Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2 (16 page)

I feel my heart burn with the pain. The pain I’ve caused him, the pain I feel thinking of him living his life like that when I know he’s worth so much more.

He cradles my face in his hands. “Please know I’ve never loved anyone but you, Alexis. In all my twenty-four years, it’s only ever been you.”

I nod, too overcome to speak.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks.

I kiss him softly. “Only if you can forgive me,” I answer.

“Oh, babe. Let me show you exactly how thoroughly I forgive you.”“Please,” I gasp as he lifts me up from the floor and stands with me.

“You still getting those birth control shots?” he asks as he kisses my neck and unzips my dress at the same time. The boy has skills.

“No, the pill.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers as the dress falls to the floor in a blood-red puddle. I’m now topless in a pair of red thong underwear and black heels.

He looks down the length of me. “Holy hell,” he breathes.

The look on his face can only be described as reverential, and I wonder, not for the first time, how I managed to capture this amazing man.

He skims his hands down my sides and then ever so lightly runs the backs of his fingers over my breasts. My breath comes quicker and I feel my nipples harden in anticipation. He runs his hands down again, this time following them with his body, until he’s in front of me on his knees. He lays his head against my stomach and kisses the soft skin there.

“I want a gold ring right here,” he says roughly as he licks a circle around my belly button. “I’ll buy it for you. With a diamond on it.” His big, hot hands grasp the backs of my thighs as he continues exploring with his tongue. Finally, he reaches the thin straps of my thong. He hooks his thumbs underneath the fabric and pulls it down my legs where he lifts my feet, still clad in the heels, one at a time to extricate them from the underwear.

I’m barely able to stand now, and I ache so badly to feel him on me, in me, that I’m not sure I can last much longer. I lay my hands on his head and let the short strands of hair run through my fingers, the combination of soft and prickly adding to the sensory overload I’m experiencing.

My head is thrown back and my eyes closed when I feel his mouth close over my breast. I gasp at the sensations, aching, stinging pleasure shooting through my body in waves.

Soon, a hand replaces his mouth, and I feel his tongue moving slowly down my body as he licks and kisses and tastes me along the way. Finally, he reaches the spot. That tiny center of pleasure that is literally throbbing for his touch. He flicks his tongue over me once, and I cry out, so frantic from the need that I think I might collapse.

“Sshh,” he hushes me. “I got you. I’ve always got you,” he soothes as he wraps one big arm around my thigh while he lifts my other leg and hooks it over his shoulder. Then he dives into my crotch with his tongue and teeth.

Within a few moments, I’m literally moaning and panting and I can’t stop. I ache everywhere, and there are sharp tingles of pleasure shooting through me with every stroke he takes. When it reaches a point where I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it another second, he releases the breast he’s been massaging and brings his hand down. Without stopping the rhythmic thrusting of his tongue, he inserts his middle finger inside of me and strokes in exactly the right spot as he also sucks on my clit.

For what seems like hours, I’m suspended, floating on a sea of the most exquisite pain I have ever felt, thinking nothing, knowing nothing, except that shimmering, wavering ache. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the muscles all along my legs and arms contract as does every muscle in my core, and wave after wave after wave of orgasm rolls through me. My knees must buckle because the next thing I know I’m on the bed and Gabe is hovering over me, his pants shoved around his ankles, his shirt still hanging from his shoulders.

“I have to do this now, Alexis. Please.”

“Yes, God, yes,” I answer right before he drives into me so hard I squeal in surprise.

“Are…you…okay?” he pants as he starts to pump into me.

“Yes,” I gasp out.

I’m already so sensitized that it doesn’t take more than a few seconds of him inside for me to come again. As I clench around him, I feel him go rigid above me, and then he says over and over again, “I love you, Alexis. I love you,” until both of our tremors subside and he collapses next to me in a sweaty heap of steaming hot man.

I wake a few hours later with a heavy arm thrown across my waist and a hand latched on to my breast. Gabe is fast asleep, but even in slumber he makes sure to keep ahold of the important things I guess. I smile, thinking about what a possessive, arrogant jerk he is. And he’s my possessive, arrogant jerk, and I love him.

After two years, a war zone, a shooting, thousands of miles, Marco, and apparently numerous other women, Gabe and I are finally together, the way we should have been all along. I realize in this moment that I’ve yet to tell him I love him. It’s so wrong of me that it hurts my heart.

I’ve always loved him and would have told him in Afghanistan, but he didn’t want to pressure me. He’s always been so free with the words, and yet, he’s never once asked me to say them back. He’s never asked why I don’t, never mentioned it at all. Guilt stabs through me when I think of how easily I told Marco I loved him for years. I know why now. I loved Marco, but I hadn’t been in love with him for a very long time, if ever. What I feel for Gabe is so overwhelming it frightens me, and putting it into words only makes it more real.

I gently move his hand away from my chest and roll over so I’m facing his sleeping form. He managed to get his clothes off before we fell asleep, and the sheet is only draping him from the waist down. I look at him, his face relaxed and almost sweet, his hair mussed. I trace the tattoos that decorate his shoulder, finally leaning up to examine the one with my name. We never discussed it after I first saw it, and I realize now I want to hear the story of when he got it and where and why.

I softly lick along the damaged skin of the scar, wishing I could smooth it back to its original perfection. Then I run my lips along the letters of my name and the word
Forever
. I blow air gently across the surface of the skin there, wondering if those cells remember me, know somehow that I’m the one who cleaned and bandaged them all those years ago.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says quietly in the dark.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was thinking about that night and remembering when you got hurt.”

He strokes my hair as I look down at him. “Yeah? What were you thinking about from that night?”

“I was wondering if your skin knew it was me who patched you up.” I laugh. “I was being weird.”

He touches my face and then my hair again. “No you weren’t, and of course my skin remembers you. Every single part of me remembers you, Alexis. I remember the way you smell, the way you feel, the way you touch me. I remember the sound of your voice, the texture of your hair, the taste of your lips. Every single part of me has always remembered every single part of you. Always.”

My heart takes flight as I breathe, there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his words. I lean down and slide my tongue across his lips, slicking them with moisture. “Gabe?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you.”

He sighs and I hear him swallow in the silence of the dark room.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” he asks.

“Two years?”

“Nah. Twenty-four. Twenty-four long years I’ve waited for you, Alexis Garcia. Thank God I finally found you.”

“Mmm. Thank God,” I repeat as I smooth my hands over his chest and begin to kiss my way down his torso.

“What are you doing there, sweetheart?” he whispers.

“Showing you how much I love you,” I answer. “Just lie back and let me.”

“You’re the boss,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice and feel the joy in his heart.

Gabe

Árbol que nace torcido, jamás su tronco endereza.

Old habits die hard.

P
EACE
has a lot of different meanings depending on where you are in the world. I was deployed to Afghanistan twice, and you could call it peaceful there if you went through a day without being shot. In other places, peace means the ability to walk the streets in safety, transfer power in a government based on democratic elections, and voice your opinions without fear of punishment.

Then there’s the kind of peace that’s inside. The feeling that you are where you belong, with who you’re supposed to be, doing the things you’re meant to do. That’s something I’ve never experienced, and like with most things you’ve never had, I didn’t know it was missing.

The morning after Alexis finally told me she loves me, I wake with a sensation that is wholly foreign to me. It’s a kind of quiet and a deep sense of comfort I’ve never had before, at least not since I was a very small child. I look at her sweet, soft face as she sleeps, and even though I’ve never been religious, I thank the powers that be for giving me another chance with her. She’s the missing part of me, and the way I feel having her back can only be described as peace.

“Hey.” I nuzzle her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair. “You awake?”

She slaps at me with her hand. She’s always been cranky as hell first thing in the morning.

“C’mon, babe. Time to wake up. I’ll take you out to breakfast.”

“Mmmph,” she mumbles from underneath her curtain of hair. I slip an arm under the covers and run my hand down the indentation of her waist and out over the flare of her hip. Her skin is like warm satin. I continue my explorations until I work my hand around to right between her gorgeous thighs.

“You awake yet?” I whisper in her ear. “Or do I need to keep working on it?”

“Mmm. Keep working on it,” she answers breathily, wiggling against my hand. “Practice makes perfect.”

I laugh as I move her onto her stomach and stroke her back then up and down her legs, finally finding my way back to her glorious center. As I slip my fingers inside, I continue kissing her along her back and shoulders. She moans when I reach her neck, and I stroke in and out of her harder and faster. Her breathing becomes more and more ragged until finally she cries out, first my name, then a little Spanish, which is totally hot.

After her shudders subside, I lie over her and murmur in her ear, “Let me in.” She spreads her legs wider and I slide inside, finding even more peace in my world. I’m quickly becoming the most peaceful guy on the planet, and it’s all for her.

Alexis’s parents call her every Sunday morning after they get back from Mass. I think they’re hoping she’ll say she’s been to Mass too, but so far I’ve never seen any indication that’s how she wants to spend her Sunday mornings.

I’ve been around for a few of her conversations with them. They never last more than a few minutes, and it’s all in Spanish, so I can’t tell what’s said regardless.

This morning, after she answers the phone, she starts speaking in Spanish, so I know it’s them. I head on into the kitchen to start some coffee, but I can hear Alexis from her bedroom, and I can tell by her tone it isn’t the typical Sunday morning conversation. When the Spanish gives way to English on her end, I get a hint the whole thing has something to do with me.