J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forgive

My legs wobble for an instant before he pulls me in tight so that I’m flush with him from hip to chest. I grip his biceps, holding on as he curls his towering frame over me. Possessing me. His taste, so distinctly Blake, with a hint of Gatorade, floods my mouth. A moan rumbles in my chest, and I tilt my head, allowing his dominance. Desire unfurls in my belly with every wet thrash of his tongue. All too soon he pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip.

“Move along now, Camille. You got what you came for, and I need some privacy with my woman.” His words are directed at her, but he never once takes his eyes from mine.

“Your woman?” She makes a disgusted noise. “You’re kidding, right? She’s like… old.”

Blake’s body gets hard, and his hands flex into my skin. Her comment hit me like a brick to the gut, and my body’s hot with humiliation.

I watch as he fights to control his temper. “Blake, it’s—”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Camille.” He grounds out the words through clenched teeth.

“I can’t believe this shit.” I don’t look, but I hear the sound of her retreating footsteps as she heads down the hallway in a huff. That was close.

My hands glide from his arms and over his shoulders, where they hook around his neck. Rubbing circles into his tense muscles until he relaxes, I force my embarrassment away and focus on lightening the mood. “You did that on purpose.”

He takes a shaky breath, and the rage clears from his eyes. “Did what, Mouse?”

“I was formulating a strongly worded speech about the hazards of screwing crazy Amazon-looking bitches. But then you kissed me, and I forgot.”

“Never screwed that bitch—”

“Crazy Amazon-looking bitch.”

His lips tick with the hint of a smile, and he gathers me closer. “Right. Never screwed her. We hooked up about six months ago. One night. It wasn’t anything more than—”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “How is it that those lips can cause delirium with one kiss, and induce a gag seconds later?”

He kisses my palm, sending tingles up my arm. I move it away to find him grinning.

“Mouse, just keeping it real.”

“Yeah well, I’ve got enough information. My mind is all over the place with all the real that happened between you two.” I groan and drop my forehead to his chest. “She’s right though. I’m way older than you.”

“I dig that you’re older. Chicks my age act like toddlers hopped up on helium. They’re obnoxious. Or didn’t you notice with the production that skank just put on?”

I place my palms on his chest and look up at him. “Skank? That’s not nice.”

His eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Oh, you can call her an amazon-looking bitch, but I can’t call her a skank?”

“Well, yeah. Being a bitch is one thing, but belittling her because you two hooked up? I mean technically if she’s a skank for hooking up with you, then you’re just as much of a skank for hooking up with her.”

He holds a stoic expression for a few seconds before he drops his head back and roars with laughter. His eyes sparkle with humor, the skin at the corners wrinkles from the force of his smile, gorgeous lips framing his perfectly straight teeth. My heart leaps in my chest.

“Sweetheart, that was some funny shit.” He kisses my forehead, still shaking with a silent chuckle.

“You know what sucks?”

“No, but I’m looking forward to hearing it.”

“She’s super pretty.” I’m not hideous looking. Some would say I’m attractive, for an older mom type, I guess. But she’s the full package. Well, except the bitchy part.

He cups my jaw with both hands and tilts my head to look me in the eyes. “Not nearly as magnificent as you.”

“You say that, but she’s, like, model gorgeous. And she’s totally into you.” Dropping my gaze, I slip my fingers into the ends of my hair and wrap one strand around my forefinger.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Me and—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Please don’t say it.” I scrunch my face hoping, it will block out the image of his words. Me and Camille. Ick.

I feel his eyes on me. “Hear me, Mouse.” Thumbing my lower lip, he drags my gaze to his. “I’d rather cut my own dick off than put it inside anyone else. No bullshit.”

Oh my gosh. Warmth floods my chest. I can’t believe he just said that.

“Blake?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“That’s me, Mr. Romance.”

I giggle and push up on my tiptoes to kiss his smiling lips. “You’re something else, Blake “The Snake” Daniels. Always a surprise.”

“Yeah? You lookin’ for a surprise?” He grips my bottom with both hands.

A squeak shoots from my lips. “Save it for tonight. Right now, I’m hungry. Feed me.”

“Oh, I’ll feed you.” The rough baritone of his words combines with his wicked smile.

An aching low in my belly hums its request, drowning out the grumbling of my empty stomach.

Lunch smunch.

Blake

It’s early. Through the plastic vertical blinds, I’ve watched the black night fade into purple and then blue. Sometime around purple, my woman rolled onto me. Her soft lips brushed against my pec and then moved down, getting me up in more ways than one.

After she gave me my wake-up call, I returned the favor. Twice.

Our legs are tangled together. Her head rests on my chest, and her arm lies over my belly. I run my fingers through her hair in long strokes. It’s almost time for me to go, but leaving her bed makes me feel heavy. Every footstep toward the door is like dragging bricks.

“Snake?” My nickname from her lips drips like honey to my ears.

“Hmm?”

She swirls her fingers around the tattoo at my ribs. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about it. If not, that’s fine, but I’m curious.”

“You can ask me anything, Mouse. I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

“Why were you only in the Marines for two years?”

Except that. Her question dropkicks my post-coital bliss right out the window.

I don’t want to hide anything from Layla, but I’m not excited about baring my ass to her either. Some stories can make a man look like a dipshit. This is mine.

I let out a long, deliberate exhale to calm my nerves. “Promise you’ll hear me out?”

She moves to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Of course.”

“I never wanted to go into the military in the first place. My dad put the big fat fucking kibosh on my music, shipped me off to military school, and I found myself out of options. I liked combat training, so I threw myself into becoming the best. I couldn’t wait to use what I’d learned, to fight and protect my country. But orders never came. I brought it up to my pops, asked him why the fuck everyone else was going off to fight except me. He told me I’d never see a battle field.”

“I can see that. I mean, I’d be sick if I had to send Axelle into war.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, because you love Axelle. With my dad, it was all about control. I swear the guy got off on watching me suffer. Taking away my music, training me for a fight I’d never get a chance to win.”

She drops her cheek to my chest and resumes tracing swirling patterns on my skin.

“Guys I knew since military school were being shipped overseas. A lot of them never came back. I felt so damn helpless. One day I woke up and realized that I’d let my dad control my life. I was a grown man, and I’d given up so much of what I wanted. I decided that day I was getting out. No matter what it took.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I started an underground fighting circuit. After a few warnings, I finally got what I wanted.”

“What was that?”

“Discharged. Disorderly conduct.” The words taste bitter. I want her to see me as honorable, not as a fit-throwing kid with daddy issues. I wait for the information to sink in and hope it doesn’t change the way she feels about me.

She doesn’t say a word, or jump off the bed in revulsion. “I’m surprised your dad didn’t fight to keep you in.”

“He did for a while, until he realized that I’d eventually beat him at his own game. He’d rather let me go than have me spend the rest of my military career embarrassing him.” I run my hand through her hair, leaching comfort from the silky locks. “You know the most fucked-up part? I didn’t feel good when I’d finally won. I felt like a coward. It’s exactly what he wanted me to feel. So even though I got out, I still lost.” I rub my eyes with my free hand.

Reliving the day I was discharged, when I saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes and knew that nothing I could do would ever be good enough, still hurts. When will I finally stop caring?

She burrows into my side in silent thought. “You know, just because someone makes you feel like a loser, doesn’t mean you are. Look at your fighting career. From where I sit, I’d say you won. And in less than two weeks, when you go up against “The Fade”, you’ll prove it again.”

Her insightful words settle in the dark void behind my ribs, making me instantly feel better. I kiss her head, unable to vocalize how much I appreciate her understanding. More than ready for a subject change, I focus on the fight. “Two weeks. Can’t wait.” I’m so prepared, not even a flutter of nervous energy stirs at the thought. Or maybe it’s the thickness that hangs in my blood from the weight of our conversation. “Which reminds me, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” My stomach rolls with anxiety.