Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

don’t,” she said, and he stilled, their hands intertwined. “I hate what happened to me, Peter. But I believed in what I was doing, despite some of the bullshit we deal with. I had a purpose.” But what was her purpose now?

As if sensing her mood trying to slide downward again, he gave her a playful squeeze, shifted to speak closer to her ear, tease her with his breath. “I admit, I throw in the pay-it-forward thing to make me sound sensitive, rather than a macho chauvinist Rambo.

Impress the girls.”

“I like Rambo.” She smiled against his muscular heat, brushed her lips there. “And you’ve already blown your cover. I know you’re a macho chauvinist. Sitting out on your dock, making your woman give you head while you drink beer and watch alligators.”

“You passed the audition with flying colors. Most I interview fail miserably, though I give a few of them points for enthusiasm.”

She thumped him, but when he caught her fist, the humor had disappeared from his voice, leaving a rough note that told her she wasn’t the only one vibrating with need. “My woman. I like the sound of that.”

So did she, fool that she was. “You are sensitive, in some ways,” she said. The way a manshould be sensitive. She could hear the reassuring beat of his heart so easily this way, her cheek pressed to his chest. “A little heavy-handed and possessive, but there’s nothing mean about you. You’re determined, and you believe in what’s right and wrong. You’d tear your heart out if someone really needed it.” She traced his pectoral again, let her fingers start to drift downward.

“Using flattery to have your way with me?” But despite the teasing, there was a strained quality to his voice.

“I know you’re hard, Master. Why won’t you fuck your slave?” She made it a whisper and felt the jump under her hand where she’d managed to inch down to his cock, slide it over the head, straining against fabric. He caught her hand.

“Because she’s tired, and my first job is to take care of her. So she’ll be up for serving my needs later.” He brushed his lips across her brow. “Though I’m pleased you’re thinking about wanting to please me.”

She was. She was also surprised by how urgent her need was to perform that role for him, no matter her exhaustion. Before her accident happened, she’d realized that the night between them had gone far beyond roles and performances. Her need for him, to be his submissive, had only gotten fiercer the longer she was away from him. The craving was as relentless now, practically blood and bone deep. She’d been so quick to believe it was gone, beyond her reach, but a need like this didn’t evaporate on command. Every time she’d thought of him or heard one of his letters, it had stirred, but at his reappearance, it had flared high and hot, restored to full, vibrant life. Vibrant anything was something she’d thought beyond her reach as well.

He held her like a velvet cuff, relentless and gentle both, and she relaxed into that hold.

When she slid into the warm waters of a dreamless sleep, she was still confused, but for the first time in a long time, she lacked the jagged ache in her throat, the lonely sense of isolation squeezing her heart. He was here, and she could sleep in his arms.

Nine

She didn’t wake until the next morning. While the loss of time chagrined her, she was amazed she’d slept so deeply. She woke as she’d fallen asleep, secure in his arms, and wondered if he’d moved at all. His body was warm and strong beneath hers, his thigh still tangled with both of hers, which initiated all sorts of prurient thoughts. He wasn’t going to be deterred, however. He pressed a kiss to her temple before she could push for something more, and lifted her out of the bed.

“We’ll do a workout, and then have some breakfast. I’ve got a sports bra and shorts here for you.”

The man had a damn Gold’s Gym in his house. Within no time, she was sure he must have been a drill sergeant before he was an officer. He put her on his treadmill, guiding her hands to the supports, and then worked her up to some god-awful speed guaranteed to send her into cardiac arrest. Right before that red zone, he put her into cooldown. While she listened to the faint clink and thud of weights as he did his lifting near her, she could smell the pleasant aroma of male sweat, and imagined him there, on his back, lifting the bar over his head.

“How much do you press?” she asked, fumbling for the towel he’d left on the treadmill arm to pat her sweaty neck. Now that she was thinking about it, she realized the speed and incline probably weren’t that hard—she was just so damn out of shape.

“Two hundred this morning. I do about four hundred in a deadweight lift. You did good.

Pull the tab out and the treadmill will stop. Then come over here.”

A clank and shudder through the floor suggested he’d dropped the weights into their cradle. She stepped off the treadmill, lifted her hands, seeking the weight set or him. She located him, or rather his bare, slick chest. Her fingers drifted, finding from his loose waistband that he was wearing only a pair of jeans. She wondered if he was barefoot, liking that picture. His short hair maybe a little rumpled, since neither of them had showered yet. Lifting her hand to his face, she traced his jaw, felt the morning shadow.

“Is it gold, like your chest?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Or as Lucas calls it, baby hair.”

She smiled. “You know there’s an inverse relationship between how much men care

about one another and how much they insult one another.”

“That’s why we have girls. So we can be emotional and wimpy with someone who won’t hold it against us.”

“Yeah, right. You big