Run To You

hands cupping her breast. Was it just yesterday he’d woken and kissed her bare shoulder? Twenty-four hours ago that she’d arched against him and moaned. That he’d taken that as an invitation to slide his erection between her thighs, high against her slick crotch, and to teach her how to ride him until she came. She hadn’t shouted that she loved him. Not like the first time, and he was relieved.
    Stella didn’t love him any more than he loved her. Love took time. More time than six days in a SUV and two nights of sex. Good sex. Sex without penetration. Creative sex that challenged his abilities and control, but Beau had always thrived on challenges.
    He rose from the bed and entered the master bathroom. With the head of his penis pressed into the apex of her hot, wet thighs, it would have been so easy to make her want it all. To make her want him so bad that she wanted him deep inside, all the way. Feel her wet and tight around him. Make it so good she wouldn’t care. Make her so hot she’d want it again.
    It would have been so easy, but even as hot, consuming lust had chewed him up inside and out, he hadn’t given in to it. He wouldn’t exactly call his control admirable. No, admirable would have been if he’d the willpower to walk away from her in New Orleans, but he hadn’t walked away. He’d taken what she’d offered. He wasn’t sorry, but neither would he dishonor Stella or himself by talking her out of her virginity. She wanted to save that final act for a man she loved and wanted to live with for the rest of her life.
    A man that wasn’t he.
    Several times throughout the previous night, he’d thought of stepping outside the bar and giving her a call. He hadn’t because his job was done. His responsibility over. Free from his continual presence and the confines of the Escalade, he was sure she felt the same. They’d had a good time for a few days, but it was over.
    He took a shower and brushed his teeth and wondered what kind of shape his brother would be in this morning. Considering that he’d had to help his brother into the apartment, he’d guess somewhere between shitty and wanting to shoot himself. God knew Beau wanted to shoot him.
    The Road Kill was a typical cowboy bar complete with dance floor, stuffed animals, and long horns mounted on the walls. For a Tuesday night, the bar had been fairly busy, but Beau had recognized his brother’s laugh the moment he’d entered the building. Blake sat at a table surrounded by men in trucker hats and women with big hair.
    It was always good to see Blake, but he would have preferred not to spend the night in a crowded bar while his brother drank among strangers.
    Blake was part of him in a way that people without a twin couldn’t comprehend. They walked, talked, and chewed their food the same. They looked the same and thought the same because they were one and the same. He knew Blake like he knew himself. He saw himself when he looked at his brother, yet they were their own men. Perhaps more alike than different, but different in many ways.
    Beau liked green beans. Blake, peas. Beau listened to hard rock. Blake preferred country. In his free time, Beau liked to kick back and catch a ball game. Blake liked to kick back in bars and hold court.
    Like their dad.
    Beau dressed in cargo pants and a black T-shirt and wasn’t surprised to see his brother standing in the kitchen wearing the same thing. They had the same taste and it happened more often than not. He was more surprised to see Blake’s waistline in the light of day. His brother wasn’t fat. Far from it, but he was definitely on the way to getting a beer gut.
    “How you feeling?” Beau asked as he opened a cupboard looking for a coffee mug.
    “My head’s pounding like a bitch.” Blake opened a cabinet and pulled out a bright pink “crazy cowgirl” mug. “Nothing a few Advil and coffee won’t cure.” He poured and handed the coffee to Beau.
    Beau noticed his brother’s cup had a SEALs trident on it. “This yours?” He held up the pink mug, then took a drink.
    Blake laughed. “I imagine it’s Sadie’s, but I thought it matched your personality, sissy ass jarhead.”
    “More like it matches the color of your eyeballs, squid shit.”
    Blake opened the refrigerator and pulled out a half gallon of milk. “Did you meet Sadie?” Subject of bloodshot eyes closed.
    Beau didn’t want to talk about his brother’s drinking anyway. He was in town for only a short time, and