff dick, so I go back to the bedroom for last night’s clothes. I figure it might be prudent to wear
something
other than a hard-on when I go out to greet her this morning. I’m ready for some more of the untamed Katie from last night, of course, but it’s hard to tell where she might be in the bright light of day. Women and their mood swings!

When I’m dressed, I run my fingers through my hair and head for the living room. I smile when I see her. Like I do most of the time.

Katie is curled up on the sofa, covered with a blanket, munching from an enormous bowl of popcorn, watching what looks like
The Walking Dead.

“Popcorn for breakfast?” I ask from the doorway so as not to startle her by walking up behind her and kissing her, which is actually what I
want
to do.

She cranes her neck to look back at me, eyes bright, lips curved. “Yep.”

“And
The Walking Dead
before noon?”

“Yep.”

“Another layer to your awesomeness? Jesus, woman! You’re killing me!”

“I’m pretty sure you uncovered all my layers last night. And if all that sex didn’t kill you, I think you’re good.”

Thank God! She’s not all moody and shit.

She just gets more perfect by the day, and my cock twitches like it’s in total agreement.

Down, boy!

I walk around the back of the couch to Katie’s end, scooping her
up as I pass and then turning to sit down with her in my lap, much like I did last night. “You fit like you were made to sit here, did you know that?” I ask, taking in her fresh skin, her pink cheeks and the little smile that’s gracing her luscious mouth.

She gets all shy, laying her head on my shoulder and playing with some of her popcorn. It’s not the painfully . . .
pained
shy look that I’m used to, though. The one that she usually wears. This one is different. In a good way.

“Well, you’ve got all sorts of nice places for me to sit,” she finally mutters.

Through with pretending I’m not dying to kiss her, I tip her chin up and take her lips. Gently, even though I’d much rather ravage her. But I’m not stupid. I know there’s still a chance I could scare her away, so I have to take it slow.

Slow. Damn it.

It’ll be worth it, though. God forbid I screw it up now.

I rub my nose against hers. “Your nose is cold.”

“It’s chilly in here,” she states, burrowing under her blanket.

I tuck the edges around her more securely, reaching under one end to grab her foot. Her toes are freezing. I rub them until they warm, treating her right side to the same as she returns her attention to the television.

“This is my favorite show,” she says by way of explanation, not taking her eyes off the flat screen. “They’re having a marathon today and tomorrow.”

“Well, don’t let me interrupt,” I warn, moving my massaging hand up her bare leg.

I watch Katie watch the show. Her eyes are wide and fixed on the screen. She tosses a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth every few seconds and chews slowly, like she’s trying to keep the noise down. I swallow a laugh.
God, this is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

Every now and again, she reaches back to blindly offer me a few pieces. I take them from her fingers, resisting the urge to suck salt from the tips.

As the minutes tick by, I work my way up to her knee, concentrating on her other leg, heating her flesh as I go. She pays me zero attention, so focused is she on her show. It
is
a great show, but I want to be more distracting than a bunch of zombies.

I ease my fingers up onto her thigh, taking turns gently squeezing her supple muscles and softly stroking her silky skin. Still, she doesn’t take her eyes off the TV.

It’s when I reach her hip that I realize something that has my cock filling with blood again, pressing up toward Katie’s plump ass. She’s not wearing any panties. Hell, she may not be wearing any clothes
at all
under that blanket. The thought has me gritting my teeth and mentally kicking myself for only having two condoms on me.

I rub my palm in circles over her hip and then back down her leg, making a wide path that travels from the outside of her hip to her knee and then back up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of my goal. With each pass, I draw closer and closer to her center. I’m watching her closely, but she doesn’t seem to even notice. So I go bold.

Starting at her knee, I run my fingertips up her leg, not stopping this time. I feel the narrow patch of short hair tickle my knuckles as I push my hand down between her thighs. They fall open just enough to give me access. I slide a finger into her crease, only to find that her pussy is hot and wet. Like
really
wet.
ShitDamnHell.

I pause, closing my eyes and letting my head drop back as I find the satiny bump of her moist clit. Every kind of curse is running through my head on a string, followed closely by reprimands for not bringing a damn
box
of condoms.

I straighten and open my eyes to look at Katie. She’s still facing
the television, but her fingers, full of popcorn, are poised right in front of her mouth, which is partially open. I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, much faster than it was a minute ago. She might not be watching me, but she’s sure as hell paying attention.

Her eyes slide to mine when I start to move my finger, so I stop. “Don’t mind me. Just watch your show.”

I clamp my lips together to keep from grinning as I watch her try to eat those few kernels of popcorn as though nothing is happening inside her body. She chews and then pauses, chews and then pauses. Finally, she gives up the act of eating, her hand falling limply into the big bowl. Her lips are still parted and I can see that her brow is wrinkled.

I move my finger a little faster, periodically sliding it down to tease her entrance and then back up again to resume my torture. Katie’s other hand is fisted in the material of the blanket, her knuckles white as she tries to act casual.

I feel the subtle movement of her hips as she starts to gyrate against my hand. I don’t increase my pace. I just continue to wind her up, fascinated by the play of emotions she’s trying to hide.

She glances my way again and I nod toward the television. “Better watch. It’s almost time for a commercial.”

Reluctantly, she turns her head away from me again, little mewling sounds beginning to rumble in her throat. I don’t even try to hold back my smile this time. I’ve never had so much fun watching zombies.

I tease and rub, pinch and flick until Katie is stiff as a board on my lap. I hold her right at the edge until the moment the next commercial comes on. The instant that it does, I whisper in her ear, “I’m gonna make you come in my mouth.”

Before she can respond, I fling Katie’s blanket off, spin her around to face me and then urge her to her feet. I palm one knee and set it
on the back of the couch by my ear, spreading her wide. Then I lean in and bury my mouth against her slick folds.

She moans so loud and the taste of her is so sweet I think for a second that I might lose my shit right inside my jeans, like some horny teenage boy. Every little sound, every harsh pant is like a cattle prod to my balls, spurring me on. She threads her fingers into my hair for support and I dig my fingers into her ass, holding her pussy right against my face.

With determination, I lick and suck her all the way over the edge. She rides my face, my lips, my tongue like my cock is deep inside her. And when she comes, I have to support her ass so she doesn’t fall backward.

She pours into my mouth and I lap it up. Honey. Pure, sweet honey. And when she’s done, I hold her tight and thrust my tongue as far as I can into her, greedy for more. “God, your body . . .” I mutter, my lips moving over hers until she goes completely limp in my arms and slithers back down into my lap like a limp noodle.

Her head hits my shoulder with an audible thump and I cuddle her close, covering with the discarded blanket what I see now is her totally naked body. When she regains her breath, she tips her beautiful face up to mine, big blue eyes pulling me in like a life preserver to a drowning man.

I expect her to say something, something . . . profound maybe. What I get is not profound. It’s even better.

“That’s the best episode I think I’ve ever seen.” I throw my head back and laugh. “Even though I have no idea what happened after you came into the living room.”

Her grin is sheepish. My ego is happy. This time, I don’t even try to resist the urge to kiss her.

This might be the best morning I’ve had so far.