Page 95 of Leave Me Behind
“I never left, Bun. My heart and every thought have been here with you all this time. If that makes me a fool, then I don’t give a fuck. There’s no me without you.” He pulls his mask off and I get a full view of his handsome face. My hands tentatively move to his jaw, tracing the lines of his bones and taking in the way time has changed him in just three and a half years.
He looks like he’s stayed up every single night the way I have. His eyes have lost their ire and rage, replaced with heartache and longing. He has a few more wrinkles around his eyes and his beard is a bit scruffier than his usual clean-cut look. Time hasn’t changed his weary soul, but there’s so much grief there now that hadn’t existed before.
Bradshaw’s eyes trace my face as if he’s taking in who I am now too. For a moment I worry he’ll hate what he sees, adefeated soldier who has given into the darkness. But his broken smile tells me he’s just sad with all the time we’ve lost together.
“Are you going to kill me since I came back?” he teases and I shove him, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
“Don’t even joke abou?—”
His lips crash into mine, taking any words I had and swallowing them. Bradshaw pushes me back until we’re falling into the sheets. He groans when my hands intertwine in his hair. His teeth skate over my bottom lip as he nips it gently before looking into my eyes.
“I’m never letting you go again, Bun. Never. You’ve always belonged to me. I don’t give a fuck what you said to me that night. I know you lied to get me to leave.” He dips below my chin and strokes his tongue up my throat as he unbuttons my night shirt. His calloused hands send a shudder up my spine.
“I’ve always been yours,” I whisper.
He looks up and stares at me, completely taken aback. “Really?”
I laugh at how innocent he sounds.
“Really.”
Bradshaw smiles and resumes kissing down my sternum before he gives attention to my breasts. He palms one while he sucks on the other nipple, his fingertips coasting down my side. His thumb brushes over my rib cage and stops on the scar he gave me so long ago.
His mark.
He pauses, his lips hot against my skin. “You liked it when I gave you this, didn’t you?” His voice is nostalgic, but there’s a drop of lust that slips off his tongue. “I saw how your legs squeezed together and how shadows collected in your eyes. I knew then that you were something dangerous I shouldn’t crave.”
A flash of heat pools in my core and my thighs press together to stave off the urgency at the memory of his cruelness. How many hours have I longed for him to be here? How many restless nights I’ve spent dreaming of his hands on me again.
“I loved every second of it,” I say shakily.
He laughs and puts a small amount of pressure on my scar. A sliver of pain shoots across the sensitive skin and I instinctively grab his hand. My head tilts back into the crook of his shoulder and my hips roll against his groin.
Bradshaw doesn’t let the motion fade. He drops his lips to my shoulder and bites into my flesh. It stings but doesn’t break the skin.
My lips part to cry out, but he hooks two fingers inside my mouth and whispers in my ear, “No biting.” He traces my canines before pushing his fingers deeper and pressing down on my tongue.
What god would make a man like Bradshaw? He’s made the impossible mission to get back to me and instead of quickly whisking me away, he spends the time to greet me thoroughly. The wet arousal growing between my thighs shortens my breath with need.
My mouth closes around his fingers and I start to suck on them, giving him a playful swirl with my tongue. He settles on the bed behind me, a hard breath escaping his lips before he brings those venomous teeth back to the sensitive skin just under my ear.
“I missed ruining you,” he says dangerously, pulling his fingers from my mouth slowly, dragging my lower lip with his fingertips like he’s relishing in the way it feels.
His tactical gear is cold at my back.
I murmur, “I’ve ruined men much worse than you.”
He laughs and rolls me over on my back, bringing himself to his knees so he’s looming down over me. His pants are tentedwith that enormous cock I remember so fondly. It twitches with his muscles and he stares down at me like he’s been starving for years.
“You don’t hate this part of me?” He lowers his forehead to mine.
“Which part?” I ask, focusing more on his traveling hand that caresses my breast.
“The monster that only wants you.”
He doesn’t give me a second to answer; his lips are crashing down on mine and for the first time in three and a half long years, I feel whole again. The fire inside my chest that always burned hotter near Bradshaw comes back to life.
Bradshaw coaxes my lips open with his tongue and I eagerly allow him entry. Our tongues chase each other—hot, wet, devouring. Every sense is trained on him, the warmth of his body, the hardness of his cock, the deep feral groans that leave his lips as he lowers his hips to mine and starts dry humping me. My thin nightgown and his pants are the only barriers between us, making the sensation of his bulge drawing over my slit almost unbearable.
