Chapter Ten

January

P resent Day

Sunlight trickles in through the windows, sending warm rays of light across my face. I groan and pull the blanket up over my head, trying to disappear back into my dreams. I don't want to wake up. I'm comfortable and warm, and for the first time in a long time, my dreams weren't painful.

I felt like Cade was with me, keeping the nightmares away. Letting that peaceful feeling go hurts…and then I realize I still smell like him. I can still feel him between my legs. I didn't dream anything. He really is back.

He told me that he's still not over me.

My eyes fly open, my gaze settling on the window across from my bed before flitting to the clock on my nightstand. It's still early, barely even seven in the morning. Since it's Sunday, I don't have to leave the bed or Cade until I feel like it. A little shiver of excitement rolls through me at the thought.

Somehow, I'm naked. I guess I took my bra off at some point in the night. That works for me.

I turn over in the bed, but Cade isn't beside me.

My heart sinks, realization setting in. He left. Apparently, he's fine with fucking me senseless, but not with sticking around to face the morning after.

Frustration rolls through me in a powerful wave. I climb out of the bed and grab a robe, wrapping it around me. I push my hair back from my face and toss it up into a messy ponytail. Once that's done, I slip my feet into a pair of flip-flops and march out of the room, determined to storm next door and tell him he can fuck right the hell off with this leaving crap. He doesn't get to sleep with me and then pretend like it never happened.

"Hey."

"Shit!" I scream and damn near fall over as his voice sounds from across the living room.

He peers up at me from the couch and gives me a tentative smile. He's sprawled out on his back, his legs hanging off the end. His cock tents the fabric of his boxers. His white t-shirt is all wrinkled up. His jaw is scruffy, and his blond hair is a mess. He looks adorably sleepy and sexy as hell at the same time, like a wild lion at rest.

"Sorry," he mumbles and sits up. He runs a hand down his face, his pinky bumping the piercing in his nose. "Didn't mean to scare you. What time is it?"

"Not even seven." I press my hand over my heart like that's going to slow the way it pounds. I'm no longer sure if it's racing because he scared the crap out of me or because he looks like sin, and I want to climb his body and have my way with him.

Why is he on my couch?

"Did you sleep out here?"

"Yeah, I…" He trails off and dips his head, avoiding my gaze. "Fuck. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about waking up with me in your bed, but I didn't want to leave either, so…" He turns his face away and swallows audibly. "I figured this was the best solution."

"Cade," I whisper.

"I'll go if you want me to," he mumbles, still not meeting my gaze. "I just…I wanted to be close to you."

Watching him walk out my door is the last thing I want.

I kick my flip-flops off. One sails across the floor before hitting the wall. I take a tentative step toward him. "I was on my way to kick your ass for leaving," I tell him.

His gaze flies to mine, shock written all over his face. Any other day, I'd probably laugh at seeing that half-hopeful, half-confused, completely surprised look on his gorgeous face, but not today.

"I was pissed you weren't in my bed when I woke up."

"Yeah?" he says and swallows hard. His gaze roams across my body, and I know he can see how hard my nipples are through the fabric of my robe. His cock jerks in his boxers.

I take another step toward him and then say screw it and close the distance between us. He places a hand on my hip. I take that as an invitation and crawl into his lap to straddle him. Both of us groan as I rub my pussy over the bulge in his boxers.

"Little monster." His lazy smirk makes my heart turn a flip. "Did you wake up hurting for my cock?"

I bite my lip and nod.

"We can't have that, can we?"

"No," I moan.

"I'll fix it," he says, tugging at the tie on my robe. His gaze drops to my breasts and then lowers, landing on the tattoo usually hidden by my bra. "You got a tattoo."

"Yeah," I whisper. The tattoo is simple, the words "Stay strong" scrawled in an elegant script beneath my right breast. I got it on my twenty-first birthday as a reminder to myself that I could be strong even without him and Titan to fight for me.

He runs his fingers gently over the words and then leans forward. His lips land against the tattoo, soft and sweet. "You've always been strong, January," he whispers into my skin.

Before I can tell him that he's wrong, his lips trail up my ribcage and then wrap around my nipple. I lose track of what I wanted to say and moan embarrassingly loud, but he seems to like it. He grunts and pushes me down with the hand wrapped around my hip to grind against his cock. He's so big and hard. So much bigger than I remember.

Desire courses through me, sending wetness to trickle down my thighs. He's always been able to drive me crazy with a single touch. Even when we were barely more than kids, he'd kiss me, and it took everything I had not to crawl into his lap and let him have his way with me. Had it not been for his resolve to keep me innocent for as long as possible, I would have given him my virginity the first time he slipped his hand beneath my shirt when I was fifteen.

"Cade, please," I whimper when he releases my nipple just to repeat the delicious torment on the other.

He pulls my robe off and tosses it away before running his hands all over my body. They're rougher than I remember but still somehow perfect.

I want him naked, too, but when I reach for his shirt, he flips me over. I land on my back on the couch with him hovering over me. He stares down at me, those eyes the dark gray color they always were when he was inside me. God, I think I missed seeing those stormy gray eyes stripping me bare. No one has ever looked at me like he does…like he sees all the way into my soul and finds every little piece of me worthy.

"I need you coming on my tongue again," he breathes and then kisses me hard.

Before I can wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, he prowls down my body, kissing and nipping as he goes. My legs fall open in invitation.

"Please," I beg him, shameless and aching.

He places a sweet little kiss just below my belly button and then shoulders my legs apart. "Jesus fuck, you smell so goddamn good," he growls, leaning forward until his nose bumps my clit. He inhales deeply. "Like sugar."

He spreads my lips open and swipes his tongue through my folds.

"Cade!" I shout, my hips arching off the couch.

"You already forget how good I can make you feel?" he asks me, taking another long lick. "This sexy little body was made for me, January. Maybe I need to remind you who it belongs to. Remind you that this delicious pussy needs me to take care of it."

Shit. I don't know why him claiming ownership over my body is so hot, but it is. I want to tell him that my body is his for the taking, but he snarls against my pussy and then dives in. Reality spins away. I can't get the words out. I'm no longer sure I even know words. All that's left is the way he eats at me like he can't get enough and the filthy sounds he makes. He's greedy, pushing my legs apart as far as he can get them as he attacks me with his mouth.

He's not gentle about it. He's wild with need. When we were together before, he was always so careful with me, almost like he was afraid to unleash on me. Cade, at twenty-one, was a sweet, attentive lover. Cade, at twenty-nine, is a beast, taking what he wants without apology. He isn't careful. He doesn't keep himself in check. The control he used to have is long gone, eradicated by need or want or the last seven years of being apart.

"I could eat you all fucking day, baby girl," he groans, thrusting two thick fingers inside me. "I'm going to die in this pussy. I know I am. It's too good. I can't stop. Fuck , January. Come on my tongue."

"Cade!" I scream as he sends me over the edge into a rolling orgasm. My hips buck and my head thrashes back and forth. The sensation is overwhelming, but he doesn't let me get away. He keeps at me, diving in over and over.

"Not yet," he pleads. "Don't make me stop yet." He curls his fingers up, stroking them across my G-spot.

I come again, screaming his name. My hands clutch in his hair, yanking. I'm not sure if I'm trying to keep him where he's at or push him away, though. I want both as tidal waves of pleasure crash through me repeatedly. They go on forever, leaving me gasping and shaking.

"One more," he whispers, lifting his head long enough to meet my gaze. There's something desperate in his eyes, something that makes my chest ache and my insides melt at the same time. "Give me one more, baby girl."

With that plea reflecting in his eyes, I can't deny him.

He lifts me toward his mouth once more, running his tongue in circles around my clit. He fucks me hard with the two fingers inside of me, making sure they rub across my G-spot each time he slides them inside. His lips seam around my clit, sucking it into his mouth.

I fly apart again, and this time, I know I can't take any more. If he makes me come anymore, I'm going to explode into pieces too small to put back together. My entire body hums with pleasure. Even the beads of sweat rolling down my skin feel like sensory overload.

"Goddamn, you're beautiful when you come," he whispers, rising up on his knees. His gaze locks on mine, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. He places a hand over my chest, his palm flat between my breasts. Something flares in his eyes that I can't read, but I love the sight of it there. He stays like that for a minute, staring at me as he feels the way my heart pounds for him.

A second later, he yanks his boxers down, freeing his cock. I groan at the sight of it. He's long and thick. A bead of pre-cum slides down the broad head. He wraps his hand around himself and squeezes. His head tips back, a groan leaving his lips as he uses my juices to jerk himself off.

My gaze flits back and forth between his hand on his cock and the expression on his face. He's fierce with his blue-gray eyes at half-mast and his lips curled up in a combination of pleasure and pain. He works his cock hard, jacking himself off roughly. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

And then he tops it by crying out my name and coming all over my stomach and thighs.

I moan his name loudly as spurt after spurt of his come jets out and lands on my skin. His strokes slow, but he doesn't stop until he's worked out the last drop. He stays where he's at for a second, breathing heavily, and then he angles his head down to peer at me.

"You're definitely wearing this today," he murmurs, holding my gaze while he rubs his cum into my skin.

My core clenches hard at the possessive act.

"Goddamn," he breathes after a minute. "I think I might be the only thing you wear today, January. You look good as hell covered in me."

I whimper, trying like hell not to jump him. If I come again, I may not survive.

A lazy grin tips his lips up like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Those dimples of his pop out, sending another wave of lust through me. Jesus, how is it possible that he got even hotter over the years? The whole bad boy thing works for him. He's menacing and hot as hell at the same time. I want to see more…want to know where those tattoos on his arms lead.

I tug at his shirt, wanting it off him.

He yanks it off over his head, and I'm not sure where to look first. His body is as incredible as I knew it would be. He's rock solid from head to toe, not an ounce of fat on him. He's also covered in tattoos and scars. The symbols on his arms go all the way to his shoulders. There are images captured between them, twisted up like the symbols are trying to squeeze them out of existence. I think they make up some sort of story, but I don't know what it says.

His chest and abdomen are covered in tattoos, too. There's an intricate hourglass tattooed over his heart with a distorted clock inside seemingly being sucked down into the bottom of the hourglass. The glass is shattered, the sand escaping through the cracks to blow away. The hands of the clock are frozen at 10:19—the minute our world shattered.

The words "just breathe" are barely visible in the design, as if he wanted the reminder to keep breathing tattooed on his skin but didn't want it to mean anything to anyone but him.

My name runs along the left side of his ribcage, but each letter is crafted from words I can't quite make out.

The same symbol he had tattooed on him when we were younger, the Aquarius zodiac sign he got to represent me, now litters his skin in a dozen or more different places. Each symbol is blended into the most breathtaking artwork I've ever seen. My face stares back at me from his right pectoral, that symbol reflecting in my eyes. My hair falls around my face like waves. It's me, only I'm so much more beautiful in his skin than I am in my own. Somehow, I seem happy and sad at the same time. Whoever did the artwork had to be incredibly talented to capture so much emotion.

I think all of those tattoos with the zodiac sign are also about me, but I don't understand what they mean. The powerful emotion whispering from each repetition takes my breath away. There's so much grief etched into his skin, so much unspoken pain. It tears at my heart, breaking it into little pieces for him.

There's an angry red scar across his side, like someone took a knife and ripped him open from the bottom of his ribcage, down his abdomen to his hip. There's another jagged scar across the ridges of his abdomen. He's got two smaller scars that look like bullet wounds on his chest and another beneath his ribcage on the other side. There's another cut on his sternum, and two small teardrop-like scars over his collarbone.

"Cade," I whisper, tears springing to my eyes as I try to process what he just revealed to me. My hand trembles as I reach up to trace the scar across his side and then my name.

He freezes, his body going rigid above mine.

I lift my gaze to his face to find his expression twisted into one of intense pain.

"What happened to you?" I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm talking about the scars, the tattoos, or both. It's obvious the last seven years have been full of suffering for him. I desperately want to understand why he tattooed reminders of that pain all over his body. Why did he tattoo me all over him?

"Life happened," he says, his voice gruff and bitter. His lips twist, self-loathing sliding through his expression. "Nothing I didn't deserve."

"Don't say that." I nudge him, trying to move him so I can sit up.

Once he moves back, I slide up on the couch until we're sitting face to face.

He wipes a tear off my cheek. "Don't cry for me, January. Believe me, I'm not worth the tears."

"Don't say that either," I snap, pissed off that he's acting like this is nothing and hurting for him at the same time. Whatever he thinks he did that was so bad…he's been punishing himself for it for years. I think that's why he left me, too. To punish himself. The evidence of that truth is written all over him in scars and ink not even time will erase. I just don't understand why.

What did he do that was so bad he thinks he deserves all of this pain? All of this torment?

"Will you tell me?" I ask, my gaze flickering over his tattoos. "Tell me what they mean."

He shakes his head and swallows. "I'd rather not talk about it," he says, avoiding my gaze. "It's over and done with, and it doesn't matter now."

"That's not true. Don't tell me they don't matter when I can see how bad they are, Cade."

"I work with gangs, baby girl. You know better than anyone what they're capable of," he says, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. He tips his head forward, pushing his fingers through his hair. "The scars are a hazard of the job."

"I wasn't talking about the scars," I snap at him, annoyed he's pretending he doesn't know what I was talking about. We both know he knows what I meant. The scars are self-explanatory. It's the tattoos currently wrecking me. "I'm talking about the tattoos. They're so sad. I want to know what they mean."

"They mean…fuck, they mean I spent seven goddamn years without you, okay?" He pushes himself to his feet and paces in a restless circle. "I don't want to talk about them."

"Fine, then let's talk about the scars," I say, grabbing my robe from the floor. Having this conversation naked with his come covering me is a little too much. I thrust my arms into the robe and then cinch it tight around my waist. "How'd you get the one on your side?"

"Working," he mutters.

"And the bullet wounds to your chest?"

"Also working," he growls, reaching for his shirt before yanking it on over his head.

"Why do you think I should hate you, Cade? What did you do back then that was so bad? Why do you blame yourself for what happened?"

"Because it was my fucking fault!" he roars. "They're dead because of me!"

I flinch backward, cowering into the side of the couch.

"Fuck," he curses and then takes a step away from me, putting his forehead against the wall. He stands there like that for a long time, his defeated stance making my throat ache with emotion.

"Talk to me," I plead. "Why do you think it's your fault?"

"Just leave it alone, January," he rasps. "Fuck. Just leave it alone."

"You want me, but you don't want to share your life or your pain with me," I whisper when I find my voice. Tears spill down my cheeks, but I don't brush them away. I let them fall. "You were always trying to protect me, but life doesn't work that way, Cade. I haven't needed you to protect me for years, and I don't want it now. If that's all you have for me, then you can keep it."

"January–"

"Why do you blame yourself for what happened? I deserve to know the truth."

He stays silent, his head hanging low between his shoulders, and his body tense. He doesn't try to tell me the truth. He doesn't try to say anything. He just stands there, not speaking. And that says all I need to know about where this thing between us is headed.

Even now, he thinks he has to protect me. That I'm not strong enough to handle the truth. Maybe he's right. Maybe the truth will break me. But I'd rather be broken by his honesty than destroyed by his silence.

I've had years of his silence. Years of wishing I'd been stronger or braver or anything that would have prevented us from losing everything. I don't think I can survive having him right here in front of me and still feel like I'm drowning under the weight of his silence and my own guilt. It was hard enough when he was in Washington. I can't do it while sharing a bed with him.

"I can't do this with you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself so I don't fall apart. "I deserve the truth. We can't do this if you can't give it to me. I won't fall for you again just to watch you break my heart all over again."

"January, I…" He trails off and sighs.

"Just go, Cade," I whisper, keeping my gaze locked on the floor so I don't have to see if this is hurting him. If it is, I don't want to know. And if it isn't, well, I don't want to know that either. All I know is that I never fell out of love with him to begin with, and telling him to leave now hurts like hell. So does the fact that he'd rather leave again than talk to me.

He moves around the room, gathering his stuff. When he's got his pants on and his boots on his feet, he stops in front of me and stands there for a long moment.

Just when I think he's going to open up and tell me what he did that made him believe I should hate him, he sighs instead and crosses the room.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles as the front door closes behind him.

"Damn you," I whisper, sinking to the couch as a sob catches in my throat and the tears start to fall.