“Can’t tell you how I know,” he said. “Just know that I do.”
Silence echoed between us with the power of the truth.
“You say you live in a world of make-believe yet somehow you’re the realest person I’ve ever met,” he murmured, eyes roving over me.
“Maybe everything was make-believe until I met you,” I whispered.
“Fuck,” he hissed inches from my mouth. “You can’t say shit like that. We can’t say anything else. It’s too dangerous.”
I knew what he meant.
Because I felt it too. Every word we said meant something. We were sharing things. And tangling ourselves in each other in impossible ways. Impossible because we both knew this had an expiry date.
“So let’s not say anything else,” I said against his mouth.
And then I kissed him.
But that was much more dangerous.
* * *
“Can I ask you something?”
I didn’t know how long we’d been lying there in the shadow of the full moon.
It wasn’t lost on me that it was a full moon. The full moon had power. It poured energy into the world and amplified both good and bad experiences. I was a believer in such things.
But I couldn’t believe it was the full moon that gave power to this particular experience. The one that had my body aching and sated and thrumming with the sheer amount of worship set upon it.
No, that was all Heath.
His arms tightened around me. I liked that. A lot. That when I spoke, he had to physically pull me closer to his naked body before he answered.
“You’re asking me if you can ask me a question?” he teased. “You’re naked in my arms, Sunshine. Know how sweet your pussy tastes, know what it’s like to be inside it. Think you can just go straight ahead and ask whatever you want.”
I giggled. “Don’t be crass.”
He pulled me farther up his body so I was all but splayed upon his chest and tilted my chin up to meet his shadowed face. “I seem to recall you enjoying me being crass,” he murmured against my mouth.
Even though the area between my legs was tender, it pulsed with the sex in his tone, needing more of him.
I smiled. “I seem to recall the same thing. But it’s a little foggy. Maybe you’re going to have to refresh my memory.”
“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna wear me out,” he growled, catching my bottom lip in his teeth.
His hands moved up and down my back. “And you’re testing all my willpower. ‘Cause I know you’re hurting, so I’m gonna wait. It might fuckin’ kill me, but I’m waiting.” His arms tightened around me once more. “So how about you ask that question to distract me.”
“You’re on short leave, right?” I asked.
He was right, my question did distract him, and it wasn’t even the real question. It was the precursor to the question. But nonetheless, his body froze around mine, and I felt the change in his demeanor instantly.
“Yeah, babe,” he said. “Wheels up on Monday.”
I ignored the dull burn in my throat that came with this knowledge. Not just that he was leaving and I was likely to never see him again, though that sucked, but because he was going somewhere violent. Somewhere he could get hurt.
Die.
Best-case scenario had him coming back a little less than he was before. A little less than he was right now. Because war took from everyone. And I couldn’t stand the thought of it taking from him.
“So you’re stateside for three days?” I clarified.
“Yeah, not including flight time. Hardly worth the trip, but it’s better than the alternative, which was stayin’ put.”
“And when you got here, from a war zone, you came to a shitty bar in West Hollywood to listen to a crappy band and drink warm beer,” I said.
“There a question in there, Sunshine?”
I traced lines with my finger on his pec. “You know there is.”
He sighed, long and hard. “My buddy, Duke, he’s from bumfuck nowhere in the middle of Dakota. Total travel time to get him home puts him there for just under fourteen hours. But he did it, grin on his face because he’s going to see his folks, his sister just had a baby and his girl is there. Most of the men on the bird over here had similar stories. People to go back to. People that care if they come back.” He paused. “I’m not most men.”
Sadness bloomed in my heart, cold and painful. “You don’t have anyone?” I asked.
“I guess I could visit my parents. Might be sober enough to recognize me,” he said. “But considering I left at sixteen when I got big enough to fight back and win against my pops, I doubt they would welcome me with open arms. Never been welcomed with open arms since I can remember. Doubt even when I was born.”
I struggled to not bawl all over his chest since his voice betrayed no emotion at the fact his parents beat him and didn’t care about him.