stuttered moan, tightening around him and wrenching a startled gasp from him. They held each other in the aftermath, their sensitive flesh pulsing against the other, his breath hot on her shoulder.
“Jesus, Erin.” He leaned on her a little, still rocking in a lazy rhythm. “You killed me with that. You fucked the life right out of me.”
Her laugh came out husky. “That’s because you’re not supposed to be awake yet.”
“So come back to bed.”
“I have to go to the bookstore. They’re going to have the textbooks listed today, and the professor assignments. Maybe I’ll see your name up there.”
“Don’t remind me.” He gently lowered her to the floor.
“This will be awesome, I promise. There’s still time for you to practice your lecture for me.”
“You get bored when I lose my shit about Tiberius Gracchus.”
He did get worked up over it. Tiberius Gracchus sounded like a smart and progressive leader, at least the way Blake told it, and it was pretty depressing that he’d been violently murdered for it. But Blake’s anger didn’t seem diluted by the fact that this had happened in the 2 nd century BC.
“I don’t mind when you talk about it.” She blushed, remembering when he’d translated some dirty insults from Latin. “Especially if you read me more from Martial’s Epigrams .”
He snorted. “I must admit, U.S. history lacks a certain passion compared to Rome’s.”
“Come on, let me hear your lecture.”
“No way. I can make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers. I don’t have to do it in front of my girlfriend.”
She couldn’t help it. She grinned, sudden and wide.
He cocked his head. “What is it? Morning breath? You should have told me.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, you called me your girlfriend.”
“What else should I call you?”
“Hmm. Your fuck buddy?”
He frowned. “My lover.”
“Your maid.”
His hands clasped hers. He rested his forehead against hers. “My everything.”
She sighed in happiness. Maybe everything would be okay.
* * *
Blake leaned against the doorframe and watched until her red taillights turned onto the main road. It was best that she leave. He had a lot to take care of, and it would be too tempting to lose himself in her body while she was near. She’d helped drag him out of the pit he’d dug for himself, and he was grateful. But he couldn’t continue to use her as a crutch. Already he felt the stirrings of hope within him, like a breath of spring wind. He’d catch himself thinking of someplace to take her, fitting in travel plans between his terms at the university. Terms, plural. As if he’d stay on, when he swore it was only temporary.
All of that was well and good, but before he could move forward, he needed to look back. To finally handle what he’d been too fucked up to deal with when he’d first returned home.
The drive to the hospital took thirty minutes, during which time he steeled himself. Still, as the wide automatic doors slid open, the chemical smell hit like a physical blow. He gritted his teeth and stepped inside. The muted conversation between the nurses, the fluorescent lighting, the mauve-beige-neutral walls—all too fucking familiar. He broke into a cold sweat, feeling the searing pain of his burns all over again. Months, he’d lain in that bed. He remembered shouting hoarsely for them not to touch him, to just give him more pain medicine and go the fuck away. They hadn’t listened, poking and prodding.
“Sir?”
He blinked. A nurse in pink scrubs was staring at him.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I’m looking for a friend of mine.”
She led him to the information desk where she looked up Private First Class Joseph Davis. Blake had visited when he’d first been discharged, but as he’d suspected, Joe had been moved to a different room. A different wing altogether, a more permanent one.
Pink and blue balloons in the gift shop window caught
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