Here was my salvation.
December was my saving grace.
Over and over she slid down on me, only to lift just before she took me too deep. But deep was where she loved it, where she lost her head, and I needed her to forget, to be just as lost as I was.
I snapped my hips into her, and she gasped. When she nearly bumped my shoulder, she bit her lip and leaned back instead, bracing her weight on her arms against the coffee table. The angle put every detail of her body on display, from the bounce in her breasts to the tiny, glistening beads of sweat on her skin. Damn. She was…exquisite.
Fuck the burning in my thigh. I pushed it away and instead concentrated on slamming my hips against hers, hitting her inside where I knew she needed it. She responded, clenching around me, our bodies falling into rhythm like we hadn’t been apart these last few months.
Her sigh turned to a groan, which grew to that sexy keening sound she made when she got close. Letting go of her ass, I used my fingers to stroke her clit, rubbing in time with my thrusts, barely holding onto the small shred of control I had left. I needed her to come around me, needed to feel her fall apart so she could hold me together.
With a cry, she came, shuddering over me. Uncaring of the damage I might cause, I dropped my arm and pulled her against my chest, taking her gasps as if they were oxygen and I was drowning.
I needed her close. “Closer,” I moaned.
She looped her arms around my neck, holding onto the back of my head as she rode me, kissed me, rocked back into every thrust.
The pressure hit at my lower spine, and I knew I was done. “I love you,” I swore as I held her against me, calling out her name as my orgasm ripped through me. The release was overwhelming, draining the last of what energy I thought I had, and we laid there for a few minutes, her head tucked under my chin. God, I was never going to move.
Unfortunately she did, kissing me gently before heading to clean up, then helping me out in that department on her return. I grimaced at the rending pain in my thigh as I got my boxers back on.
“Did you tear something?” she asked, dropping to her knees.
“If I did, it was so damn worth it.” I grinned, unable to contain how good I felt, or the peace that coursed through me.
She arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to be a difficult patient, aren’t you?”
“You could climb back on, and I’ll show you how difficult,” I suggested.
She shook her head and laughed, the sound healing me like another tiny stitch across the gaping canyon that had formed in the last week. “Let’s get you in the tub.”
We made it to the tub, and finally to bed, exhaustion conquering me. I took the pain pills Ember handed me and put the water back on the nightstand. She propped pillows around my shoulder and then snuggled into my other side, her head fitting exactly where she was meant to.
I was home. I would marry the woman who owned my soul.
I had lived.
Carter and Trivette had died.
My eyes snapped open in the darkness, Ember’s breathing already steady and deep next to me. I turned and kissed her forehead. Rizzo’s words bounced around my head, unwelcome and unavoidable. “I’ll make this life worth it to you, Ember. I swear.”
The pills knocked me out, but they couldn’t stop the dreams, the nightmares I’d grown accustomed to over the years, which had returned with vehemence since before the deployment.
I wasn’t sure anything would ever stop them again.
Chapter Eighteen
EMBER
His gasp woke me.
I blinked, begging my eyes to focus on the hazy glare of the alarm clock that read 2:45 a.m. Before I could turn, I heard his arms sweep over the covers between us. I’d moved as soon as his breathing had evened out, scared that I’d accidentally bump the laceration on his thigh or the incision on his chest in my sleep.
“Ember?” he asked, his voice panicked, his breaths quick.
“Here,” I said softly, rolling on my side to face him. I caught his hand and set it to my cheek. “I’m here, Josh.”
His sigh of relief broke my heart wide open. What had he been dreaming of? The deployment? The crash? How long did I wait before I asked him what happened? Was he going to want to tell me? Should I even ask?
Damn it, I had no idea what to do, how far—if at all—to push.
He tugged gently, and I shifted closer, pressing against his side. “Do you need anything? Water? Meds?”
He shook his head and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Just you.”
“Nightmare?”
He nodded slowly, his chin rubbing the top of my head.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Please talk about it.
“No.” His answer was whispered but curt.
“Okay.” I pressed closer, laying my hand just above his incision to feel his heart beat against his naked skin. Even with everything that had happened, my soul burned with gratitude that he was here. “But when you’re ready, I’m here.”
He swallowed, then nodded.
After the third time I woke to his panicked, searching hands, I stopped trying to give him space and slept closer.
After lunch the next day, as we were preparing to leave for Fort Campbell, Grayson called from Dover. Josh’s eyes had gone dead by the time he hung up the phone.
“Everything okay?” I asked, putting his noon meds in front of him.
“He’s got Carter,” he answered quietly. “Grayson will stay with him until he’s ready, and then he’ll take him to West Point for the funeral. Did Paisley get with Carter’s mom?”