Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

“You okay?”

I looked over. Emmie had a finger marking her place, a small frown on her face.

“Have I told you about my service?”

She frowned, closing the novel. “You were SAS, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it like?”

“Hard. Fucking horrible. The best.” I chuckled. “Seriously some of the best fun I’ve ever had.”

“Fun?”

I stood, moving to the couch, and settling beside her. “The brotherhood. The friendship. War, for all they say, is mostly periods of boredom interspersed with shit going wrong.”

She reached out, pressing one of my hands between hers. “Why did you leave?”

I rubbed my shoulder. “Paxton mostly. Do you know about the IED?”

She shook her head.

“We were on a recon run. Nothing crazy. They’d supposedly cleared the road, intel got that wrong. Our vehicle hit an IED, blew our gunner, Brick, clear of the Bushmaster. When we tried to get to him, Limo stepped on another IED. He and Brick died immediately. Pax and I took on fire from a sniper. I took a bullet to the shoulder. A damn airstrike was all that saved our arses.”

I struggled for a long moment, the memories overwhelming. “Watching Pax lose it, dealing with Limo and Brick’s widows. The funerals. Pax spiralling into a depression while he recovered… It was time.”

“That’s why Pax limps?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get hurt?” Her hands squeezed mine.

“One to the shoulder. You haven’t seen the scar?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Can I?”

“Have at it.” I pulled off my shirt, tossing it on the coffee table. Emmie raised up, shifting closer. Her fingers traced the puckered skin.

“Does it still hurt?” she whispered, eyes on my scar.

“No,” I whispered back. She smelt like coconut and maple syrup. My dick twitched.

Down boy.

“Are there more?”

I turned, offering her a view of my back. I had a few scars here and there, mostly from shrapnel. Nothing serious.

Still, her fingers traced each one. I felt her breath brush the skin of my back.

I twisted back, capturing her hand. “The letter is from Marie, Limo’s widow. She’s kept his ashes since the incident. She says it’s time. She’s gonna let him go.”

She melted into me, pressing close, offering comfort. “Are you ready for that?”

“I said my goodbyes a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No.” My lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “But he’s not a bunch of dust sitting in an urn. Limo was laughter and love. He’s living in his two girls.”

“That’s lovely.” She let me be silent, processing. Her fingers gently brushed my chest. “Luc?”

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

I tilted my head down. “You don’t have to ask.”

Her lips met mine, offering comfort and a small amount of heat. I took. The longer we kissed, the more her fingers roamed, becoming daring.

I eased her down on the couch, covering her with my weight, feasting on her mouth, relishing the greedy sounds she made as we kissed.

Her hands danced along my sides, finger nails scraping up my back.

She slanted her head, pressing kisses to my cheek and down my neck. I rolled to my side, granting her access.

“Okay?” she asked, pulling back a little.

“Perfect.” I pressed a kiss to her delicious mouth. “Just giving you better access.”

She grinned, hands roaming again, dancing across my stomach and up over my chest.

My cock was rock hard, and I wasn’t prepared to do a damn thing about it. I’d googled sexual trauma and called my sister, asking for advice. Sophia was a psychologist who loved dishing out advice. She’d offered me resources, explained what triggers looked like and then advised she was available to recommend colleagues should whoever I’d called her about require it.

Emmie needed to be confident and trust that I wouldn’t press her for anything she wasn’t ready to give. That was one promise I could keep.

“Luc?”

“Mm.” I tilted my head down, pressing my forehead to hers.

“Thank you.” Her hands stilled, laying flat against my chest. “I know what you’re doing.”

I smiled. “Getting ready to suck your blood?” I gnashed my teeth at her. She pretended to bite my nose in retaliation. I laughed pulling back.

“No.” She sobered, a little crease on her forehead. “Taking it slow.”

I ran my palm down her side, flicking the bottom of her shirt up an inch, lightly tickling the soft strip of skin at her hip.

“Well, I don’t know about you but−” I bent my head, lips grazing her collarbone. “−I’m not in a rush.”

She shivered, moving a little bit closer. “Me either.”

I traced small circles on her skin as we lazily made out, kissing, and nibbling on sensitive skin. I bit her earlobe, grinning as she shuddered. Her hips shifted closer, pressing into mine. She squirmed, panting just a little.

Fuck yes.

I dipped my hand down, sliding into the top of her pants a fraction. She froze.

“Shit.” As I started to withdraw, her hand gripped my wrist, halting my movement.

“No, it’s not…” She coughed. “It’s the scar.”

I frowned. “It still hurts?”

“Not normally. It’s just that it’s ugly.”

“Keys…” I sighed. “There is not one goddamned thing that is ugly about you.” I pointed at my shoulder. “You think this is ugly?”

“No, of course n−”

“Then don’t spew that nonsense.” I moved my hand back, resting my fingers on the raised scar. “This says you’re alive. And I’ll always be thankful for the visual reminder.”

She blinked, eyes glassy. “You may be the messiest man I’ve ever met. But you’re also the sweetest.”

“Sweet?” I shook my head, shifting my hand to palm her butt and tightening my grip, pressing my body into her. “No, Keys. I’m spice and everything not nice, that’s what Lucien’s are made of.”

She giggled, raising her chin for a kiss.

A knock at the door interrupted our play. I sighed, pulling back, rolling over her to drop off the couch. I pushed up, heading for the door.

“This better be good.”

Addie stood on the other side.

I leaned against my doorway, crossing arms. “What can I do for you, Miss Addie, on this fine Saturday?”

She took one look at me and grinned. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have a gig tonight.” She held