Page 68 of Kage

Her panties were damp and I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from between her legs. Swallowing, I realized for the first time in my life I was nervous around a woman. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, yet this felt as intimate as…

Her touch massaging me. I’d had professional massages before and none of them had felt so personal.

I closed my eyes, trying to hurry so I wasn’t wrapped up in lust.

Too late.

Her scent filled my nostrils, my cock responding instantly. This had been a very bad idea.

However, I continued what I was doing, gently pulling the material free from her feet. Once accomplished, I placed the pair on the chair near the nightstand. That was as far as I’d go.

Even if I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at her sweet pussy once again.

Nope.

It wasn’t going to happen.

I pulled the covers up, turned on the light by the bed, and took long strides toward the door.

Tank didn’t follow.

He jumped on the end of her bed.

“Fine,” I whispered. “Have it your way, but don’t come crawling into my bed later tonight.” I left the door partially open, clomping down the stairs like some insidious child throwing a mild tantrum.

Good look, soldier. Real good.

I headed into the kitchen, turning on the light then washing out Tank’s water bowl. After filling it, I reached for my bottle of whiskey. After finding a clean glass and pouring a hefty amount, I leaned against the counter. I’d been in the house for over a month and I’d barely unpacked a damn thing. I had a dishwasher but still had some dishes in the sink.

For a man who’d prided himself in organization, I’d become a real slob.

But fixing myself wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Several swallows turned into several more before I refilled the glass and walked toward the library my uncle had set up. The books,hisbooks remained on every shelf, the desk he’d used still filled with his things. I hadn’t even packed up his personal belongings. All I’d done in the room was place a single photograph and I had no idea why I’d chosen to put it in this particular room.

But there were others. A dozen or more photographs were in the room, the only place in the house. They told a story all theirown and the moment I’d walked into the room, I’d been floored. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t been back inside since moving in.

Doing so had been and was still difficult.

I studied the surroundings, wondering how much time Henry had spent in this very room. The furnishings told a story. I was just sad I had no idea what that was since my father had all but refused to allow me to talk to him.

Then he’d died before I’d really thought about reconnecting.

He’d left me the house for some reason. I couldn’t figure out what that was. I shifted my gaze toward the photograph, immediately tensing. Yet I was drawn to it. Needing to take a good look at the faces of the men posed for the picture.

As I held the frame in my hand, a flood of memories followed. Too many memories.

The Navy SEALs, men I’d spent years with. Training with. Fighting with. Struggling with.

Suffering with.

I threw back part of my drink, my eyes never leaving the picture. We were all smiling, the chumps that we were acting as if we could fight the world and win every time.

We’d done a damn good job.

Until we hadn’t.

I moved to the couch I’d yet to sit on, easing down with both my drink and the photograph remaining in my hand. Since moving in, I’d barely explored the house, only walking through once with the attorney who’d met me with the keys and paperwork.

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