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Peter turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Silence greeted him inside the house, dark and heavy on every surface.
After locking the door, he tipped his head back and blew out a relieved breath - air that seemed trapped inside him for the past three months. It might as well have been because every day away from Rose felt like a struggle to breathe.
He stayed inert for a moment longer, gathering his strength. The job was left outside, but its consequences had followed him inside. His latest assignment and the long journey back home were catching up to him. Heavier than the exhaustion was the pain. That constant occupational hazard.
Peter let his bag slip from one shoulder and it hit the floor with a dull thud. So much for keeping quiet. He winced, both from the noise and the shift in balance that sent a spasm through his muscles.
Being a night agent wasn’t designed to be easy, or to let him clock out at the end of the shift and go home to have dinner with Rose every night. They spent long stretches apart. Miles of land, sometimes ocean, lay between them for weeks on end without even a phone call as proof of life.
There was a time when this had driven them apart. Peter had nearly lost her for good then, but by a higher power or sheer luck, she had taken him back.
They’d found each other again almost two years ago, as if some inevitable fate had tugged at the string binding them together.
Repairing what was broken hadn’t been easy. They had learned how to compromise on their separate ambitions to build a life together even if it wasn’t always in sync.
Patience and honesty became the foundation of their relationship.
The dangers around him were still real, but that only made the reward of coming home all the sweeter. He clung to every moment with her because those were all that sustained him when they were apart.
The woman he loved was only a floor away now.
Peter pushed forward, jaw tensing with the motion, and trudged to the stairs. The pull toward Rose was almost overwhelming. So was the awareness of his condition.
He kept one hand on the railing and breathed slowly with each step. At the top, he veered left and nearly stumbled down.
A blur had shot out from the bedroom, low to the ground and straight to his legs to weave around them. Peter staggered and pain exploded along his side when he steadied himself against the wall. His eyes squeezed shut and a curse hissed out with the breath that was knocked out of him.
The ginger cat circled his legs, tail held high, purring with excitement at his return. Utterly oblivious to his small lethal force.
“Of course you’d be the one to finish me off, you little bugger,” Peter muttered, more amused than angry. The reply came as a head bump against his ankle.
They had found him frightened and starving under the backyard bushes a couple of months ago. After a can of tuna, a lot of patience and a few scratches, Rose had lured him inside, clean and fed.
Peter had kept his distance at first. He’d always preferred dogs and the sly nature of cats had never quite earned his trust.
To his reluctant amusement, Rose loved to point out all the ways he and the cat were alike. Their matching torn ears didn’t help. The cat’s ear was probably ragged from a fight, while Peter’s was a souvenir from a bullet that had zipped a little too close to his head.
But the creature’s affection had been relentless. Before Peter realized, the cat had claimed a place in his heart and even in his sweaters. He followed him around the house and snuggled in their bed at night. There was comfort in knowing Rose wasn’t entirely alone when duty called him away.
This time, Peter couldn’t bend down and run his fingers through the soft orange fur. Instead, he ignored the persistent furry obstacle and dragged his feet for another stretch toward the bedroom.
He paused at the door, gathering what little strength he had left, then went inside.
The room was engulfed in near darkness, lit only by silver strips of moonlight filtering through the curtains. The only noise was the steady rhythm of her breathing. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and when they did, his chest tightened for an entirely different reason.
Rose was curled on his side of the bed, wrapped around his pillow as if it were a substitute for him. She didn’t stir. Her sleep was heavy enough to miss a storm or an intruder in the house. The thought unsettled him.
Carefully, Peter kicked off his shoes and worked the t-shirt over his shoulders, trying not to aggravate his ribs. His stiff and uncooperative arm wasn’t very helpful.
The rustling sheets caught his attention. Rose’s grip on the pillow loosened before she rolled to the other side and settled again with a sleepy murmur that was more feeling than words.
Peter froze for a second, then resumed undressing. He had to stop more than once, close his eyes and wait for the throb to recede. By the time he had stripped down to his boxers, his breathing was uneven again.
He rubbed his side in a pathetic attempt to soothe the discomfort before easing himself down to the bed.
Rose stirred when he drew closer and they made a familiar intimate dance in the cover of darkness. Peter slid an arm around her waist, fitting into the space that belonged to him. She instinctively melded into him as he held her from behind.
He lowered his face to her neck and breathed her in. The warmth of her presence and her scent wrapped around him, luring him into a relaxed state of mind.
Her breathing changed, just slightly, her back pressed more firmly to his chest. The pressure increase sent a muted ache through him.
When Rose exhaled his name in a drawn-out moan, his eyes widened in instant recognition. His heart jolted and his arm tightened around her. Any trace of sleep vanished from his mind.
Peter's mouth hung in shock as he considered turning on the light to watch her have a sex dream about him when he was this close. His memory was all too eager to compensate for the lack of clarity. To him, Rose was a glorious sight, even without seeing her.
The way she pushed back into him awoke his body and he was suddenly torn between allowing the dream to unfold or turning it into reality.
Another moan followed after her legs pressed together as if trying to relieve the pressure in between. A surge of arousal burned through his veins, blood rushed down, and his boxers became uncomfortably tight against the perfect curve of her ass.
He drew a trail of kisses along her neck, making her whimper and rub harder against him. Her hand searched blindly for his arm where it wrapped around her.
“Mmm… is this a dream?” Rose asked, voice rough and warm from sleep.
A smile tugged at his lips. He moved his mouth near her ear. “No, I’m really here. Got an early flight.”
“Took you long enough this time.” Rose sighed and turned her head back toward him.
The contact between their bodies increased and he had to steady himself against the flood of desire that came with it.
Despite his half-hearted effort to exercise restraint, he followed her lead when she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tentative while he decided how far to go and how much to let himself want more without outpacing her comfort.
She made it harder to hold back by scratching her fingers over his week-old beard and drawing him closer with a firm grip at the nape of his neck. Tilting his head, he deepened the kiss. The angle pulled a sharp protest from his side.
With her hand, Rose guided his own under her tank top and let out a gasp when he cupped her breast in a way that filled his hand just right. Her breath hitched and she arched into his grasp when he pinched her nipple.
All he wanted to give her was soul-shaking gratification, one that wasn’t a dream. His hand trailed down her belly, the light touch drawing goosebumps across her skin. At the same time, he nuzzled her neck and sucked the pulse behind her ear.
His hand slipped under the waistband of her shorts and when his fingers traced the lace trim of her panties, Rose finally found her voice to urge him on.
In the darkness, the subtle inflections of her voice became his only guidance. Her body stirred fully awake, soft and pliable under his touch. Peter ground more urgently into her as her hips jerked against the slick circular motion of his fingers between her legs.
Her hand reached out for the bedside lamp. He should’ve anticipated it. Rose liked to see him, to have all her senses attuned to him when they made love. Especially after so long apart.
“No!” Peter seized her wrist just before light could expose his injury. The sudden motion sent a sting up his arm. “It’s… more fun in the dark,” he huffed out after swallowing the agony trapped in his throat.
A snort left her and he could almost picture the confused look that came with it. For a second, he thought she might question his sanity, but instead she simply relaxed against his chest.
Peter drew her hand to him, kissing it to soften his abrupt reaction. The engagement ring glinted in the moonlight and he grinned proudly against her palm.
Before he left, Rose had accepted his proposal in the heart of the woods where their cabin stood. He couldn't wait to be hers in every sense and purpose.
Months after the proposal, it continued to amaze him that she believed he was good enough to bind herself to him in a deeper kind of belonging.
Her lips found his by instinct, she shifted onto her back and he went with her. Even that light contact made him tense for a heartbeat before he adjusted his position.
Rose opened herself to him like a flower blossoming in spring.
Mindful to avoid attention to the way his body resisted movement, he settled between her legs. She wrapped them around his waist, nestling him closer, and locked both arms behind his neck.
Their tongues brushed together eagerly, moans caught between their lips. Months apart had a way of unraveling her patience and their kisses moved in waves that deepened, softened, then deepened again to quench the built up longing.
Rose’s hands slid along his back while reacquainting herself with him. Peter leaned further, but never quite let his weight rest on her. One arm stayed braced beside her, while the other wandered, tracing her luscious curves with a hungry hand. His touch was rather clumsy, so unlike his usual competent self. Every time he tried to set a faster rhythm, the injury barked a reminder of its presence.
And yet, the intensity of her reactions made it easy to mask the discomfort. Then her hand pressed a little too firmly on his shoulder and flaring agony burst out. A straggled grunt slipped out before he could stop it.
Peter pulled back to catch his breath. His jaw tightened as he forced the pain back down.
“You okay?” Rose asked with concern in her tone.
“Yeah,” he confirmed quickly, then brushed his nose lightly along her cheek while steading his breathing.
It took more than his usual strength, yet he soldiered on. Every movement risked giving him away. He leaned in and captured her waiting lips.
Rose drew her knees higher, pressing them to his sides as her hips sprung up to meet his. Peter’s mouth devoured the desperate groan that came out the back of her throat when their centers collided harder, separated only by thin layers of fabric. That seemed to unleash a different response from him, something primal that drove him to hitch her leg higher over his hip and thrust into her.
Another bout of agony flared under his ribs. The sound that followed had nothing to do with pleasure. Peter groaned while his entire body shuddered. His vision exploded with bright spots.
“What's wrong?” Came her alarmed plea.
A weak, stuttered 'nothing' formed on his lips, barely passed them. Rose pushed against his chest, got some resistance, but persisted until he rolled onto his back. Air wheezed out of his lungs as he clutched his right side.
The outline of her fingers fumbled for the lamp. Light filled the room a moment later and all pleasure-induced euphoria evaporated into the air.
The sudden brightness made him flinch. Peter pushed himself upright against the headboard and dragged both hands over his face to postpone the inevitable questions. A muffled grunt passed between his fingers as he breathed through the discomfort, then let his hands fall on his lap.
Her panicked expression awaited his attention. The way he twisted his mouth into a reassuring smile did nothing to calm her. But at least he had the decency to look guilty.
For someone who always had plenty to say, words seemed to have deserted her. Instead, Rose examined every inch of his body. Her hand curled under his chin, tilting his face to her.
She traced her fingers along the cut near his hairline, drifted over the scrapes on his cheek, pausing briefly on his bruised shoulder. They wandered lower to the far worse injury decorating his freckle-sprinkled skin.
Red, blue and purple blotches formed a bruise that bloomed unevenly. It ran from hip to ribs, covering a large area that completely surrounded an old scar. Her fingers lingered there lightly, afraid to hurt him more.
Peter was still in his prime. At least in theory. But the years as a night agent were wearing his body down fast. There were pains and strains a man in his mid-thirties shouldn’t feel. His body was a landscape of scars, old and new. Too many to count. Most of them connected to memories he wished to forget.
To Rose, they were the physical representation of all the times she could’ve lost him. She had memorized every wound that left a mark on his body. Knew why, how and when they happened.
The light in her eyes dimmed with sadness.
This was what he’d been trying to avoid all along. Afflicted as he was, what troubled him the most was the sorrow in her eyes.
Once again, his good intentions failed. He should’ve known better than to hide the injury. Yet, protecting her was still his top priority. But this was too serious to brush aside and add to the vast list of bruises, concussions and wounds that marked his life. Worse still, the fact that he hid it seemed to stir old insecurities in her.
Rose sat back facing him, hands retreating into her lap. The raised eyebrows asked the question her mouth hadn't yet and Peter answered even before she could.
“I got into a fight with gravity,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile in return.
“Peter!”
The whiplash of her warning wiped the humor from his face at once. He sighed. “It was just an awkward fall, not a big deal.”
“From where exactly?” Rose hissed in a tone that called in the promise he’d made.
No lies for the sake of her comfort. Nothing but the truth. Still, some moments made that promise harder to keep. Like this one.
Most of what Peter did, or where he went, was bound by rules he shouldn’t break. Close calls like the one he just survived, he usually carried on his own a little longer. By holding back, he spared her unnecessary worry until those moments lost their edge.
But he always came back to her with the truth because she wasn’t just any person waiting for him at home. Rose gave meaning to his choices, dangerous as they were.
She was the love of his life. His best friend. And soon his wife too. Life without this kind of honesty between them wasn’t something he was willing to risk again.
“From the third floor of a building,” Peter tentatively explained, “there was… an explosion before that. I landed on my side.”
Rose huffed in shock and folded both arms across her chest, prompting her breasts to swell out of her flimsy tank top. His gaze drifted to them and a flush crawled up his cheeks. It took some effort to pull his focus away from her enticing curves, but he owed her the truth first. At least as much of it as he could safely give at the moment.
As soon as they met, Peter had discovered a particular temperament feature in her. Rose was extremely compassionate with those she loved and the expression of her concern often came out ferociously, not exclusively verbal.
Their eyes locked as he searched for words to calm the irritation and concern swallowing her lovely ones.
“I’m fine,” Peter said, only to betray himself with a sharp wince after shifting his position. “I got checked out before coming home. There’s no internal damage or fractures. Just bruised ribs and a messed-up shoulder.”
All major organs were intact, nothing worse than strained muscle and tendons. Plenty of bruising to pair. Peter told her as much, calmly as possible. Her eyebrows drew together while she processed the information in an effort to steady the storm of emotions. It didn’t quite work as he’d hoped.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Rose asked in a thunder of shouted words. Anger flared within her, explosive like a firecracker, making him flinch.
“I was going to…”
“When?” Rose fired back, throwing her hands up in the air. “After I made it worse by pouncing on you like a cat in heat?”
“Okay, but in my defense, you were very distracting and it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring it up.” Peter let out an awkward laugh, but she didn’t join in, fixing him with a glare instead.
He hated being on the receiving end of that look. Even after staring down the barrel of a gun more than once, her serious stares were infinitely more intimidating.
“I didn’t want you to worry. What good would it have done when you couldn’t do anything except stress about it?” Peter pressed more carefully this time.
“That’s not the point!” Rose forged ahead, her argument picking up steam. “We’re in a relationship, Peter. I deserve to know when something bad happens. At least so I can help once you’re back.”
He nodded. “I get that.”
“Do you?” She lifted her stubborn chin in challenge. “Because you’re not the one waiting here and worrying about you getting hurt or-” she cut herself off, swallowing back the next words.
In his absence, Peter had assumed she would be able to compartmentalize her feelings. Maybe tell herself lies to keep the concern at bay. Otherwise, the fear of losing him would torment her days alone.
He’d been so wrong. She had just suffered in silence to spare him.
“Rose…”
“I’m not asking you to quit,” she added quickly, almost tripping over the words in the rush to clarify their meaning. “I'll never ask that. I know how important your work is. But seeing you like this…” Her eyes flickered over the bruises. “It hurts me too. And knowing it’s going to happen again and again...” Her voice cracked and her stare became unfocused.
That’s what he struggled with the most. Rose was technically safe and that was all he ever wanted, yet it didn’t protect her from the risks he took to save the country.
The injuries weren’t his alone. Every cut, bruise and broken bone affected her as well. The anguish of seeing him hurt, the way her smile faltered when he came home with a new wound, or an old one ached, was an extension of his own pain too.
Her honesty blew open a door in his mind that had been ajar for a while. A deeply intrusive thought crept in, making him question how long he could do this job, or how many more times he could tempt fate before not coming back to her at all.
It was getting harder to ignore the growing toll – both mentally and physically. Peter couldn't keep doing this to himself for much longer, let alone her. Maybe it was time to slow down, take fewer missions. Or quit night action altogether and have the normal life they both deserved, instead of trying to find balance in unpredictable conditions.
But that was a decision for another time.
Peter reached for her hand, tugged her closer until the space between them disappeared and she sat right beside him. He kissed her cheek, catching the lonely tear that leaked from the corner of her eye.
“Hey, I made it back. I’m just a little beat up, that’s all.”
He then moved to her lips, as if testing the temperature of her emotions. They seemed to have cooled down considerably because she reciprocated the kiss with equal passion.
“All I really need to feel better is you,” Peter murmured, brushing her nose with his. “Even if you’re mad at me.” Another kiss. “I missed you so much.”
Whatever pain he felt was not enough to deny himself the joy of feeling her intimately again.
Peter kissed all her senses away, turning her lips red with his yearning. Rose caught the intent and yielded into his touch, drawing closer until her curves fit naturally against him. He guided her leg over his lap and squeezed a handful of her ass.
That pulled her back, breathing out unevenly. “I don't want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I trust you,” Peter assured her before lunging for her mouth again. In her kiss he tasted relief that he had made it home safely and above all, an abundance of love.
Using her body as leverage, Rose guided him flat against the mattress. Then, with an efficiency that came naturally to her, she removed her top, shorts and underwear.
The corner of her mouth quirked upwards and Peter knew he was in for a treat. A painfully amazing one.
In one fluid motion, Rose straddled his lap and pinned him down. She rolled her hips along the strained fabric of his boxers and he shuddered from the unexpected mixture of pain and pleasure. He grabbed her waist, pulling her harder against him, and they both moaned each other’s names.
His vision was flooded by her beautiful face when she leaned down. Her lips hovered inches above his, but instead of returning to his mouth, they began a trail of kisses over his scrapped cheek, slowly along his jawline, then further down his neck.
Focusing on his chest, Rose lavished attention over his heart with several kisses that seemed to convey her admiration for his courage.
The tip of her tongue teased his nipple and he couldn’t help but gasp loudly.
Just like on their first intimate night together, Rose touched him with intuitive ownership, knowing where to press to make him pant, where to kiss to make him melt beneath her, how to make him forget every coherent thought.
The weight of her breasts slid against his chest as she continued a slow path downwards with her mouth and hands, reacquainting herself with portions of him she hadn’t touched in months.
In this lengthy tactile exploration, her fingers were much lighter on the bruised skin. The flesh across his ribs was severely swollen and tender, with a blend of colors that stood out on his pale skin. His side involuntarily flinched under her lips, gentle as they were, and he lifted his head from the pillow to look at her.
“Am I hurting you?” Rose asked in an alarmed tone.
In a show of courage, Peter shook his head and settled back down, drawing a deep breath as he fully surrendered to her. That seemed to have settled her fears because she resumed tracing one particular scar, the one she had stitched years ago.
Rose followed the ridges and slopes of his abdomen and all he felt were her fingers, her mouth, her tongue on his skin, kissing and soothing with reverse and care.
To his surprise, she bypassed the area that needed attention the most, moving instead to his thighs and venturing closer to where a gunshot had torn his skin. The scar was oddly textured, but she accepted this imperfection as a testament to his bravery rather than a grotesque feature.
Then, at last, her fingers hooked around the waistband of his boxers, removing them completely, and he finally sprung to freedom.
His pulse skyrocketed when her mouth descended on him. The bolt of electricity that shot from there to his brain once she started sucking was nearly blinding. A string of curses followed. Peter cradled the back of her head and bucked his hips, seeking more of her warm mouth.
He glanced down, taking in her closed eyes, flushed cheeks and low humming. A groan rumbled in his throat at the sight of her sharing in his own pleasure.
This state of pure rapture made him briefly forget any suffering – the blast that had hurled him into the air, the concrete that caught his almost lifeless body. Nearly forgot his own name, such was the bliss she was pulling from him.
Rose worked him to the very edge then stopped with a grin full of mischief. The interruption made him groan again.
This was her revenge. Slow, torturous, pleasurable. Painful in the best way. Served him right for trying to keep a secret from her.
“No more teasing,” Peter growled impatiently.
Then he begged shamelessly, with actual incoherent words that Rose somehow understood because she crawled up and straddled him again to deliver the kind of satisfaction they both needed.
Their eyes met, dark and soft in the lamp light, and she took all of him into her tight warmth.
She leaned down, cupped his face with both hands and planted a heated kiss on him.
“Welcome home,” Rose whispered before straightening above him, ready to take control.
Such heartening words were enough to dull the pain until it barely registered. His attention narrowed entirely on her. On the way she rocked against him with familiar ease, how her breasts bounced with every move. The way her head tilted back occasionally with a cascade of black hair as she panted.
Peter was transfixed by her beauty. How lucky was he to be in love with her and even more to have this feeling returned in kind.
She watched him through hooded eyes. Even lost in her own pleasure, she was still gauging how much he could take without hurting.
At first, he met her with measured thrusts while guiding her hips, which picked up speed once they found a comfortable rhythm. His skin burned hot as a furnace and a fine sheen of sweat clung to their skins. Air left their lungs in matching gasps.
Rose cupped one breast and kneaded it slowly as if compensating for what he couldn’t quite do. The band around her finger was in full display and the sight of her wearing nothing but the engagement ring triggered his most primal instinct.
Peter tried to push up, desperate to indulge on every inch of her flesh with the same eagerness he’d always shown. The effort faltered halfway though. Before he could try again, she pushed him back down with a firm hand on his chest.
A twinge of shame settled in. It felt unfair to stay passive without being able to offer as much pleasure in return because of limited movement.
But she didn’t seem to mind. Evidence of her enjoyment was all over the soft curve of her smile and the cadence of her moans building up like waves. The favorite soundtrack of his life.
Any lingering hesitation dissolved and he tightened his grip around her hips, thrusting up with renewed urgency.
Her next words were among the most powerful, ego inflating, ones any man could ever hear.
“I’m so close, Peter…,” Rose breathed out urgently.
They fueled him with primitive pride for being the only of his kind to make her lose control with such abandon. This was her way of asking for an extra incentive to push her past the threshold of pleasure. And because they were so in tune in this intimate dialogue, he knew how to respond.
His thumb stroked her most sensitive spot and her whole body vibrated. Her mouth fell open, loud moans rushed out as she pulsed around him. The most divine vision of heaven above him.
Peter felt every twitch in her body until they became his own while he chased his release after hers.
His entire soul seemed to pour out of him at once. All pain ceased after an intense rush of pleasure sedated every cell in his body.
A moment later, Rose fell beside him, hair spreading all over her pillow. Without makeup, the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks were fully exposed. Her face glowed blissfully with a smile. Both gasped for air, laughing like idiots.
He blew a long breath past his lips and what little tension remained in his muscles slipped away.
Rose curled around him, bringing the sheet up to cover them both, then laid her head on his chest. He pressed a grateful kiss to her forehead and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she began tracing lazy patterns over his skin.
A pleased smirk curved the edge of his lips. “I feel healed already.”
Her head shot up and her eyes were ablaze once more. A finger came threateningly close to his face. “You better tell me next time or there will be hell to pay.”
“Understood, ma’am," he replied, still grinning back at her.
A grumbling noise formed in the back of her throat. “I mean it, Peter. You’ll be sleeping on the couch,” she stated, then added more firmly, “without sex!”
Peter nodded quickly. No doubt she’d follow through with her revenge. He could only hope there wouldn’t be a next time.
After switching off the light, Rose returned her head to his chest and nestled comfortably into his good side. A perfect fit.
A moon-drenched silence followed, her breathing evened out slowly.
Before Peter slipped under, his final thoughts circled around the years that went by without anyone showing real concern for him. All that time had made him used to carrying pain alone.
Now he finally had someone worth fighting like hell to come back to. Waiting for him with a gentle hand to heal all his wounds.