obsession.
“Fuck.” He breathed the word more than spoke it and scrubbed his palms down his face.
He was almost afraid to take a step, afraid his legs would just keep walking and follow her into the shower, where his hands would take over, exploring that wet, lush body with soapy fervor. Afraid his brain would give leave to his body’s insistence and he’d pin her to the shower wall, hammering into her until they were both spent and sated. Until the need was assuaged.
If it could be assuaged.
And that question—whether this obsession could even be satisfied—was what kept his feet planted. What kept his dick in the living room when every muscle in his body ached to follow her into that shower.
His first taste of her hadn’t eased the need. It had only made the craving worse. Showed him what he was missing. How much worse would that craving be after a second taste? A third? If he followed her into that shower, would he ever make it out again, at least without her by his side?
The last thing he could afford was a second obsession. The teams were enough.
Besides, there were other considerations.
She was Aiden’s sister, Commander Winchester’s daughter. She was one of their own, which made her off limits to drive-bys.
And he wasn’t willing to offer anything more.
Sure as hell not now, while his life was in the shitter and he had a big red DOJ bull’s-eye taped to his back.
She’d grown up in the shadow of team life. His mind flashed back to the drawn mask of her face at Winchester’s funeral, to theworry and exhaustion in her eyes when she’d visited Aiden in the hospital. She’d lost her father to a mission gone wrong. Almost lost her brother. Could still lose her brother. He wasn’t going to give her another person to spend her life worrying over.
Memory after memory flashed through his mind. Of his mother. Of her tight, tense silences every time Dad was on duty. Of the fear in her eyes the two times somber-eyed police officials had rung their doorbell. He’d spent his childhood watching constant worry drain the exuberance from someone he loved. No way in hell was he spending his adulthood knowing he was doing the same to some other unlucky woman.
The teams had been his choice. His alone. He’d known the sacrifices they’d require. It was bad enough knowing his mother feared every deployment. He wasn’t going to commit to a woman, knowing she’d spend more of her life with him in fear than in ecstasy.
Kait already had Aiden to fret over. One was enough.
Of course from the way she’d stomped out of the room, she sure as hell wouldn’t be worrying over him anytime soon. Cosky grimaced as he headed for his clothes. She hadn’t deserved that nasty crack. He needed to apologize. But he’d do so at a distance, through a text message, where he couldn’t see her or smell her or touch her…
It didn’t occur to him until he was tying his shoelaces that his knee wasn’t aching. He rose slowly to his feet, surprised to find it stable beneath him. None of that chronic stabbing pain, or frustrating wobble. After a few tentative steps, he stared down at it in disbelief.
Hell, it felt downright normal.
Preapocalypse.
He turned slowly, staring at the hall that led to the bathroom.
Was it possible…no, she’d barely massaged it. Hell, she’d spent ten times as much time on his back. It was after he’d turned over andshe’d started working on his knee that things had gone south. She’d spent maybe two or three minutes tops massaging the joint before they’d completely lost track of why he was stretched across her couch.
Another step and still no pain.
Maybe the massage had simply loosened the muscles, so the joint wasn’t as tight and thus less achy. After all, Aiden claimed it had taken weeks of massages for his back to heal. Weeks.
Except, it was more than the absence of that constant throbbing ache. It was the absence of that piercing, molten agony and the leg’s sudden stability.
“Fuck.” He breathed the word more than spoke it and scrubbed his palms down his face.
He was almost afraid to take a step, afraid his legs would just keep walking and follow her into the shower, where his hands would take over, exploring that wet, lush body with soapy fervor. Afraid his brain would give leave to his body’s insistence and he’d pin her to the shower wall, hammering into her until they were both spent and sated. Until the need was assuaged.
If it could be assuaged.
And that question—whether this obsession could even be satisfied—was what kept his feet planted. What kept his dick in the living room when every muscle in his body ached to follow her into that shower.
His first taste of her hadn’t eased the need. It had only made the craving worse. Showed him what he was missing. How much worse would that craving be after a second taste? A third? If he followed her into that shower, would he ever make it out again, at least without her by his side?
The last thing he could afford was a second obsession. The teams were enough.
Besides, there were other considerations.
She was Aiden’s sister, Commander Winchester’s daughter. She was one of their own, which made her off limits to drive-bys.
And he wasn’t willing to offer anything more.
Sure as hell not now, while his life was in the shitter and he had a big red DOJ bull’s-eye taped to his back.
She’d grown up in the shadow of team life. His mind flashed back to the drawn mask of her face at Winchester’s funeral, to theworry and exhaustion in her eyes when she’d visited Aiden in the hospital. She’d lost her father to a mission gone wrong. Almost lost her brother. Could still lose her brother. He wasn’t going to give her another person to spend her life worrying over.
Memory after memory flashed through his mind. Of his mother. Of her tight, tense silences every time Dad was on duty. Of the fear in her eyes the two times somber-eyed police officials had rung their doorbell. He’d spent his childhood watching constant worry drain the exuberance from someone he loved. No way in hell was he spending his adulthood knowing he was doing the same to some other unlucky woman.
The teams had been his choice. His alone. He’d known the sacrifices they’d require. It was bad enough knowing his mother feared every deployment. He wasn’t going to commit to a woman, knowing she’d spend more of her life with him in fear than in ecstasy.
Kait already had Aiden to fret over. One was enough.
Of course from the way she’d stomped out of the room, she sure as hell wouldn’t be worrying over him anytime soon. Cosky grimaced as he headed for his clothes. She hadn’t deserved that nasty crack. He needed to apologize. But he’d do so at a distance, through a text message, where he couldn’t see her or smell her or touch her…
It didn’t occur to him until he was tying his shoelaces that his knee wasn’t aching. He rose slowly to his feet, surprised to find it stable beneath him. None of that chronic stabbing pain, or frustrating wobble. After a few tentative steps, he stared down at it in disbelief.
Hell, it felt downright normal.
Preapocalypse.
He turned slowly, staring at the hall that led to the bathroom.
Was it possible…no, she’d barely massaged it. Hell, she’d spent ten times as much time on his back. It was after he’d turned over andshe’d started working on his knee that things had gone south. She’d spent maybe two or three minutes tops massaging the joint before they’d completely lost track of why he was stretched across her couch.
Another step and still no pain.
Maybe the massage had simply loosened the muscles, so the joint wasn’t as tight and thus less achy. After all, Aiden claimed it had taken weeks of massages for his back to heal. Weeks.
Except, it was more than the absence of that constant throbbing ache. It was the absence of that piercing, molten agony and the leg’s sudden stability.
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