Something warm was beside him, something soft.
He grew still. His eyes closed. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
Of course he’d woken her. He always woke her when he got like this.
In fact, she was the one who had to wake him up, because he wouldn’t stop thrashing and screaming. How many years had it been now? He’d come back, put his life together. He’d found Erin. Things were good, but the nightmares wouldn’t stop. Would they ever?
Erin trembled beside him. He could feel her tremors through the mattress they shared. A strip of moonlight fell over her face. Her eyes were wide, lips tight. Fear. She was afraid of him.
His stomach clenched. “What did I do?”
She shook her head, her voice shaking only slightly when she said, “Nothing.”
A lie. “What did I do to you?”
Her hands tightened and released a twisted corner of the sheet. “You were…on me.”
Something inside him went cold. He didn’t want to believe it. But maybe that was just a sign of how fucked up he was, that he wasn’t even surprised. Angry. Furious. At himself. But not even fucking surprised. “I was hurting you?” he asked softly.
“No.” The word came out too forcefully—too false. “Not on purpose. You were… I think you were protecting me. You kept saying to stay down.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head and looked at the wall. Jesus.
He was one fucked-up soldier. What business did he have with a woman like her?
“Are you okay?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer. He ran his hands over her shoulders, her arms, assuring himself that she was put together, her body just as whole, her skin just as smooth. His dream self may have been trying to protect her, but he could have hurt her in the process. He was a brute, an animal, and she was so fragile.
“I’m fine,” she said, and at least her voice did sound more normal now.
Maybe he’d just scared her more than hurt her, but either way it was too damn close. Even if he’d been in a dream, if he’d believed that somehow he was protecting her, he’d used his body to dominate her. He could have injured her and not even known it. Or God, what if his dream self had thought of her as the enemy? He could kill her.
Snap her pretty little neck before he was even awake.
Abruptly, he stood. The master bedroom was large, but suddenly it felt suffocating. He paced away from the bed, away from her, moving to stand at the window. So many nights he’d looked out of this window, awake again, panting and sweating again.
When would the nightmares stop?
He heard the sheets rustle as Erin got out of bed.
Her footsteps were soft over the hardwood floors. And then she was behind him, her arms around his waist, her lips pressed to his back. So many nights he’d stood here, staring out the window, and so many
nights, she’d stood behind him, kissing him, making him whole again.
He knew she deserved better, deserved someone already whole, but he couldn’t give her up. Not when it seemed almost bearable with her here.
After a few minutes of stroking his chest, of pressing light kisses to his back, she said, “Come back to bed.”
He nodded. “Soon.”
“Not soon,” she said gently. “Now. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
The plan was to drive to his parents’ house tomorrow. It was a few hours away—and yet didn’t feel nearly far enough. “I’ll still be able to drive.”
She made a sound of protest. “I know you will, but I want you to feel okay too. Come on. I’ll help you relax.”
His body stirred at just the suggestion. Hell, he was half-hard whenever she was around. Now was no exception. His cock already formed a tent in his boxers. It would only grow painful if she kept touching him, kept pressing those lovely breasts against his back, kept her warm breath against his skin.
His hips actually bucked, his body blindly seeking her, an animal instinct, a need.