Broken Love Page 7

  “Oh, god—!” I moan through my teeth, relishing in the masterful glide of his cock against my insides.

  He angles his charge, pushing me to the edge once again. Breaths tumble off my lips faster and wilder and I go stiff as he finds the most perfect rhythm inside. He takes me with a firm grind, forcing me to come on his cock as his own animalistic grunts tear his throat apart.

  Everything crumbles. I lose control of my senses. Orgasm washes everything away, leaving me throbbing and broken in his steady grip, but he doesn’t stop pounding me. I let him have me, feeling his own pleasures taking him over.

  My tongue taps the roof of my mouth, remembering and craving his taste upon it. I bite my cheek with impatience. I twist around to watch him, paying attention to the subtle expressions on his face, waiting for the moment I know he’ll explode for me.

  I shift forward and he slides out of me. I turn around, enjoying the subtle confusion on his face as I guide him onto his back. He doesn’t question it, happily moving down and submitting to what I want. I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips as our tongues dance. Memories rush into my mind. Forgotten moments between the two of us, ones that I thought were lost for good. Hell, ones that I wanted to be lost for good and yet…

  Seeing him again, like this. Tasting him. Feeling him. Loving him.

  I don’t want to forget again.

  I descend his body, leaving firm kisses down his chest as I go. His fingers curl around my hair and he voices several low groans the closer I get to his throbbing cock. I look up at him, enjoying the sweet look on his face, as I open my mouth for him.

  “Fuck…” he whispers, his head dropping to the pillows. “I can’t hold it.”

  I swirl my tongue around his tip. His hand tightens around my hair as he comes between my lips. My taste buds implode, completely satisfied with the taste of him and the nostalgic musk of his sweat. I send his warm desire back, feeling that hot tickle dripping down my throat, moaning softly as my tongue caresses his perfect glands.

  Boxcar sits up quickly, grabs my shoulders, and forces me onto the pillows. I laugh as he does it, noting the manly twinkle in his eye as he pins me to the mattress. I flex and shift us both with a quick jerk, twisting him around onto his back before he even knows what hit him. Surprise jolts his eyes but he quickly laughs and settles against the bed.

  “There she is…” he says, smiling.

  I narrow my eyes and take control of my wild pulse. “Who?” I ask.

  “My warrior woman.”

  My eyebrow twitches. He looks at my naked body on display above him. I let go of his hands and sit back, straddling his waist as the adrenaline abandons me.

  “Yours, huh?” I ask between breaths.

  He shrugs. “Was that ever a question?”

  I suck my numb lips, biting down to experience the pain as feeling returns to my limbs.

  Boxcar. The only man I’ve ever wanted. The only man that’s ever wanted me back — that I know of.

  So, why I am so unsure of this?

  “Get up,” I say, sliding off him and planting my feet on the floor.

  “Wait—” Boxcar grabs my arm, wrapping his fingers tight around my elbow. “Don’t do that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know damn well what thing.” He releases my arm and sits back. “That sudden attack of conscience you get even after you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  I snap my lips shut. His understanding of my character is just as annoying now as it was back then. Giving in to Boxcar has always filled me with a keen sense of guilt. He’s absolutely right. It has no real reason for existence other than it just does.

  “Caleb, lie down with me.”

  I sit still, unable to move, unable to take what I really want. “Boxcar—”

  “Lie down with me.”

  I close my eyes as his voice twitches my senses again. It’s firm and demanding. It’s a side of him that rarely shines out, but it amuses me every time it does. I look back at him and his playful eyes overwhelm me with calm.

  Finally, I give in and lean beside him. He guides me closer and rests my head against his chest. I feel his muscles flex beneath me. He’s stronger than he used to be. He’s obviously been working out since the last time I saw him, and I’ll admit — he looks good.

  Boxcar draws a line across my head, pushing stray hairs away from my eyes and tucking them back behind my ear. “Talk to me, Caleb,” he says. “What’s going on in there?”

  I breathe deep, relishing in his scent as it travels through my nose. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  He keeps his hands on me, his fingers gently gliding along my shoulders to stop me from running again.

  It feels like I’ve always been running. Running from him, running from life, running from mistakes and circumstances outside of my control.

  Running away from that bullet.

  Chapter 11

  Boxcar

  “I don’t deserve this.”

  I tighten my arms around her, feeling her soft skin glide along my fingertips. I fill my lungs with her scent because this just might be the last chance I’ll ever get to.

  One minute.

  We couldn’t go one minute post-coitus without her flight instincts kicking in.

  “Don’t deserve what?” I ask her.

  She raises her head off my chest. “I don’t… you don’t deserve this. You deserve better.”

  I grin. “Shut the hell up, Caleb.”

  “I’m serious, Box.”

  “And so I am.” I shake my head, pushing this crap away. “This idea you have in your head — this belief that you being human is somehow selfish — is bat-shit insane.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. Caleb, you’ve been a civilian for almost two years. The war is over for you. You’re home. You can be happy. You can start a new life. You can have sex and experience normal things without feeling like shit. I know I have.”

  She pushes off the mattress, her face twisting into a foul expression. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you’ve been living a life full of experiences since we separated, huh?”

  And here we go.

  I exhale a sharp breath. “Oh, come on, Cal. Don’t turn that into something. You know what I mean—”

  “Have you?”

  “Haven’t you? I do recall Fox mentioning something about you spread-eagle with some beefcake.”

  She rolls her eyes. “He was just messing with you, Boxcar. Don’t turn this around. How many women have you hooked up with?”

  I fall on my hands and rub the heat rising in my cheeks before combing my fingers through my hair. “Caleb…” I heave a frustrated sigh. “It really doesn’t matter to me if you’ve been with other men—”

  “Boxcar.”

  And there’s the tone. That rage-fueled growl from the back of her throat. It’s the sexiest thing in the world unless it’s directed at you. Then, it’s downright scary.

  “I don’t know,” I spit out, stalling.

  I close my eyes, searching my head for the perfect response to get me out of admitting to my epic dry spell, but the truth is all I have. Then again, I’ve never been able to muster any sort of superior cognitive function after an orgasm. Especially not one I shot down Caleb Fawn’s throat.

  She sighs with annoyance. “Don’t forget to carry the one, Box.”

  Panic rises in my chest. “Like, one or two—”

  “One or two?”

  “I don’t really keep track,” I lie, avoiding her eyes.

  I can feel her firing daggers at me, but I really don’t want to admit the truth. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t gotten laid in almost two years because I’m so hung up on her that the idea of being near another woman makes my skin crawl.

  Caleb slides off the bed but by the time I realize she’s moving, she’s already out of my reach.

  “Wait, Caleb…”

  She bends over to grab her shirt off t
he floor. “You should go.”

  I stand up and step closer to her. “Now, hold on. Go ahead, Caleb. Your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “How many men have been in this bed since we separated?”

  “Box…”

  “Tell me about the beefcake. What’s his sign?”

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes so far back I think she might lose them. “Just forget it, Boxcar.”

  I stare at her, refusing to blink as she pulls her shirt over her head. It wasn’t my intention to compare notches on our bedposts but she’s the one who started this.

  “Caleb, how many?”

  “I don’t have to answer that.”

  “Oh, but I did?”

  Her jaw flexes and red clouds fill her cheekbones. She’s pissed and that’s fine, but this double standard shit isn’t going to fly.

  “I don’t know,” she says again, bending down to scoop her pants off the floor.

  “Five?” I ask. “Six? Eight? Twelve?”

  Her hands shake with anger as she tries to step into her pants but they’re inside out. “Zero.” She says it so quietly, I can barely hear it.

  “I’m sorry—” I cup my ear and lean forward. “One more time.”

  “Zero!” She tosses the tangled-up pants to the floor. “There. Are you happy? It’s zero.”

  I stay quiet, guilt stabbing at me as her face falls.

  “That part of myself, I…” She shakes her head. “I gave up the idea that I could have a meaningful relationship a long time ago, Box. But it’s real nice to know that you had no trouble bouncing back.”

  Fuck.

  “I didn’t, actually.” Desperation oozes off my voice but I don’t care anymore. She deserves the truth and I’m an asshole for not telling it in the first place. “I lied before. It hasn’t been one or two…”

  She knows I’m not lying but the anger doesn’t leave her forehead. “This was a mistake, Box.”

  “Caleb, come on. Don’t go there yet…”

  She picks up her pants again. This time, her hands are solid as rocks as she steps inside of them to cover herself up.

  “Thanks for stopping by and letting me know about what’s going on—”

  “Dammit, Cal—”

  “You can see yourself out.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Caleb, please. Don’t walk out on us again.”

  She stops. “Again?”

  “Yes, again.” I hop out of the bed and grab my jeans off the floor. “Honey, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping track since the beginning, but I have and every single time we’ve separated, it was all your bright idea.”

  “Oh, that is bullshit.” She points a finger at me. “Don’t put that on me. You’re as much to blame as I am.”

  “I beg to differ,” I say, zipping my fly. “I’m all-in, Caleb. I always have been. You’re the one who lives with one foot off the bed. Also, you have absolutely no right to be upset even if I had been with anyone else. The only reason why you are upset right now is because you are latching onto the first possible excuse you can find to run away again.” Her expression changes but it’s not enough to shut me up. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we are still out in the desert. Feels awfully familiar in here.”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Good fucking question.” I throw my shirt on and step into my shoes before grabbing my jacket off the floor. “I’m out.”

  She stands still with her arms crossed over her chest like a damn wall.

  This conversation is officially over. We’re officially over. Again.

  “What’s my password?” she asks quickly.

  Another dagger stabs my chest as I pull open the door. “It’s I love you,” I answer with my head down. I bend over to pick up my bag. “One word. All caps.”

  I close the door behind me. Part of me wishes I’d looked back in time to see her reaction, but it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. They’re just words. Words are about as meaningless to Caleb Fawn as wings on a catfish.

  Just no fucking point.

  Chapter 12

  Boxcar

  Los Angeles.

  What a fucking dump.

  I’m not sure what I expected was going to happen today but sex with my estranged wife was definitely not on the docket. I absolutely assumed my chances of getting inside of again were next to nothing. There was a greater chance of my plane getting taken down by a kaiju monster over St. Louis than I was of ever fucking Caleb Fawn again, but here I am. My dick isn’t even dry yet and I’m already on the street outside.

  Fuck it. I did what I came here to do. I told her about the Hart twins. I told her about Snake Eyes gunning for Fox. I told her to watch her back and I don’t need her to watch mine anymore. I played my part. No guilt. No regrets. No nothing. She’s on her own now — as she always intended.

  Magic bullet? What a crock of shit. There are plenty of reasons why Caleb and I don’t work. Her ridiculous fear of death isn’t one of them. Being with me should make her feel better about it, not worse. I should make her feel safe and warm and—

  Unless, of course, I don’t.

  Suspicions confirmed. Caleb needs a big, manly hero to make her happy. Not some nerd with a laptop. Don’t need a scrawny human shield like me helping her out. Nope. Not needed. I get it. I do, but—

  I kick an abandoned can on the sidewalk, but the aluminum clanging sound isn’t nearly as satisfying as I hoped it’d be. I pause and look around, ready to side-eye anyone who targets me for littering or some bullshit, but no one even looks up from their feet or their phone. Not that I’m complaining. I prefer it when strangers mind their own goddamn business.

  I hail a cab and an address slips off my lips. There’s only one friend I have in this city and his place just so happens to be vacant.

  Fox’s house — or should I say Roxie Robert’s house, as I’m pretty sure she paid for it — sits in the Hollywood Hills, nestled down in the valley between two pop stars and some old film director who’s way past his prime but no one has the heart to tell him to pack it in. Hell, I’ll do it. I’ll shout it from the porch across the street. It might make me feel better, although it goes against my strangers should mind their own goddamn business philosophy.

  The cab drops me off. As I stare at the solid, black gate in front of me, I start to feel a little nostalgic.

  Once upon a time, impenetrable fortresses like these were my weekend projects. I’m not sure why I got into it in the first place. Boredom, probably. I was a sixteen-year-old early high school graduate with nothing to do. My minimum wage parents didn’t have time between the five different jobs they worked to give a crap about what I did with my time. I couldn’t afford higher education, even with scholarships. I had to find something productive to do with myself.

  So, I started picking locks.

  It started with the bathroom door. Then, the front door. Then, the neighbor’s front door. Then, things kinda snowballed all the way into a pair of handcuffs in the back of a police car. I picked those, too.

  After that, it was security systems. A lot of them.

  I didn’t steal anything. I wasn’t a thief yet. I just liked the idea of being somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I liked penetrating walls that weren’t meant to be overcome and experiencing the deep satisfaction of doing it so much that I didn’t care about consequences once I got in.

  Hmm.

  My fascination with Caleb Fawn suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.

  I scale the black gate and sit on the edge, being extra careful not to pierce my damn ballsack on the spires at the top. There’s a security camera here and, luckily, it’s the same crappy brand peddled out to rich people for five hundred percent over the value of its parts.

  And people call me a thief.

  I reach into the bottom of my bag for a small screwdriver and pop off the back of the camera to expose the wires. This brand has an exploit that the manufacturer themselves
aren’t even aware of. If you cross the blue and red wires and then short it out, it’ll take down every single camera on the network and they won’t turn back on until the unit itself is replaced — or until I fix it. I’m not about to completely disable my best friend’s security system.

  What am I, an asshole?

  The cameras shut down. I crack a smile as I hop the rest of the way over the fence. I don’t bother checking for witnesses. I honestly don’t care and it’s not like the owners won’t vouch for me or anything. I marvel at the perfect landscaping for a few seconds until I reach the front door where yet another hurdle presents itself, this one in the form of a numerical panel with a keycard slot.

  It’s a model CX-22B, by the looks of it. No, I take that back. It’s the 22C. Either way, it’s easy to crack with the right tools.

  Damn, Fox. Paranoid much? Eh, I guess he has every reason in the world to protect himself and Dani. I highly doubt most people around here have to worry about an underground organization of assassins trying to bust their doors down.

  Then again, this is Los Angeles.

  I pull out my laptop, along with a “key” of my own invention from the pocket on the side. I don’t have a cutesy name for it. It’s a USB-powered skeleton key, basically. I slide the keycard into the slot and plug the cable into my laptop. A few keystrokes later and my program gets to work, brute-forcing its way through as many key combinations as possible.

  The CX-22C requires a six-digit code, meaning there are one million possible combinations. It automatically sounds an alarm if you miss it more than three times in a row — making it the preferred system over the 22B. I programmed my skeleton key to override that function, but I still might be here a few minutes.

  Finally, it lands on 122407 and a green light shines to unlock it, along with disabling any alarm system the place might have.

  I twist the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge.

  Oh. Of course. Some people still use actual keys.