Live By The Team (Team Fear Book 1) (15 page)

Lauren swallowed as pure emotion followed the physical release. The intensity wasn’t simply that he knew her body, that he knew how to bring her the most pleasure. It was Ryder. His soul owned hers. She was lost without him. And right now, he seemed equally lost. Equally touched by the way their bodies fit together.

Tears filled her eyes. Loving Ryder had never been a choice. No armor, no barrier was strong enough to keep him out. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. They stayed connected while their ragged breath filled the darkness. When he pulled out, he lifted her thigh from his and she’d never felt so empty. Not her body, but her soul. Life without Ryder was the definition of hell. How could she convince him to stay, because the hollowness of her existence without him was unacceptable?

Ryder stared at the ceiling and waited for the clock to strike three. The blankets covered him to his waist while the night cooled his skin. Deep dark settled, centering him as little else did. He hadn’t meant to make love to Lauren. Her response wasn’t what he expected. He thought she’d resist for days. He’d prepared himself to wait and woo, to climb the walls she’d tried to erect between them, but sleep had stolen her reluctance. She had been warm and willing. Would she regret it when she woke the next morning? Blame him?

She damn well should. He blamed himself. The marks on her face hadn’t started to fade, yet he had forced himself on her like a dog. She was injured, and all he’d been able to think about was burying his cock in her heat. She deserved better.

A loud
thunk
preceded the hum of the heater, smelling of dust and memories. When they first started dating, Lauren’s grad school apartment had a similar setup with the same crappy heater and musty carpet, same sweet smelling woman at his side, and the musky scent of sex rising off the sheets. Even now, he couldn’t control his body’s response. Desire warmed his skin, a mix of memory and the soft woman lying on his right arm. Her dark hair washed over his shoulder and down his side like a silken web.

She wasn’t his usual type. He’d known she was too good for him from the beginning. Too smart and too set on a career path that was a thousand miles out of his league. She was a college professor and he was a grunt. Not in anyone’s estimation did they belong together, but he’d taken one look at her in short shorts, with her long dark curls cascading to her heart-shaped ass, and he’d had to pursue.

For the first time, fearlessness had had a purpose beyond war. The pursuit of Lauren was accomplished with the exactness of a military exercise. Failure was not an option. The first night they stayed up talking in the diner, between late night coffee and breakfast waffles, she’d blown him away. Smart and sexy with the hint of a Texas drawl that even Dr. Crawford could not eradicate. Through all her brilliance, classes and research and teaching, she’d held tight to her identity. Lauren’s personality matched her big heart and her boundless energy.

Hell, she called Smythe a carpetbagger and threatened to castrate him. She fought back when men tried to take her. She’d broken a man’s nose. Twice. Ryder grinned into the silent night. His woman was no coward, but he might be. Worry whispered through his mind like madness. Mad Dog had refused to leave his family, and in the end, it had cost all of them their lives. Ryder swore he’d find a way to leave before anything happened to Lauren.

The alarm on his watched beeped softly. Zero three hundred. Last wakeup call. The light on his watch flickered on and off like a heartbeat. He pressed the button to dim the light that would have woken him if he’d succumbed to sleep. Not that he slept. Not with her tucked into his side. He enjoyed every last second, knowing each one could be the last.

To avoid lying on her wounded head, she’d settled on her side, her sweet ass pressed into his side. He turned into her and she ground her backside into his groin, naturally seeking the sweet spot where his body curved around hers. Ryder inhaled the smell of her shampoo. Sugar and spice. So damned sweet he went back for another hit, ran his lips along the soft side of her neck. “Baby, wake up.”

She snuggled closer causing his dick to stir. Ryder scooted back. He was not going to jump her again. He gently shook her shoulders.

“
Ry?” The sleep rough voice grabbed him by the balls.

He exhaled. “Yeah?”

“
I’m awake.” She grabbed his arm and tucked it between her breasts, where she hugged it close. The other arm was trapped under her neck.

Ryder closed his eyes to soak in the weight and the scent. The heavy swell of her breast rubbed his skin, making his arm hair stand on end. Every nerve in his body slammed awake. “Last wakeup call, but you still need sleep.” He arched his hips away so he wasn’t pressing against her, leaving him awkwardly hunched. The spicy scent of her perfume tied him in her web. He’d gladly stay there for eternity, bound to her. He’d gladly forget the troubles barreling down on them, but trouble had a way of finding you, no matter how well you hid.

She curled her body closer until they were snuggled together in a tight ball. “Quit trying to be good.” Lauren took the hand she’d hugged and pressed it over her breast. Her nipple pebbled under his fingers, and the argument in his head disintegrated in the light of new developments. He rubbed the nipple under his palm, using the fabric of her shirt to tease it to a tight peak before moving to the other side. How many nights had he dreamed of holding her in his arms, spooning, enjoying every inch of her sweet ass pressed against him while his hands explored her full breasts? Every single night without her. The cost of keeping her safe.

Moaning low, Lauren leaned her hips back until she rubbed his erection, creating delicious friction. Reminding him of the way she moaned his name when she came. Damn but he wanted that again. His cock jerked against her bare skin. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She slid a hand up his thigh. “As long as I don’t lay back on my injury, I’m fine.”

Not what he’d meant. He didn’t want to hurt her the way he had after Mad Dog’s suicide. Or the way Mad Dog had hurt Maggie.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Lauren removed her hand from his leg. Instead of moving away, however, she yanked off the nightshirt before turning to face him. She traced a hand along his whiskered jaw. “Now who’s the one thinking too much?”

“
I—” He shook his head to clear the haze her touch induced. “You can’t want this.”

“
You don’t get to decide for me.” Lauren levered up to kiss his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against her lips before she trailed them lower. Her hands got busy, caressing up and down his sides before moving to his back. The feathery brush of her fingers moved lower to knead his ass. His hips jerked, the response instinctive. Damn, but she knew his triggers. She kissed down his chest, giving low moans of appreciation. The brush of her nipples against his abs acted like a match and tinder, igniting an insatiable flame. He tossed the blankets off. The room was too freaking hot. “Lauren, baby.”

She glanced up; her dark lashes shielding her eyes.

He fisted his hands to keep from tossing her onto her back and pounding into her sweet, wet core. “Baby, slow down.”

Her tongue circled his belly button while her hand circled his erection, teasing to the point of pain.

“
Lauren.” The moan bordered on agony. “Slow the fuck down.”

She nipped the skin along his hipbone. “You’re not in control this time, Ryder.”

“
You want control?” His resolve snapped. He rolled to his back, taking her with him so she straddled his hips. A flush climbed her chest and neck, her eyes lidded. The sight of her straddling him nearly had him coming against the soft skin of her inner thigh. He bit back the need. “Take control or I will.”

Her smile was pure sass as she slowly, so damned slow, lifted to take him into her core. Each time she lifted and lowered to take more, coating him, the more he had to fight the orgasm tightening his balls. The moans ripping from her throat were the stuff of fantasy. He felt like a fucking teenager with no stamina. “You’re killing me.”

She smiled, her pink lips lifting in that knowing way, and she started to ride. He fisted his hands in the sheets and held the fuck on while she tormented him. Her full breasts wiggled with each stroke and her nipples peaked behind long, luscious curls. Ryder lost control.

He grabbed her hips and seated her fully. She fisted his cock so damn tight he nearly came on the first stroke. He bit his lip, tasted blood, and it only fed the hunger. Her hands anchored against his chest and her long hair cascaded around them. The light brush of her hair on his bare skin set off tremors across his abs. He braced his feet on the mattress and released his iron control. He pounded her down as he thrust up. The need to drive them both to climax overpowering any restraint. Nothing existed but the feel of Lauren’s internal muscles gripping him, her moans, and the rising orgasm stabbing down his spine.

Lauren screamed his name as she tightened, milking him, and he let go. He pounded through the orgasm until she dropped her head to his chest. Depleted. They lay there, panting, bathed in sweat, until the night cooled their skin, and still, neither said a word. When their skin cooled and they’d gained their breath, she slid down to curl into his side. “I love you, Ryder,” she whispered.

The words sent his heart soaring, only to crash moments later. In the back of his head, he heard Mad Dog’s words.
They’re my life.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lauren woke alone, the pillow beside her cool to the touch. A sliver of light shone through the cheap blackout curtains. She curled onto Ryder’s side of the bed and hugged the pillow to assuage the dull ache in her chest. The smell of leather and man was already fading like a ghost in the light of day.

Damn him for leaving. But damn her more for thinking he wouldn’t. Last night had fooled her. For so long, she’d wanted him back that she mistook their physical connection for an emotional one. What they’d shared could only be considered carnal, but nothing substantial had changed between them. Truth was, Ryder was a wish on a midnight star, and she’d wished things would be different this time around until she almost started to live the words on her nightshirt:
I want to believe.

In the pitch of night, Ryder had stopped treating her like she was breakable. He’d
used
her, in the best sense of the word, and had wrung every ounce of pleasure from her body without worrying or holding back.

In the afterglow, before her brain had reengaged, she’d said those damning words.
I love you, Ryder
. God, what an idiot. Of course he’d run. The hurt of his rejection pulverized her insides. He hadn’t said the words back to her, hadn’t said them since he’d been back in town. Was he emotionless? Did his last deployment destroy his capacity for love? Lauren pushed off the bed and yanked the covers over the tangled sheets. No more pity party. She pulled her bag off the stand and headed to the bathroom. A damp towel dangling on the shower rod was the only sign Ryder had been in the room. He hadn’t so much as left a trace of stubble from his razor behind.

Lauren stuttered to a stop in the doorway of the uncluttered bathroom. Last night, her heart had gotten involved and flooded her mind with memories. The way he met on her on campus for lunch when he could. The way he touched her when they talked. Not sexual, just the need for human contact that had seemed sweet and a little sad. Ryder was hungry for love and for a place to call home, and she’d tried to build that for both of them, but he’d still left her without warning. Planned to the same this time around. Maybe he already had.

The ache in her chest grew to a gaping, pulsing wound. She grabbed her phone from the overnight bag. No texts. No messages. Dread twisted her up inside as she dialed Ryder’s newest phone number. The call went straight to voicemail. It wasn’t even his voice, but the computer generated prompt. She hung up without leaving a message.

The bag in her hand slipped to the hard tile. The numb gray world between hope and dread washed through her. She’d lived in the gray area once. The first week after Ryder left, she’d lived in bed, by the phone, waiting for a man who wasn’t coming home. When she’d recovered enough, she’d trekked downstairs to the half-painted living room where the paint tray and brushes from their decorating project were still waiting. Ruined by dried paint and neglect, they ended up in the big dumpster with the rest of the garbage.