Dear Soldier: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  I look closer… her name tag.

  This is Zoey.

  This queen, the woman I already know I have to claim, I’ll always need to claim for the rest of our lives.

  She bites her lip as she stares at me. I wonder if she recognizes me.

  Zoey, my Zoey…

  And this steroid-using piece of shit is clearly causing her a problem.

  “What’s going on here?” I growl, instantly forgetting my desire to give her a talking-to about her letter.

  Hell, who am I kidding? I was never going to chew her out about that.

  That was all to give me an excuse to be here.

  “None of your business,” the man grunts. Jerry, his name is, I remember. “Keep walking.”

  The bullying tone in his voice awakens a primal protective urge inside of me. There’s no way I’m going to let this man hurt my woman, my fucking woman, and I don’t give a damn if this is the first time I’ve ever seen her.

  She belongs to me now. I know that as certainly as I know my own name.

  I’d die – I’d kill – before I let anything happen to Zoey Baker, to the future mother of my children.

  I stride over to them, shoulders squared, the potential for violence rushing around my body like some kind of war song. I know what I could do to this man, how simple it would be for me to fold him up like a pretzel, and yet I also know it could land me in jail if I don’t play this right.

  I’m always telling the kids at the gym to keep their fights within sanctioned events, to not let their beasts out in public.

  But right now my desire to let my beast out is burning through me like flickering flames, roaring at me to dismantle this piece of shit and leave him a shuddering wreck.

  “It’s time for you to leave, Jerry. Zoey doesn’t want you here.”

  “Who’s this?” the worm says to Zoey, a tremble in his voice betraying his fear. “Your protector?”

  “I’m the man who’s going to make you eat your fucking teeth if you don’t get moving,” I snarl. “If you want a fight, we can fight. That’s fine with me. But something tells me it wouldn’t go very well for you.”

  He spins on me, his arms at his sides, but I can tell by the quiver in his jaw that this is all bluster.

  He’s not going to do a damn thing if it comes to it.

  Men like this rely on backup, rely on having the numbers… or on bullying women, but this isn’t just any woman.

  It’s my woman.

  I stare coldly at him.

  “Well?” I snarl when he just gazes at me. “Aren’t you going to make a threat?”

  “Who are you?” he says, trying to act tough but unable to stop the whine from entering his voice.

  “I’m the man who’s going to rearrange your face if you ever come near Zoey again. Now it’s time for you to fuck off, Jerry, before I lose my patience.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding—”

  I surge forward so quickly he doesn’t have a chance to react.

  By the time he remembers he’s supposed to be tough, I’ve got my hand around his throat and I’ve pushed him up against the wall. He gasps as I lift him off his feet and stare hard into him, his face turning red, his eyes bulging under the pressure.

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” I snarl. “Leave. Now. Or this is going to get really, really bad for you.”

  It takes a lot of effort to drop him instead of crushing his windpipe like he deserves. I only manage it when Zoey places her hand on my shoulder, causing a flurry of heat to move through me.

  “It’s okay, Zack,” she murmurs.

  Even now, when she says my name I feel my body responding. I feel heat and rightness moving through me, as though I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear her say my name.

  I let go of Jerry and he drops like a sack of shit, almost falling over as he totters from side to side.

  He catches himself and glares at me, and then looks at Zoey like he’s going to leap at her.

  I subtly slide to the side, putting myself between them, fully prepared to work this man over if he makes one wrong move. But in the end, he’s not as stupid as he looks – or maybe he’s just scared – because he turns and stalks down the hallway.

  It’s only when he’s at the end, out of my reach, that he stops and turns.

  “This isn’t over,” he whines. “Zoey is mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  He runs for the staircase before I let my rage fill me, snap inside of me, and forces me to sprint after him. It’s lucky he gets out of my sight so quickly, or I know I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back.

  Normally I’m able to keep a rein on my temper, but the idea of this piece of shit threatening my woman has started an inferno inside of me.

  “Thank you,” Zoey murmurs.

  I turn to find her looking up at me with her deep brown eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, and my predator’s mind can’t stop from imagining others parts of her body turning red when I grab them, kiss them, bite them.

  I imagine her full round ass turning crimson as I’ve got her bent over my knee, the innocent young thing, with one hand gripping her ass cheek hard and the other teasing between her thighs to find her hot tight young hole. I imagine her whimpering as I slip inside of her, fucking her pink slit as she starts to cream and buck and moan for me.

  “You’re… welcome,” I growl with an effort, pushing the words past my burgeoning lust.

  “I can’t believe you actually came.” She turns her gaze down, her fists tight at her sides. “I only put my address… well, I don’t even know why. I didn’t expect you to come.”

  “It’s lucky I did,” I snarl. “Who was that asshole? Your boyfriend?”

  “What?” she snaps. “No, no way. Jerry is… it’s complicated.”

  “Then you better invite me inside and explain.” I don’t mention the other things I’d like – I need – to do to her once we’re inside. “Because if that bastard tries to hurt you again, I won’t be held responsible for my reaction.”

  She bites her lip in a way that sets my balls alight, that has the beast inside of me howling for possession.

  “Okay,” she whispers after a pause. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s go inside then.”

  Chapter Five

  Zoey

  I feel the familiar self-consciousness pricking me as I lead Zack into my apartment. It’s tidy enough, with everything tucked away into its proper place, but the carpet is threadbare and the wallpaper is faded. It has a general rundown appearance, like one of those houses sold at auction to be renovated and made into a proper home.

  My heart is still banging in my chest like some sort of drumbeat has taken possession of me, hammering over and over, as I try to fit what just happened into some sort of order.

  Zack actually freaking came…

  That crazy fact supplants Jerry’s sudden appearance into my life, because, well, I expect Jerry to appear every now and then. It’s a sad pathetic truth, but it’s the truth all the same.

  Jerry is a familiar evil.

  The only difference is this time I sensed he was going to take it further. He was going to finally act on his twisted desires.

  “Would you like a drink?” I murmur, as we stand in my living room, next to my Goodwill couch.

  “Sure. Water’s fine.”

  I can barely look at him as he gives his answer. He’s so much more handsome in real life – so much more handsome than his photo and the fantasies that have been swirling through me since seeing it – with his startling icy eyes and his behemoth’s heaving body.

  His scent washes over me since my apartment is small and we’re standing so close. He smells musky, manly.

  I fight the crazed urge to rest my head against his chest, close my eyes and savor the feeling of warmth and closeness, and safety. He’d laugh at me if I did that.

  But then, why the heck did he come in the first place?

  I get two glasses of water and take them into the living room, placing them on the coffee tabl
e. He’s seated himself on the couch, so I take the armchair, sitting back and letting out a shaky sigh.

  “So, who was that guy?” Zack’s voice is deep and rumbling, the voice of a man who is used to having his questions answered.

  I can only look at him for short moments before I have to aim my gaze elsewhere. At the floor, at the chipped and worn coffee table, at my trembling hands… It doesn’t matter, as long as I don’t have to wither beneath his stern iron gaze.

  “It’s a long story.” I wring my hands together, hating it when I feel the blush spreading over my cheeks and down my neck. “I still can’t believe you came.”

  He chuckles grimly. “I’m not a ghost if that’s what you’re implying. Or an apparition. A fantasy. However, you want to describe it.”

  A fantasy is exactly how I would describe him, with every inch of him seeming to burn through his clothes. He’s wearing a blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, showing his impressive forearms, the open top button hinting at the rock hard surface of his chest muscles.

  “Why, though?” I have to force the question past a thousand instincts telling me not to ruin this. But I have to know.

  “Why what?” he questions.

  “Why did you come?”

  “Oh.”

  He runs his fingers over the knuckles of the opposite hand, making me remember how close he came to violence back there. Hell, there was some violence, when Zack shoved Jerry up against the wall, hauling him off his feet as though he weighed nothing.

  “You left your address. I thought you wanted me to come.”

  This answer seems like he’s dodging the question. I wish I could summon some sassiness, some forwardness, and make him tell me the complete truth.

  Instead, I take a sip of water, unable to stop the shaking of my hands. Some of the water sloshes over the edge of the glass and slides down my chin, making me feel three instead of twenty.

  “Didn’t you?” he presses.

  “Yes,” I say quickly. “I…”

  I have no clue how I can explain why I wanted to see him in the flesh without revealing this crazy feeling that has taken root deep inside of me, this insane conviction that this man is going to become the most important person in my life one day.

  I try to imagine his face if I were to tell him this, and my insides do a nasty twist.

  Look at him.

  He’s tall and handsome, fitter and more muscular than any man I’ve ever seen in real life, with moon-silver hair and wolfish blue eyes. He must have supermodel type women throwing themselves at him every time he leaves the house.

  “I wanted to thank you for the letter,” he says into the silence. “Well…”

  “What?” I say when he trails off.

  He aims a smirk at me, the corners of his lips transforming his expression into something devilish, almost illicit, as though any second he’s going to leap on me and explore my body with his hands. My sex gives a needy pulse at the thought, willing me to make the fantasy a reality.

  “I was going to say it was damn presumptuous of you, saying it’s okay when you don’t know me. But honestly, I think that was just an excuse to get my butt over here.”

  “Why would you need an excuse?”

  His smirk twitches and turns into a frown, his eyes flitting over me. I wish I could reach behind those startling eyes and into his mind, gain access to his thoughts and learn what he thinks, what he feels when he gazes at me.

  “Stop changing the subject,” he says, with a teasing note in his voice. “You were going to tell me who this Jerry motherfucker is.”

  I want to press on. Excuse, to see me? So you wanted to see me? So you needed to see me?

  But I can tell he’s not going to quit until I give him what he wants.

  That’s fine by me.

  I just wish he wanted more than to talk about Jerry freaking Schmidt.

  “Jerry’s a sick pervert I was nice to once upon a time.” I sigh, squeezing my hands together tightly. “When I was sixteen, the orphanage arranged for us to go to a summer camp.”

  I see his face twitch at the word orphanage, but he doesn’t press me for any more details. That’s good because I don’t want to think about the ocean and the screaming and the guilt, the guilt that never quits, never takes a break.

  “It was pretty good, you know, getting away for the summer. I’ve always been pretty shy, or maybe just comfortable in my own company… I don’t know. But anyway, there was this one staff member there, Jerry. He was in charge of all the events for the camp and he arranged for me to have access to the art room outside of scheduled hours.”

  I break off, sipping water so I can delay the inevitable.

  Zack looks at me like nobody else ever has. His complete attention is on me, leaning forward as though he could close the short distance between us with one feral charge.

  And then he’d grab my legs hard, squeezing so my sex tingled with even more imperative want, and then, and then…

  But I can’t let my mind skip off to silly places.

  “He asked me to paint him, and I agreed, thinking it was going to be fun. But then he…”

  “It’s okay,” Zack says, voice fierce. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was so sick. He exposed himself and started taunting me with it, with himself. He said I should paint that. I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do. So I did what he said. I painted him… like that. And then afterward he started to cry and he said he loved me, that he’d loved me the second I arrived at the camp. He said we were going to get married and be together forever. It was so sick, so wrong. I hated it and I tried my best to avoid him for the rest of the camp.”

  “But it didn’t end with the camp.” Zack’s words tremble, shiver like they might boil up and erupt out of him.

  I shake my head. “He started popping up outside my school. I ignored him. And then he started leaving me notes. I ignored them too. Finally, he got angry and started leaving horrible things in my locker, even in my bedroom at the orphanage. When I turned eighteen, I moved to the other side of the city, into a house share.”

  “But he found you.”

  I paw at my cheeks, at the tears which never do any good but insist on springing up anyway. “He always finds me. Last time, I left my apartment in the middle of the night and left a phony forwarding address. I was hoping to throw him off.”

  Zack clenches his fists, his temples pulsing visibly. It’s like there’s a current of lava running beneath the surface of his skin, burning him up from the inside.

  “What did the police say?” he asks, barely restraining his voice.

  “They helped me get a restraining order on him. But they also warned me that it would be difficult for me to prosecute him because it was only me and him in the room at the camp. Believe it or not, he’s built up a really good reputation amongst the camp, the parents, the other kids. He only shows his true self when it’s just the two of us.”

  “Scumbag,” Zack snarls. “Fucking mongrel. I should’ve choked him out when I had the chance.”

  I warn myself not to read too much into his words.

  He’s obviously just angry at the situation, that a man would do something so twisted to a child, and not specifically because it’s me.

  He doesn’t care about me.

  “Now I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  I can’t help it. A sob cracks through my words, tears springing to my eyes.

  I collapse forward and bury my face in my hands, giving myself over the sorrow.

  Chapter Six

  Zack

  I’m torn as my woman breaks down and sobs into her hands. One part of me wants to go to her and place my hand on her shoulder, squeezing supportively so she knows I’m here and I’ll always be here.

  Another part of me wants to leap to my feet and charge out of the building, hunting up and down the streets just in case this Jerry bastard is stupid enough to hang around and give me another chance to get
my hands on him. Only this time, I won’t let him go when I haul him off his feet.

  I’ll crush his pervert’s neck in my hand until he can’t remember what it feels like to breathe properly.

  Zoey’s words bounce around my head.

  When she told me about how Jerry said they belonged together, they were going to get married, I couldn’t help but think that’s how I feel about her.

  How is she going to react if I unload all of this onto her, if I share my true desires with her? Will she brand me the same as Jerry?

  Rare indecision moves through me, flurrying through my gut like poison.

  But in the end, there’s no way I can just sit here as she collapses into heartache.

  I move across the room and stand over her, reaching down and placing my hand on her back. I haven’t got much experience with crying women – any, really – so I do my best.

  I rub her back in small motions, hoping this can somehow take some of the pain away. She shudders and I think she wants me to stop. But then she reaches up and grips onto my hand.

  The predator in me snarls at the closeness, willing me to guide her hand to my manhood, to stroke it up and down my swollen length so she can feel how primal my need for her is. I want her to feel my body’s hunger, my seed’s desire to surge up inside of her and make a home in her womb.

  I beat back the instinct, warning myself this isn’t about that…

  Fuck, what sort of a monster would I be if I leaped on her now, like every pulsing instinct inside of me is willing me to do?

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, even if it’s not even close to okay. It’s all I can think to say. “I won’t let him hurt you. I swear.”

  She laughs through her sob, sitting up and turning her face so her gorgeous hair comes to rest over her forehead. I can’t help it. I reach out and brush it away, tucking it behind her ear.

  She tilts her head at the movement, as though seeking to make our touch last longer. There’s something so damn intimate about the gesture.