CHAPTER 11

Jarring of Judgement and Reasons Defeat

"I t's been silent—no sign of anyone lurking about or asking questions," Ian informs me over the satellite phone. He's made his base of operations in a motel in Haiti; it's where he stays when he's not exploring the islands as a seemingly innocent tourist. His surveillance has been greatly appreciated over the last few days. I hate being blindsided, which is what I would be without him.

"Make some friends, preferably ones that travel around the area. A fisherman, a tour guide, anything."

He sighs, clearly not liking the idea. "I'll see what I can do. How is training Beth going?"

"She's a quick learner." I'm currently watching her on the security cameras in the office. I told her to practice with the punching bag while I talked to Ian. She is positioning herself the way I taught her, and her aim is good, but it will take a while for her to build up the strength needed to make an impact. "She just needs practice."

"Must be weird being in such close quarters. You haven't had a roommate since the service, have you?"

"No. I haven't."

Weird isn't the word I would use. Living with Beth is easy. She's very clean, likes to have alone time in her room, watches our show with me—she's been great. She's still sleeping with me at night, always spooning me, and it makes it so much harder not to touch her. I swear she's teasing me on purpose—caressing my stomach and chest when we lie down, making any excuse to touch my hand or arm, always lingering longer than necessary, and she somehow manages to turn every single one of our training sessions into something sexual by rubbing against me or slipping innuendos into her taunts.

She's driving me insane.

"You're awfully quiet," Ian observes, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Just call me if you see anything," I grumble, ending the call before he can make any more observations or amused remarks.

I make my way over to the gym and find Beth sitting down on the mats. In one hand is her Dexcom sensor receiver and in the other is a juice box. I sit down on the mat beside her, glancing down at the screen myself, finding a giant 56 on the screen.

"Do you need another?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "This is twenty-four carbs. I should be fine."

"Let me rephrase: do you want another?"

She chuckles, giving me a thankful look. "I would love another."

Every doctor insists you have to correct minimally for a low blood sugar, but as Beth has described to me before, when her blood sugar is low, she feels like a starving bear who wants some fucking food.

First time I ever saw her go low was when we were bringing a package from Ricky into our office and that annoying receptionist cornered us, asking what was in the box. Beth started sweating, shaking, and she got this glazed, unfocused look in her eyes. The receptionist kept asking what was wrong with her, going as far as to step in Beth's way as she tried to get into the office. Beth violently shoved her aside and barely got any coherent words out as she dug around our minifridge for a juice. She downed three before she was able to explain that her blood sugar was 42.

I had known she was a diabetic beforehand, but I had been ignorant to what it really meant. She had leaned against our office minifridge, downing Capri-Suns like she might die if she didn't, and I had asked if she could explain her condition to me. We had talked for over an hour, and by the time we left the office for the day, a foundation of trust had been built between us—a trust that would develop into the greatest friendship I've ever known.

"How was Ian?" Beth asks once the juice box is empty.

"Nothing to report, so we still have time to practice." I wrap my arms around my bent legs, locking my hands together. "You've gotten really good at the escape moves, and your punching has improved greatly. Tomorrow, I want to teach you how to use a gun, and that's what we'll be focusing on until Harrison gets here. We'll still practice defense, but a gun will always be the most important weapon at your disposal."

She nods, letting out a heavy sigh. "Couldn't we take one day off? Just one, so we can spend some time together?"

"We've spent loads of time together," I argue. We eat every meal together, watch Downton Abbey after dinner, and sleep together at night.

She looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. "We're doing the things we've always done, and don't get me wrong, I love all the time we spend together, but I want more. I want to go on a date, I want to touch you and kiss you—I'm going insane, H. It was hard enough when I didn't know you felt the same way about me as I did you, but now that everything is out in the open, I can't just continue to act like we're friends and nothing more. And I know we need to prepare for Harrison and his team, but can—"

I hook my finger under her chin and pull her lips to mine, cutting her words off. She sighs against me, and when she starts reciprocating, I bring my other hand up to cup her face, keeping her locked against me. She wraps her arms around my waist in answer, raking her fingers into my hair, and an involuntary groan escapes me as a result.

I've thought about what this moment would be like for the last three years, and even my wildest daydreams and most vivid fantasies didn't prepare me for the real thing. Her lips are soft and plump; I feel like I'm being sucked into her with each caress of hers against mine. She grows a little bold and bites down on my bottom lip, and I nearly come in my pants like a fucking teenager. I slick my tongue against her mouth, and she immediately opens up to let me in, meeting my enthusiasm tenfold. She's kissing me like we'll both die tomorrow, and if we actually do, at least I got to experience this before I left this earth. At least I'll die knowing the taste of her, the heat of her mouth, the little moans she gives me as I clutch on to her waist.

I'm the one to break the kiss, and Beth lets out a whine in protest.

"I've never done this before," I confess, caressing her jaw with my thumb. "I don't know how to be in a relationship, especially a romantic one. I never really had a friend before you, and I certainly never had a girlfriend or boyfriend. The most I've ever experienced were several one-night stands, and I never felt anything for those people beyond lust. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"Neither have I," she whispers, tightening her hold around my neck, pressing her forehead against mine. "I love watching shows with you and talking and doing the things we've always done together. I still want to do those things. It's just felt like our confession never happened, like we're still in the same place…Part of me wondered if that's what you want. Like you said, you have never had a relationship before. Do you even want one?"

"Yes. I'm sorry if my behavior the last few days has made you think the opposite." I shake my head, shutting my eyes. "Nine mercenaries are after us and you have little to no training. I like to believe that Ian and I can take care of them, but if we can't…I need to know you're able to defend yourself. I need you to be as safe as possible. I can't lose you too. I wouldn't survive your death."

She places a soft kiss on my lips. "You won't lose me. I promise."

"You can't make that promise," I grit out, pulling my head away from hers. "I've been going about life like we usually do because it's what I'm familiar with—it's a routine I can force myself to stick to. If I give in to the urge to kiss you, to touch you, to serenade you with romantic evenings, to stay in bed with my face between your thighs for hours on end—I am addicted to you, B. Always have been and always will be. If I give in, I'll never resurface again, and we'll never have you ready for the fight we know is coming."

"You may be easily distracted, but I'm certainly not," she argues, donning that bossy attitude I find so attractive. "I can simultaneously be an attentive student and girlfriend. We train from breakfast to dinner every day, and there will be a no flirting or touching rule other than for training purposes. Then every evening we will have a date of some kind, like a movie or candlelit dinner. And once training is done, all talk of impending doom and fighting gets tabled so we can focus on us and our relationship. How does that sound?"

The image of her at gunpoint surfaces in my mind, the hands of mercenaries binding and torturing her for any information regarding me, or just for the fun of it. I immediately dismiss the thought, but it stresses the fear I've been feeling ever since that fucking security camera started blinking again. Beth could end up dead, and just like last time, it would be my fault.

But holding back my feelings for her won't keep us less distracted, it will only keep us more so. I'm going crazy as it is, and I know she's the same way. We'll only be torturing ourselves by going about life as usual, and I don't want to anymore. I've wanted Beth since she first started working with me, and now that I know she wants me too, there's nothing that will keep me from having her, nor her from having me.

But also we need to focus on the task at hand.

"Okay."

She raises her brows. "Okay?"

"Let's go over the self-defense moves a few more times and practice punching, then we'll have a nice evening catered and crafted by yours truly."

She brushes her nose with mine, smiling wide. "I can't wait. How about we watch more Downton? We haven't seen a new episode in a few days."

"It's a date, then." I reluctantly pull out of her embrace, hating the look of disappointment that fills her gaze. But she said herself we need to focus during the day, and I am not going to be lax about it. I can't be.

For our date, Henry makes me a charcuterie board of Cocoa Pebbles, beef jerky, cashews, and dried mango slices, topped off with a large glass of merlot. He puts on Downton Abbey, drapes me in a fuzzy blanket, then settles on the couch next to me, a glass of white in his hands. As we snack on the hors d'oeuvres and drink our wine, I snuggle up against Henry's side, and I love how he holds me, like I'm the most precious thing in the world to him. I'm practically giddy.

In the episode we're watching, the Dowager Countess gets reunited with a Russian prince just after the revolution. Many refugees are without homes and separated from their families, the prince included. It's incredibly sad.

Has Henry ever seen something like this? I wonder. I'm sure he has. He was never a part of a war, but from what I've heard of his assignments in the SEALs, he saw situations just as devastating. "You've never told me how you got into the military," I begin, hoping he'll let me pry into his past a little more.

He looks down at me, startled by the sudden question. "I was sent to military school when I was sixteen, by court order."

I stare at him, mouth agape. "Really? Why?"

"I kept getting into fights and causing trouble. My teachers and foster parents all agreed an attitude adjustment would do me good. I was ordered to stay there until I turned eighteen, but military service grew on me in the two years I was there. With a little help from my school, I got into the United States Naval Academy. I got a degree there, took the ASVAB test, passed the MEPS exam, then I became part of the Navy."

"Well then how did you become a SEAL?"

He sighs as he stares at the screen, not in frustration, but in reminiscence. "Lots of training and pulled strings."

"Do you ever miss it?" I ask, wondering if this is the part where he'll shut me down. Henry and I have talked about our pasts before, but there always comes a point for H when the details get too personal, or a nerve is hit too severely. It's made getting to know him quite difficult, and even harder becoming his friend. Relationships of any kind take a level of trust and openness Henry has never experienced before, and I think his walls have less to do with an unwillingness to open up and moreso about not knowing how to open up.

Or maybe I'm just overanalyzing him.

Surprisingly, he answers me. "I miss the idea of it. I miss the mission, the purpose to do good that drove all of us. I met some good people there. The best people."

"Like Ian?"

He nods. "The other members of my team were great too. Ian was the leader, naturally. Grant was a tricky bastard that cheated at every game of cards or chess we ever played. Atticus was a complete psychopath, but he was weirdly sweet and loyal. Claire was a ball buster that knocked us down a peg when we needed it…I usually hate people, but I never hated any of them. I think they're what I miss most."

"What happened?" I ask quietly.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, but his jaw flexes a few times. "I left the Navy for the same reason I left the CIA. I loved the mission, I loved the people I worked with, but the system itself wouldn't allow any of us to save those we swore to protect."

"Was there a specific thing that happened to make you realize this?"

I watch his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, then he gives a shallow nod.

"Did someone die?" I whisper.

"Someone wasn't found," he responds, and I know deep in my gut who that someone was.

His mom.

"H—"

"Don't."

"I'm not going to ask you what happened," I promise, pressing my body closer to his. "But I hope you know that you can tell me anything. You can trust me."

Now, he finally looks at me. "I do trust you; it's not about that."

"Then what is it?" I plead, wanting to understand.

"It was my fault," he admits. "All I didn't do, and all that I did…You'll never look at me the same way again."

I bring my hand up slowly to his face, and when my palm touches his cheek, his body quivers. I've never seen Henry like this before. I've never seen such vulnerability in his expression or body language. He's been open with me before, but quivering from my touch? Speaking so lowly about himself? He's always wound so tight, like metal coils in a machine, but right now I'm witnessing those coils coming undone.

I don't know who moves first, but as I bring my other hand up to cup his face, he wraps his arms around my waist, and our lips crash together. His lips are firm and hot; his tongue slips into my mouth, and the way he caresses me, the way he nibbles on my lips…it's like he's making love to my mouth. He cradles my body in his arms with a gentleness that makes my heart sing, but that all changes when I bite his lip; it unleashes something in him. He pulls me into his lap, and then his hands fly to every part of my body he can get access to. Our makeshift dinner and the stuffy Brits on the screen are completely forgotten.

I'm currently wearing sweatpants and a shirt with Harry Styles wearing his Vogue photoshoot dress on the front, but everywhere he touches makes me feel naked, completely laid bare before him. This feeling only intensifies when H thrusts his hands under my shirt, feeling around for the clasp of my bra, which he manages to undo with a single pinch of his fingers. Suddenly, my shirt is rolled up and my bra is being pulled off my arms. Henry is a man on a mission, but even in the heat of the moment he's still careful to extract my pump from my bra and my stomach, laying the device on the coffee table. His hungry expression doesn't falter for a moment. In fact, it only increases when he lays his eyes on my bare chest and stomach.

Last time I was with a guy, he took one look at my stretch marks and made a face of disgust—they're red and long, kind of raised. I've always been a big girl, even as a kid, and it's something that's taken a while for me to love about myself. But even though I've learned to love myself, part of me has worried that it would be hard to find someone else to love my body as well as I do.

I knew that Henry wouldn't have any sort of negative reaction towards my body, though. His expression is even more hungry than it was before, and instead of aiming his attention at my boobs like any other guy would, he leans forward and places a kiss on naval, making me break out in goosebumps.

"You're so fucking beautiful, B," he says against my skin, grazing his lips along each individual mark, placing kisses as he goes. I didn't think it was possible to love him any more than I already did, but he's proving me wrong.

He starts trailing kisses up my abdomen until he's at my chest, and an involuntary moan slips from my lips as his mouth locks around my right nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, palming the other in his hand, then he gently bites down, and I arch into him, begging for more. He switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment he gave the other, and I feel the hand not palming my breast slipping down to the waistband of my sweatpants.

He pulls away from my chest enough to look into my eyes, and his lips curve into a grin as he slides his fingers down to the seem of my pussy, gently tracing my labia and purposefully evading my clit, teasing me.

"You're already wet for me, Beth," he gruffly murmurs, keeping his gaze locked to mine. "Do you want my fingers? My tongue?"

"Whatever you're willing to give me," I pant, arching into his touch, hoping his hand will graze my clit, but he's still being a tease.

He leans forward until our mouths are centimeters apart, then the pad of his finger finds my clit. I suck in a breath as he starts to circle it. "Since this is our first date, and I want to do this right, I won't do any more than this. But tomorrow, when the training is done and we have time for ourselves, I'm going to spend the entire night worshipping this pussy."

"Please," I whine, frustrated and horny and impatient.

"Please what?" he asks innocently. "Do you want to come?"

He increases speed on my clit, making me whimper as I respond, " Yes. "

He grins, continuing to circle my clit with his thumb while he inserts his middle finger inside of me, crooking it so that he rubs my G-spot. This is the first time I've ever seen a guy know about the clit and the G-spot. It's honestly impressive.

"Come for me, B," he whispers, grazing his lips with mine. "Come for me."

I begin rocking against his fingers, increasing the pressure, and with a slightly embarrassing moan, I come on his fingers, which don't stop their movements for even a moment until I've completely come down from the high. Only then does he retract his hand from my pants, and without breaking eye contact with me, sucks my release off of his fingers.

"Holy shit," I murmur, letting out an incredulous laugh. I don't think I've ever come that hard, especially not with a guy.

"I've dreamt of you coming on my fingers so many times, Beth," he admits, gently kissing my mouth. "But that was better than any fantasy I could ever have conjured up in my mind."

I look down between us and see the raging boner he's sporting. "Need some help with that?"

He shakes his head, caressing my jaw with his hand. "I'll survive until tomorrow. Tonight was all about you."

I collapse my weight on his lap, forcing his constricted erection to rub against me. "But what if I want to make you come too? I've waited a long time to have you completely at my mercy."

He groans as I gently grind my hips into his. "I'm at no one's mercy. Not even yours."

I chuckle at that, reaching down into the waistband of his pants just like he did for me, and when I grab on to his cock, he hisses through his teeth, leaning his head back against the couch cushion.

"You were saying?" I ask sweetly, starting to stroke him from base to tip, keeping my pressure tight. From the way his hips are lightly bucking up into my hand, I'd say he's enjoying himself.

"You're such a bossy little brat," he grits out.

"Oh, is that so? Last time you said that you mentioned something about spanking me."

His eyes are blazing infernos as they stare into mine. "Would you like that?"

My stomach flutters at the idea. "Maybe I would."

His smile is near predatory. "What else would you like me to do to you, Beth?"

I think I like this side of him. I start stroking him a little harder, reaching down with my other hand to grab his balls. I fondle them and cup them, trying to keep my movements with both hands at the same pace.

"Anything you like, Henry. I'm willing to try anything once," I whisper tantalizingly.

That bold statement is enough to send H over the edge; with a grunt, he comes over my hand, his chest heaving and his lips parted in a near snarl. He looks so unkempt, so unlike his usual stiff and cold manner. As I wipe up his release with my shirt, and I preen with the knowledge that I made him drop his mask.

"I look forward to doing that again," I say, settling back in his lap.

He smiles, still trying to catch his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

I giggle at that, linking my arms around his neck. "I sure hope not. I plan on tormenting you for years to come."

He seems to like this idea. "I can't wait."

And because the universe hates me, my receiver chooses that moment to sound an alarm, telling me that my blood sugar is going up with two arrows. I may or may not have forgotten to dose because of my excitement for our date.

Whoops.

Feeling the mood quickly obliterated, I grab on to my pump and reattach it to my body, giving myself a correction so I don't spend the whole night high. But given my past experiences with situations like this, I'd say that's exactly what's going to happen.

"I'll go get you some waters," he tells me, placing a kiss on my forehead before heading towards the kitchen.

I smile after him, once again floored by his thoughtfulness and chivalry.

Like a knight in shining armor.