Seth

I hold Brooke in my arms, my brain still processing her words, the way she simply accepted my confession. *She still doesn't know everything, does she, Hellhound?* The cruel thought mocks me.

My body ignores my doubts and instinctively responds to the blonde’s nearness. My mouth finds hers, our tongues tasting and exploring each other. One of my hands moves up to her nape, grabbing her hair and pulling it gently—her moan shoots straight down to my cock.

She suddenly breaks the kiss and hides her face in the crook of my neck.
"What is it?" I ask, confused.
*Did I hurt her?* I think in horror.

It’s not the first time things have escalated between us. I remember clearly the night I made her come using only my fingers—the sound of her moans as she reached climax became the soundtrack while I relieved myself later.
But I was always the one to slow things down.
"Bee?" I call her attention, rubbing her back. "Talk to me."
"You didn’t hear it?" she mumbles against my skin.
"Hear what?"
She pulls back just enough to look at me.
"I thought you heard my stomach growl," she confesses, her gaze shifting as her cheeks flush.

I can’t hold back a laugh of relief and she smacks my arm before hiding her face again.
"Don’t laugh."
"Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at myself. You scared me, I thought I’d hurt you," I explain.
"You could never hurt me," she replies, and I ignore the feeling that she only believes that because I haven’t told her everything yet—until I hear her stomach again.
"When was the last time you ate?" I ask, regretting not having left a snack in the room for when she woke up.
"I think it was this morning, after our post-workout meal. I was going to eat at the mall with Liv, but that got pushed aside and we know what happened after. Then we came back home, though I still don’t remember how."

*Fuck.* On top of the emotional and physical exhaustion from the panic attack, the blonde hadn’t eaten since morning. My hands move down to her ass and I grip it firmly, turning and lifting her from the bed with her still in my arms. Brooke lets out a surprised squeal.
"Seth, I’m fine..." she says, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me again, sucking and biting my lower lip. "I don’t want to eat right now," her tone low, seductive.
"Bee, we have the whole night and believe me, you’re going to need your energy," I warn, squeezing her ass, and her moan in response almost makes me turn back and toss her on the bed to taste her straight from the source. *Almost.*
"Promise?" she asks, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous smile before grinding her body down, her ass meeting my cock.

I press her back against the wall, my lips claiming hers with ravenous hunger. Her legs tighten around my waist, giving me room to slide one hand up her side, under her shirt, until I reach her lacy bra. She gasps into my mouth when I squeeze her breast, my thumb teasing her nipple, making Brooke shudder in my arms.

I pull my mouth from hers, keeping her lower lip between my teeth, biting a little harder before letting go and resting my forehead against hers. Staring into her lust-clouded green eyes, my desire battles my protective instinct—but her health always comes first.
"I promise." I adjust her in my arms before opening the door.
"I’ll hold you to it," she says.
"I can’t wait to pay up." She plants a kiss on my neck, right below my ear—it feels like fire on my skin.
"I can walk," she says as we near the stairs.
"And I can carry you. What’s your point?" I reply, starting to descend.
"That you don’t need to."
"But I want to," I counter. "I don’t want to let you go, Bee, so let me carry you a little longer."
"Okay," she agrees, resting her head on my shoulder.

We reach the kitchen and I set her on the counter, then head to the fridge to fix something to eat. I know we’re no longer alone when I hear her jump off the counter and whisper:
"Hey, my love, you want a biscuit, don’t you?"

I don’t need to look to know it’s one of the dogs, but when I turn with eggs, cheese, and ham in hand, I see it’s my own dog.
"Brooke, give him dog food, not just biscuits," I say, grabbing a frying pan and starting to make an omelet.
"He already had dinner, he just wants dessert, right, Toothless?" she says, petting his ears gently and giving him four biscuits. Three more than she should, but it’s useless to argue.

I prepare her food while she plays with the pit bull, sitting on the kitchen floor. I’m finishing my own omelet when her arms snake around my waist.
"What can I do to help?" I hold her hands with one of mine.
"It’s almost done, you don’t need to do anything."

She doesn’t answer, just stays there, hugging me. My chest swells, a calm I only feel with Brooke washes over me. Even breathing is easier when she’s near.

I have to let go of her hands to serve the omelet and carry the plates to the counter. She opens the fridge and grabs the grape juice before sitting down. I watch her eat, trying to figure out how to tell her the rest of my story—the fear that it might be too much for her, more than she can take, threatens to kill my appetite.

*What if I lose her?*
How long will I keep letting my past stop me from being happy? Every time Brooke and I got closer and I pulled away, that was the reason. Because of the monster that lives inside me. Talking about my upbringing was excruciating—going back to that house, remembering Abigail’s last days. It had been so long since I’d said her name out loud. Going back to the years I worked as an interrogator wouldn’t be any easier, but what kind of relationship could we have if I always kept a part of myself hidden?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, tilting her head.
"Can’t I look at my girlfriend?"
She smiles in response, a light blush coloring her cheeks.
"I’m still not used to you calling me that."
"Better get used to it—we’re not going anywhere," I declare, knowing my brothers love the blonde in front of me just as much as I do.

Brooke returns to eating quickly.
"Why the rush?"
"Because when you say things like that, I want to pick up where we left off, and I know you well enough to know I need to finish eating first."
"Brooke..."
She takes the last bite and drinks the juice. When she sees my plate still half full, she raises an eyebrow. I chuckle and continue eating, her eyes tracking my every move. I finish, and with her help, we clean up the kitchen.

I can feel the anxiety radiating off her as we head back to the room, and I start to worry about my physical safety when I tell her we still need to talk.
"Brooke," I call, holding her hand before we enter the room. She turns to me, smiling. "I need to tell you the rest of the story. I need you to know everything before we take the next step."

"Seth..." she begins to protest, but I cut her off.
"I can't sleep with you knowing there's a chance you'll regret it after you know everything," she opens her mouth, ready to argue. "No matter how small that chance may be. Will you do this for me?"
"How can I say no now? But, Seth, I can promise you once again that there's nothing you could say that would change how I feel about you. I know who you are."
I cling to the hope her words give me, to the feeling I see reflected in her gaze. She sits on the bed, and I feel her eyes on me until I settle beside her.
How do I start? How do I explain that after she pulled me out of the darkness, the military found a way to exploit that side, shaping it into a weapon?
"Seth, you don't have to do this today," she says. "If you're doing this because you feel pressured by me, you don't have to. I-I know how hard it is to talk about certain things," she stammers a little, as if just mentioning the past is already painful. That blind fury fills me, and I can't wait to find those three bastards who ordered her kidnapping and make them pay, slowly.
"You never pressured me, Bee," I affirm, taking her hands. "All these months, you've always respected my time and never pushed me. It's just one more reason why I love you."
Her green eyes well up with tears.
"I love you too." Her gaze falls on our joined hands between us. "Is it okay if we stay like this?"
"We can try." She squeezes my hand and settles in, crossing her legs like Buddha.
I take a deep breath and, like before, push all my emotions aside, suffocating them. I need to distance myself as much as possible from what I'm about to say, or I won’t be able to do it. She loves me, she trusts me—everything will be fine. I try to reassure myself before telling her the truth behind the nickname Hellhound.
"After Kandahar, when we came back, my superiors noticed I was more aggressive," That was the understatement of the year—I took out my pain and anger on the enemies. "Not everything the military does is public, and when national security is at stake, sometimes you have to play by the enemy's rules."
I'm stalling again. My eyes search for hers and I memorize the way she looks at me, the love and affection written there. I store every detail in case this is the last time I see them directed at me.
"We needed intel, and another unit had captured one of the rebels." I block out the memory of his appearance. "But they couldn't get the information out of him. After a week, my commander told me to try."
‘Do to him what they did to you, give him a taste of his own medicine, Donahue.’ His words echo in my mind, and I can still feel the weight of the knife he placed in my hand.
"In less than three hours, we had the intel and managed to evacuate the school that was going to be attacked in time. But my efficiency became a resource, and the more I improved it, the more I started to enjoy it." Brooke squeezes my hand, but only nods encouragingly when I look at her. "I became the best interrogator, a specialist in extracting information," I avert my eyes, shame and guilt mixing with the anguish already coursing through me. "I learned to enjoy the pain I could inflict on others, to discover how to break someone. It became a source of pleasure."
My confession is met with silence. I start counting the seconds, waiting for Brooke's response. When I reach two minutes, I begin to worry and turn my attention to her.
"Is that why you tattoo?" she asks simply.
"That's all you have to say?" I reply, incredulous. "I just told you I'm a monster who gets pleasure from torturing people and..."
"You're not a monster, Seth." She touches my face gently. "You were trained and turned into one by your superiors. Like you said, you're a survivor, you adapted to your reality and handled it the best way you could. I was held captive for almost four days and wanted to die," she admits with a steady voice, even though her eyes fill with tears. "For all the pain I felt, I didn’t think twice before ending the life of the one who hurt me. I can't even imagine what you went through for months, how many times you wished for death, wished for it all to end. The fact that you still find a reason to get up every day, to smile and keep going, is proof of your resilience."
"I don’t deserve you," I voice the thought as soon as it forms. After all my sins, there's no way I deserve to be happy. To have Brooke. Only then do I realize that a part of me truly believed this would be what drove Brooke away from me—a part that never thought she’d accept me if she knew.
"Of course you do. After everything you’ve endured, after all the crap life threw at you, you deserve more than me—but I’ll do my best to be enough," she says with conviction.
Do her best to be enough? She’s crazy. I pull Brooke into my lap, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close to me.
"You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I ever dreamed of, Brooke." I kiss her lips quickly. "I never want to hear you doubting how perfect you are again."
"I’ll try, but you didn’t answer me—is that why you started tattooing?"
"Yes, that was the main reason I started, but I ended up enjoying the creative side too."
"I’m glad you found a healthy way to deal with it." She bites her lower lip, a thoughtful expression on her face as she looks away.
"What are you thinking, Bee?"
"These days," she begins hesitantly, "is tattooing your only source of pleasure?" she asks, blushing. "Because... I’ve read a few books about dominants and submissives..." she tries to explain.
"What exactly do you want to know?" I tease, and she doesn't back down.
"Do you enjoy BDSM?" I nod, curious about her reaction. When I decided to tell her about my past, I never imagined the conversation would end with the blonde in my lap asking about my not-so-conventional sexual preferences. "Will you teach me how to please you?"
Loud knocks on the door keep me from answering.
"Seth?" Thorne’s voice calls from the other side of the wood. Karma really is a bitch.
"What is it?"
"We found them," Brooke stiffens in my lap. "We need to go now," he announces.
"We’re on our way," I reply.