Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

Kelly

The sea breeze tangles through my hair, salty and wild, like the thoughts racing in my head. Beside me, Greg's presence is a steady beat, his steps sinking into the sand in sync with mine. The beach is our secret hideaway, untouched and intimate, perfect for what I hope might unfold between us.

"Looks like we've got the place to ourselves," I muse, sneaking a glance at him. His intense eyes are on the horizon, but I catch the corner of his lip twitching upwards in that half-smile that always sends my heart into a fluttery dance.

"Seems so," he replies, his voice deep and smooth as the ocean itself.

We choose a spot where the beach kisses the edge of the world, and I shake out the blanket with a flourish. It floats, then settles on the sand. We ease down onto it, careful, as if the space between us is something sacred.

I can't believe how quickly everything happened between Greg and me, but I wouldn't change any of it. We might be polar opposites, but there's something about the war vet that just tugs at my heart. He makes me feel seen and safe and I don't know…

The way he felt when he was inside me…I never knew it could feel that way. No wonder people like sex.

"Perfect timing," I say, nodding toward the sun that's beginning to dip low, painting the sky in hues of fire and passion. "It's beautiful."

"Nothing compared to you," Greg murmurs, and it's cheesy, sure, but it's also so earnest that it ignites a warm glow inside me. His compliment feels like a caress.

I draw my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, while Greg stretches out beside me, our bodies forming two pieces of a puzzle that just needs a little nudge to fit together. Our fingers brush, accidental-on-purpose, and an electric charge sizzles up my arm, delicious and promising.

"Sunsets always make me feel like anything's possible," I whisper, allowing my shoulder to lean a fraction closer to his.

"Anything?" His voice is a challenge, wrapped in velvet, tempting me to close the gap between us.

"Anything." My reply is a breath, a dare, a surrender all at once.

Greg's gaze lingers on my lips, and I can almost taste the kiss that's hanging in the air between us, sweet and spicy, calling us to indulge in its promise. But we don't rush. Not yet. Because sometimes, the buildup is just as exquisite as the release.

Instead, we sit together.

The sun dips lower, painting the sky a kaleidoscope of blush and amber. It's like nature's own seduction, coaxing every hidden desire to the surface, making my skin tingle with anticipation. Greg is beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with a weight that's about more than just air. His eyes, those intense pools reflecting the fiery horizon, lock onto the setting sun with a determination that sends a thrill through me. For a moment, he's a statue, all chiseled lines and quiet strength, a warrior gathering his courage before the battle.

Then, as if making some silent decision, Greg turns to me. The intensity in his gaze pins me in place, a raw display of nerves and need that I've never seen from him before. It's as if he's stripping himself bare, not of clothes, but of walls, and what's left is pure, unguarded Greg.

"Kelly," he breathes out, and damn, the way my name sounds on his lips should be illegal. It's husky, loaded with emotions that have no place being this exposed, this vulnerable.

My heart hammers against my ribcage, a frantic Morse code spelling out desire. I turn to meet his stare, feeling naked under the scrutiny, yet craving it all the same. My stomach flutters, a storm of butterflies set loose by his mere presence.

"Greg." My voice is a whisper, laced with every ounce of yearning that simmers beneath my skin. The air between us crackles with electricity, with words unsaid and touches unmade. I'm caught in his gravitational pull, helpless and entirely willing.

His eyes search mine, as if he's looking for an answer or maybe permission. In them, I see a man who's fought battles but now stands before me, fighting something far more intimate. And I know, whatever he needs to say, I'm here for it, ready to dive into the depths of his soul.

"Talk to me," I urge, my tone soft yet insistent, because understanding Greg, seeing all of him, feels essential—like breathing.

Greg's hand edges toward me, a slight tremor betraying his soldier's steadiness. His fingers brush against my cheek, and it's like a spark to dry tinder. Heat races down my spine, igniting every nerve ending into acute awareness.

"Kelly," he whispers, the sound rough like gravel, yet it caresses me in ways I didn't know possible. I lean into his touch, my skin hungry for more of his warmth, my body alive with a thousand unspoken promises.

"Greg," I breathe back, daring to close the gap between desire and reality.

And then we're kissing, his lips pressing urgently against mine, telling stories of longing kept at bay for far too long. It's a clash, a dance, a melding of two people starved for this very moment. His mouth moves over mine with a fervor that speaks of raw need, and God, do I need him too.

The world tilts, fades, becomes nothing more than background noise to the symphony of our combined breaths and the soft sounds of surrender. My hands roam over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart through layers of muscle and bone.

His arms encircle me, strong and unyielding, drawing me closer until there's no space left for doubts or fears, just the searing connection of his body pressed against mine. This kiss is more than just an act of passion—it's a lifeline, a silent vow exchanged in the language of touch and taste.

"More," I gasp when his lips trail fire along my jawline, exploring territory that begs to be claimed. His response is immediate, a low growl that vibrates against my skin, sending shivers of anticipation to the very core of me.

I'm gasping for air, my heart racing like it's trying to break free when Greg's lips finally leave mine. He pulls back just enough to lock his intense gaze with mine, those deep-set eyes now swirling with a storm of emotions. His chest heaves, and I feel his breath, warm and ragged against my skin.

"Kelly," he starts, the timbre of his voice rough around the edges, cracking under the weight of what he's about to say. "I've got these demons, shadows from my time at war. They don't just haunt me—they're part of me."

His admission hits me hard, right in the gut, but it's his vulnerability that slices through me, raw and unguarded. There's a tremor in his hand as it falls from my face, like he's laying down his last line of defense.

"PTSD. It's this...constant battle in my head. And I'm scared, so fucking scared that one day I might hurt you without meaning to." His words hang heavy between us, a confession laid bare by the dying light of the sun.

"Greg," I breathe out, my own voice shaky with the swell of emotions that threaten to overflow. "You won't hurt me. You're the strongest person I know." I reach up, daring to trace the scar on his jaw, a stark reminder of the hell he's been through. "You've survived battles most can't even imagine. We'll fight this one together, too."

There's a fierceness in my vow, an unwavering determination that I hope he can feel. Because I mean every word—from the deepest, most stubborn part of my soul, I mean it.

"Supporting you isn't just something I'm willing to do, it's something I need to do." My fingers curl around his, squeezing tight. "I'm here, Greg. For all of it. The dark, the light, and every shade in between."

He searches my face, looking for the truth behind my words, and I let him see it—all the love, all the acceptance.

"Fuck, you beautiful girl, I love you," he finally groans out before he crashes his lips back onto mine.

And my soul soars. He loves me! I don't even get a chance to say the words back because his lips are trailing down my neck, leaving a rush of fire in their wake. All I can do is whimper and moan as our movements turn frantic.

He's pulling my dress up as he pulls me onto his lap and unleashes his cock from his pants. We're both still dressed enough that no one can see our nudity, but if anyone looked hard enough, it would be obvious what we're doing when Greg lowers me down onto his hard length and starts bouncing me up and down on him.

I wrap my legs around him, clinging to him as if he's the only thing keeping me grounded in this whirlwind of sensation and emotion. The rhythm we find is desperate, unapathetic to the setting sun or the encroaching night. It's just us, here and now, pulsating together in a frantic ball of need.

His hands are on my hips, guiding me, urging me on in a silent plea for more—always more. And I give it willingly, losing myself in the push and pull of flesh against flesh. The sounds of the ocean fade into a distant murmur, drowned out by the thrumming of our hearts and our labored breathing.

"God, Kelly," Greg grunts, his voice strained as he thrusts upward, driving deeper into me with each rise and fall of our bodies. His eyes are closed tight, creases forming at the corners as if he's trying to memorize this feeling, burn it into his mind where no shadow can reach.

The cool sand beneath us grows damp with the evening tide, but we're too lost in each other to care about the chill. I can feel him everywhere—not just physically but seeping into the spaces inside me that had too long been cold and vacant.

Suddenly, his grip tightens, a warning without words. I nod slightly against his shoulder, acknowledging what's to come. With a few more fervent moves, we're both tumbling over that edge, crying out against the rush of release that overtakes us. His name spills from my lips like a prayer as wave after wave crashes through me, leaving behind nothing but satisfaction and soul-deep contentment.

As our breaths even out and our grips loosen slightly, Greg presses his forehead against mine. "I didn't know...I needed this," he whispers hoarsely.

"I did," I whisper back with a gentle certainty as I stroke his hair back from his forehead—a small gesture that feels deeply intimate in its simplicity.

We sit there for a moment longer under the cloak of twilight—the world holding its breath around us—as we memorize this perfect imperfection. Finally pulling my dress down and helping Greg adjust himself back into his pants, we laugh softly at our disheveled state.

I lean back against the worn blanket, feeling the coarse sand shift beneath its thin fabric, and let out a long breath. The sky blushes with the colors of an impending nightfall, and there's a kind of beautiful stillness that wraps around us—a rare moment of peace in our otherwise chaotic worlds.

"Greg," I murmur, my voice barely louder than the hush of the sea breeze, "what scares you the most about...everything?"

He shifts beside me, his body language open yet tense, like he's preparing to lay bare his soul. "Losing control," he admits, his gaze piercing the horizon. "Not just with PTSD, but in life. I'm used to structure, orders, knowing the next move. Civvy street doesn't come with a manual." His laugh is humorless, a puff of air that dissipates quickly into the salt-laden wind.

"Join the club." My attempt at lightness doesn't quite mask the tremor in my words. "Design might seem all fun and colors, but it's like I've got this judge inside my head, always telling me I'm one step away from screwing up big time."

"Your work is brilliant, Kelly," he says, turning to face me, his voice firm. "You capture stories in your design, make them speak without words."

My cheeks heat up, and it's not from the sun's dying rays. It is Greg—always Greg—who sees through the facade to the frightened girl scribbling on the walls, desperate to be heard.

"Maybe," I whisper, the confession feeling like a boulder lifted off my chest, "but I'm scared it'll never be enough. That I'll never be enough."

"Enough for what?" His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together instinctively, as natural as drawing breath.

"Life, love, success—the whole damn package."

"Kel," he starts, then stops, his brow furrowing. He looks like he's battling some internal war before he finally speaks again. "What if we take control back? Together."

A shiver races through me, because it's not just his words—it's the promise in them. "What do you mean?"

"Let's create something. Something that merges the chaos of my past with the beauty of your art. We can tell a story, make sense of things." His voice grows stronger, surer, as if the idea gives him a foothold in this slippery slope we're both on.

"Like a project?" The word tastes like adventure on my tongue, a shared secret that's ours alone.

"Yeah. A project." His eyes light up, and it's like I can see the gears turning in his mind. "We could start with a historical series, bring those silent heroes to life, and you—you could design the hell out of it."

"Greg," I breathe out, stunned, excited, alive. "That's...that's bloody brilliant."

"Only if you're in," he says, squeezing my hand.

"Of course, I'm in." My heart pounds with a rhythm that's all anticipation and desire—for the project, for the man who came up with it, for the future we might just carve out together. "Let's do this."

"Let's do this," he echoes, and the smile that stretches across his face is one of the purest things I've ever seen. It's a smile that speaks of hope, of dreams taking flight, and just like that, I'm soaring right alongside him.