Jack Wilder - The Missionary

“Did you? Feel that stuff?” Wren asked, sounding shaken.

“Shit yeah. Of course. I wanted to puke afterward. I couldn’t sleep for weeks, seeing his face every time I closed my eyes. That mission, those first kills? I’ll never forget them. Not for as long as I live. I don’t really remember most of the others, but you never forget the first man you kill.”

Wren didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, it was in a tiny whisper. “Have you killed a lot of people?”

Stone just nodded. “Too many.”

“And today. You killed people today. For me.”

He pulled her against him. “Yeah. And there will probably be more before we’re safe.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on talking about this.”

“It’s inevitable. You’ve seen some awful shit. Experienced hell.” He touched her cheek with the knuckle of his forefinger. “At least you’re with me, now. Safe. And you weren’t raped.”

“I saw it, though. I saw…girls. A lot of them. Being…used. And that was almost me. If you hadn’t—”

“But I did. I’ve got you.”

Wren burrowed against him, relaxing into him, slipping a hand across his chest and holding him. “Thank you, Stone. Thank you, so much.”

Stone felt his heart constrict and expand. She sounded so vulnerable. Felt so right, in his arms like this. “Of course, babe.”

“What’s your real name?”

Stone sighed. “I was born George Alexander Pressfield the third. My grandfather was the captain of an aircraft carrier in World War II, and my father commanded a PT boat during Vietnam. My great-grandfather was in the Navy too. So that makes me a fourth-generation Navy brat.”

“George? Really?” Wren sounded amused.

He pulled back and glared down at her. “Is that funny to you? Is it funny that I’m George the third?”

She nodded, laughing now. “Yes! It is funny, actually. George. Little Georgie.”

Stone growled. “That’s why I go by Stone. I was never so glad for a nickname in all my life.”

“Maybe I’ll call you George from now on,” Wren suggested.

“You better not.”

“Sensitive much?”

“I hate that name. I’ve always hated that name. Even in elementary school, I would introduce myself as Alex. I actually went by Alex until I got the nickname Stone.” He laughed. “I refused to answer to anyone unless they called me Alex. I got detention almost every day for the first half of third grade because my teacher refused to call me anything but George. Eventually we compromised on ‘Mr. Pressfield.’”

Wren shifted against him, and now the humor was gone from her eyes. In its place something else, something hot and desperate and alluring. “So you won’t answer if I call you Georgie? Even if we’re alone?”

Stone shook his head. “Nope.”

She moved even closer, and now she was pressed against him, almost lying on top of him. Her legs were warm against his. “I like Georgie. It’s cute.”

“I’m a Navy SEAL. I don’t do cute.”

“Am I cute?”

Stone sighed. “Wren, are you sure this is—”

“You kissed me in the lobby,” Wren cut in. “You can’t pretend it didn’t mean something to you. It did for me. And I saw your eyes. I’m learning to read you, you know.”

“Wren—”

“You said you don’t do cute. Well, what about me?”

“You’re not cute,” Stone growled. “You’re beautiful. So much more than beautiful. You’re strong. You’re tough. You’re sweet. And you’re sexy.”

Wren’s face split into a smile, but it quickly faded into seriousness. “Will you kiss me again? Please?”

Stone closed his eyes briefly. “I’m not sure this is the best time or place.”

“I’m not asking for anything else. Just a kiss.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just a kiss.’”

“Sure there is.”

“Not with me, there’s not.” He had to look away from her, away from her desire-hot eyes. “You’ve been through hell. We’re both hurt and filthy. And now all of a sudden we’re gonna kiss?”

“This isn’t sudden, Stone. I’ve wanted you to kiss me…for so long. For like—since the first time I met you. Every time we played guitar, I would have to make myself focus on the music instead of kissing you.”

Stone exhaled noisily. “But you’ve seen what I do. What I am. And you’re so sweet, so kind. So innocent.”

She pushed away from him angrily. “I’m not innocent. I’m not a virgin. And with everything I’ve been through over the last few days, I’m even less innocent. I know what I want. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. And you know it, too. We talked about this before we left for Manila.”

Stone scrubbed his face. “Dammit. I don’t even know…I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how you feel. Tell me what you’re thinking. Do you feel the same way? Do you really just see me as just a friend? Or just a student? If so, I’ll drop this. But I don’t think you do. I think there’s more.” Her hand, till now resting on his chest, slid upward, touched his jaw.

Stone swallowed hard. “Yeah, there’s more.”

“So what do you want to do about that?”

Her hand on his jaw was soft and delicate and warm. It made it hard for him to think. “I’m not sure it’s right to do anything about it. I—I’m not…I’m not good. For…you.”

Wren didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him, into him. “I think your problem is you don’t think you’re good, full stop.”

“I’m not.”

“What if I don’t agree, and don’t care if you are or aren’t?”

“You should.”

She groaned in frustration, rolling away from him. “God, you’re so stubborn.”

“Wren, it’s not a matter of desire. That’s exactly the problem. I do desire. I just—I’m not sure it’s okay to let it happen.”

“Shouldn’t I have some say in that?” She wasn’t turning back to him.

“Maybe. But…right now?”

“All I wanted was another kiss. Just…to see how it felt again. To…distract myself.”

“Distract yourself from what?”

She finally rolled back to face him, and her eyes were wet. “All this. Everything. Being here, in Manila. I…can’t let myself cry about it, or I won’t stop. And…the withdrawal is driving me crazy. I hurt. I’m tired. I’m scared. And I can’t even begin to think about the things I’ve seen. Those girls getting raped. Almost being sold for sex myself. Men being killed in front of me. You getting shot. I just…I want to pretend, even for thirty fucking seconds, that it’s just you and me in a hotel room, alone. Nothing else to deal with. Is that so wrong?” She wiped her eyes with both hands. “I just…I want to feel something else.”

Stone let go, then. He couldn’t help but draw her to him, wrap her in his arms. This time, she turned her face up, eyes closed, and he let it happen. He let his lips touch hers, gently, gently. Hesitantly.

He’d wanted it too, after all. Ever since the first time he’d walked in to his high school buddy Nick’s church and saw her for the first time. Now here she was, basically begging him, and making a pretty damn good case for why it was okay to do this. To kiss her like this.

It was magical. The macho guy in Stone hated how girly that sounded in his head. But it was the truth. All the girls he’d kissed, on base and off, on deployment and on leave, none of them compared to the way this kiss felt.

Her lips touched his, and at first they merely touched. Soft, wet, and warm. And then her mouth moved, and she was kissing him, moving her lips against his, seeking, searching, opening, and he wanted more. He let his tongue slip out and she tasted it with her own. Her palm touched his face, lay flat against his cheek and she was writhing against him, lost in the kiss.