When I open my eyes he’s above me, waiting for me to come back to reality. I bite my lip as I feel the tip of his dick brush against my sensitive clit. I spread my legs and press the heels of my feet on his ass, pushing him into me. His jaw is tight and he seems to be fighting his own needs. I push again but he’s so much stronger than me, so he barely moves.

“Please, fuck me,” I beg softly.

“I’m not going to fuck you this time,” he says in a hushed tone. “I’m going to go slow.” He leans down and kisses me deeply, swirling his tongue with mine as I moan, begging for more. “I’m going to show you how sexy and irresistible you are, how you test my patience.” He nips at my ear and then runs his tongue over where he just bit. “Then I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

I rub my hand against his rough cheek. Once his eyes meet mine I groan and say, “Then do it already.”

His eyes blaze as he slowly fills me, stretching me and then pulling out fully. He enters me again and my eyes are heavy-lidded as he stares through to my soul. With each thrust he’s tearing me apart and then putting me back together again.

Quickly, he flips our positions so I’m on top. I push against him, grinding down and enjoying the intense fullness while he holds my hips and sets the pace. I lean back, bringing him impossibly deeper. He rubs his thumb on my clit and I lose my breath as the force of my sudden orgasm rips me apart. My body takes over, riding him harder, and I hear Jackson groan as he orgasms, both of us riding out the bliss together.

I’m spent.

Completely and totally useless.

I’m lying against his chest, still unable to catch my breath. He runs his fingers lightly against my back before shifting me to go clean up. I groan and stretch as my muscles loosen from the aftermath of our intense sex session. The tightness reminds me of the obstacle course and how much my body ached afterward. But this is the kind of physical workout I welcome.

Jackson returns and flops on his stomach, giving me a view of his perfect ass. He really is magnificent. I kind of want to pinch myself—surely this can’t be real. He turns his head toward me with a smile and I place my hand on his back. I’ve never gotten a good look at the art on his shoulder. It’s really remarkable, so intricate, and has so many different parts to it. In the center are the bones of a frog. Its body wraps around from the front of his shoulder and ends with the head facing down on his back. In the frog’s hands is the trident of Poseidon, only the three spears of the trident aren’t spears, they’re names. Brian, Fernando, and Devon are written in an elegant script and the number four serves as the handle. It’s surrounded by black tribal ink. My finger grazes the frog and the labyrinth of tribal markings around it. Below it is the most beautiful quote.

We have this hope as an anchor for our soul, firm and secure. – Hebrews 6:19

It’s profound and speaks to my heart. There’s meaning behind each word. Hope is something we all have, and it’s often the only thing we can grasp when our world is shattering. I hoped for my father to return. I hoped for Neil to be faithful. Neither of those things happened, but that hope is what kept me going every day.

Jackson rolls and faces me with sad eyes, so different from just moments ago. I reach up, placing my hand on his heart, and he pulls me in, close enough so I can see the front of the tattoo. “What does your tattoo mean?” I feel him tense.

“It’s the tattoo you get when you lose someone on the team,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Is that the loss you’ve mentioned?”

“Some,” he replies and laces his fingers with mine, holding our clasped hands between us.

I want to push him to tell me. I want him to share with me—more like I want him to want to tell me. I’m just not sure I should try to force it.

“Why a frog?” My curiosity gets the best of me. I don’t understand some of his world.

“SEALs are referred to as Frogmen.” He smiles and squeezes my hand gently. His eyes are warm and he continues on, “I got that tattoo to remember my three friends who died on a mission.”

My heart swells that he’s opening up, but aches for the pain of his loss. “I’m so sorry.”

He removes his hand from mine and wraps his arm around my middle. I scoot closer and return his hug, placing a small kiss on his chest. My mind begins to wander as the silence persists. Do I push again?

Jackson takes a deep breath and begins to speak. His voice is low, pain threading through his words. “It’s my fault.”

Pulling back, I look in his eyes. The agony there is evident. “What’s your fault?”

Jackson struggles to hide his emotions, but I watch each one play like a movie—sadness, anger, guilt, hatred—before his expression goes void. “Their deaths—I was in charge of the mission.”

“Jackson, I doubt that,” I say softly, hoping he’ll hear the disbelief in my voice.

He tugs me back against his chest. I’m not sure if he’s done talking or if he wants to hide from me. Giving him what he’s silently requesting, I wrap my arm around him and stay quiet.

Right as I’m starting to drift to sleep, feeling safe and content in his arms, I hear his deep voice. “When we were in Iraq, we got into some heavy firefight. I was in command of my team.” He pauses and runs his fingers up and down my spine methodically.

I look up and his eyes are closed tight as if he’s fighting an internal war. Every part of him is rigid and tense. I bring my hand to his face, brushing my thumb across his cheek. “Hey,” I whisper.

His eyes are vacant as he speaks. “There were six of us and we had bad intel. Something wasn’t sitting right, but I had my orders.” He takes a deep breath and his voice is distant. “So we deviated a little, hoping it would give us the element of surprise. I split the team in half. Mark, Aaron, and I took to the left.” He pauses again and I watch as pain lances through his features. Every single bone in my body is aching for him, but I stay still and quiet as I wait for him to go on.

“Brian, Fernando, and Devon took to the right of the village. I knew something was wrong. I had that sinking feeling but we didn’t have a choice. We had to fucking go and do our job. When we split up, it made it easier to pick us off. I heard the gunfire, but we couldn’t get to them quick enough. They were shot and killed. I was in charge—it’s on me.”

“Oh, Jackson.” I gasp and pull myself up.

I want to comfort him. I’m just not sure what to do. The pain in his voice, the torment in his eyes, it’s lashing through me. I want to take it from him, carry the burden so he’s not hurting, but he keeps going.

“By the time our extraction team got in, it was too late. They were already dead. Mark and I were both shot. Aaron was the only one who got out without getting injured. Mine was on my arm.” He points to a faint scar on his bicep. I lean over and kiss him. He smiles weakly at me, but there’s nothing but sadness in his eyes. “I carry their deaths on my shoulders.”

I can’t imagine how much the tattoo hurt, but the agony of reliving that memory while someone permanently etches it into your skin …

“I’m sure no one blames you. I mean Mark works with you and so does Aaron. Surely, they know what an amazing man you are.”

Anger flashes in his eyes at my statement, like it couldn’t be true. “They don’t need to. I blame me.” He bangs his fist on his chest. “It was my call. Their wives had to bury them, Catherine. They had to go to their funeral. They had to tell their kids that their dads would never come back again. Had we stuck together, we all would have lived.” He shuts his eyes on the memory and me.

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that if you stuck to the plan, or together, that all of you wouldn’t have been killed.” My voice is small but strong. I’m trying to give him the other side of things.