Law Man

by Kristen Ashley

  But so was what I was saying so my hand slid up to his neck and my fingers curled around and, still whispering, I semi-repeated, “It’s important.”

  Finally, he spoke and when he did it was to say, “Sweetheart, shut up.”

  I blinked.

  Then I asked, “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Shut up?”

  “Yeah.”

  I felt my brows draw together. “I’m telling you something important to me and you’re telling me to shut up?”

  “Yeah.”

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out because Mitch finally moved. And how he moved was both his arms locked around me, he rolled to his back, me going with him then sat up so I was again forced to straddle him. His arms unlocked only for one to clamp low on my hips and the other one to glide up so his fingers were wrapped around the back of my neck with three of them up in my hair and he tilted my face down to his.

  Then he spoke.

  “Okay, I gotta get this right so it penetrates without you twisting it like somehow you managed to twist it in your head that I’d think for one fuckin’ second you’re easy, so here we go.”

  Uh-oh.

  Now I knew what he was thinking that looked so important.

  Before I could commit to my burgeoning freak out, Mitch kept talking.

  “Taking out the time I watched you with that moron but still wanted you, we’re talkin’ two years, Mara, two…fuckin’…years it took me to get you naked on your back in my bed. Sweetheart, I think you can rest assured that’s pretty much the definition of ‘not easy’.”

  I stared at him thinking this was true.

  Kind of.

  “But, we –”

  He shook his head and his arm squeezed as did his fingers so I stopped talking.

  “You ran away from me on our first date. You stood me up our second. You gave me attitude the first time your ass was in my truck. You gave me my marching orders in the breezeway before I even got close to getting in there. Billie interrupted me the first time I got to second base. I slept in my bed with you and a six year old twice before I even got you out on a date. And I had to promise my sister she could decorate your apartment when you got your insurance check to get her to babysit so I could actually finally fuckin’ take you out on that date,” he recounted then finished with, “Honey, trust me, that is not easy.”

  I blinked.

  Then I asked, “You promised Penny she could decorate my apartment?”

  “Yeah, and don’t fight her. She’ll listen to you and she’s good but mostly she’s determined. Do yourself and me a favor and just let her do it.”

  “But, Mitch, her stuff costs –”

  He pulled my face even closer and grinned before he said, “Baby, the markup is outrageous. Wholesale, her stuff costs the same as normal furniture.”

  Wow.

  That meant I could afford Design Fusion stuff in my apartment.

  That was cool!

  “Mara,” Mitch called into my thoughts which were right then centered on how I wanted the sofa I saw in Penny’s shop window in my living room and I focused on him to see he was no longer grinning but looked very serious.

  Therefore, I braced.

  This was good because the second I did, in a low voice heavy with meaning and his fingers at my neck tensing to drive his point home, he stated firmly, “You are not Melbamae Hanover. You are not a skank. You are not easy. You are so far from trailer trash it isn’t funny. You are not what those kids and parents and your mother’s fuck buddies took you to be. You’re Mara, you’re sweet, you’re beautiful and I will not forget until the day I die how beautiful it felt to slide inside you with you wrapped around me, see your eyes get wet and know straight in my gut that you felt how beautiful it was too.”

  My eyes got wet right then listening to his words and my arms slid around his shoulders as those words seeped into me, deep into me, straight and true in a way even I, who had a special talent with doing it, could not twist them even if I tried.

  But I wasn’t going to try.

  “Mitch,” I whispered then said no more because I couldn’t since my throat was closing but also because I didn’t know what to say.

  He wasn’t done and I knew this when he pulled me close, dropped back and rolled so he was on top of me, his hips between my legs and his face close when he whispered, “You’re hair was softer than I expected it to be, more beautiful when it’s down than I expected it to be. You’re sweeter than I expected you to be, funnier, more loyal and I expected all that to be phenomenal so, I gotta tell you, baby, it pleases me no fuckin’ end to learn the reality is off-the-charts. Better than that, when you get pissed, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. When you smile, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. And when you look deep into my eyes and see whatever the fuck you see and I know how much you like it because it’s written all over your face, I gotta fight against goin’ hard. But even with the promise of that, finally havin’ you is another reality that’s off-the-charts. My guess?” he asked then didn’t wait for me to answer. “Your mother hated you because she knew you were better than her and every day you were a reminder that you would be exactly what you are. So she tried to undermine it. Bring you down by bein’ a serious, fuckin’ bitch and, honest to God, I’ve seen a lot, heard even more but she’s in contention for the worst fuckin’ Mom in history. And still, you beat her because you are all that is you. And, sweetheart, there is a lot that is you and it isn’t only me who sees that all of it is good. It’s just now only me who gets all of it and, after waitin’ years for you, to say that, too, pleases me no fuckin’ end is one serious fuckin’ understatement.”

  “You have to stop talking,” I whispered back, my heart swelling so big, it felt like it would explode out of my chest. A chest that was so warm, it was burning, hot and fierce.

  “I’m not gonna stop talkin’ until I know you get what I’m sayin’ to you and don’t sweep it aside, determined to believe what that bitch wanted you to believe.”

  “You have to stop talking,” I repeated in a whisper.

  “Mara, I’m not –”

  My hand went from his shoulder to press my fingers against his lips.

  Then I told him quietly, “I’m not sweeping it aside.” I slid my fingers from his lips across his cheek and back into his hair as I lifted up and replaced my fingers with my mouth and whispered, “I get what you’re saying to me.” I brushed my lips against his and kept whispering when I said, “Now, you have to make me oatmeal. Because my estimate is we have eight hours for you to convince me I’m the Mara of your world before everything crashes back in on us, I get scared and/or freak out and/or panic and/or another calamity happens I’m certain I won’t survive. Until I survive it with, obviously, your help and all you said to me is less easy to believe.”

  I stopped talking (finally), bearing my soul (finally) and held my breath as Mitch’s fathomless eyes stared deep into mine.

  Then he asked, “Eight hours?”

  “Until we pick up the kids,” I answered.

  His neck twisted, his eyes going to his alarm clock then they came back to me and when they did I liked the teasing light in them because it was mixed with something way sexy.

  “That’s gonna take a lot of work,” he whispered.

  God, I hoped so.

  I smiled at him, lifted up again and brushed my lips against his before I said softly, “That’s why we need oatmeal.”

  His weight hit me and my head hit the pillows when he muttered against my mouth, “I’ll get it in a minute.”

  “I need stamina,” I muttered back.

  His hands glided up my sides, taking my nightie with it as he kept muttering, “I’ll get it for you in a minute, baby.”

  “But –” He rolled his hips which were between my legs and I felt why he needed a minute which meant, suddenly, I needed a minute so I gave in, “’Kay, we’ll get it in a minute.”

  He smiled against my mouth. I smiled against his
.

  Then he kissed me.

  Then he did a lot of other things to me while I did things to him.

  In the end, we had oatmeal for lunch.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mornin’

  Six weeks later…

  I came hard, so hard my back arched and my hands flew behind me to grip Mitch’s thighs as I gasped for breath, rolled my hips at the same time I ground down on his rock-hard cock.

  I was still coming when his thumb left my sweet spot and his hand moved to my hip, his other hand already at my other hip. They slid up and curled around my ribcage, pulling me down to him. His lips captured mine, his tongue drove inside my mouth, his arms wrapped around me and he rolled us then started thrusting, hard and deep. I lifted my knees and hips to give him more, my arms circling his shoulders.

  Holding him close, my fingers gliding into his thick, soft hair, I took his thrusts in my mouth and between my legs. I took his grunts in my mouth then I finally took his deep, hard drives between my legs as his ragged groan tore down my throat.

  Coming down, his lips slid to my neck where he nuzzled me as his cock moved gently inside me and the fingers of one of my hands glided through his hair as the other one drifted across the warm skin of his back.

  My soul sighed but my heart took flight.

  Then his head came up, his sated, sexy eyes caught mine and he muttered, “Mornin’.”

  I stared at him a second, pressed my head in the pillow, my thighs to his sides, my arms tightened around him and I burst out laughing.

  This was because he’d woken me with his hands then his mouth and, until he’d said that word, neither of us had spoken any others.

  When I quit laughing, tipped my chin down and opened my eyes to look at him, he’d stopped moving inside me, was planted deep but his hand was up. The tips of his fingers were moving along my temple and hairline and he was smiling at me.

  “Morning,” I whispered and felt the humor slide from my features as a memory came to me.

  Mitch saw it, I knew it because his smile died, his face softened with curiosity and his fabulous lips whispered, “What?”

  “Remember that night when Billie got sick?” I asked quietly.

  His fingers drifted down my hairline to curl around my neck and his thumb came out to stroke my jaw when he answered, “Yeah.”

  “Remember the next morning when you came into the kitchen and wrapped your arms around me?” I asked and his thumb stalled as his eyes grew intense.

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  “You said, ‘mornin’’ then, against my neck, with your arms around me and I thought then that I wanted you to say that to me like that every morning for forever.”

  His fingers tensed on my neck, his face got closer, his eyes got more intense and his voice was gruff when he murmured, “Mara.”

  I grinned at him then informed him, “This one was way better.”

  His body started shaking then his hand left my neck so both arms could wrap around me and he gave me an open-mouthed kiss (while laughing, by the way, which made it fabulous) as he rolled us, unfortunately disengaging our bodies, fortunately taking me with him while kissing me and settling on his back with me on top.

  When he ended the kiss, my head came up and I looked down at my man who had his arms around me, laughter still in his eyes and again my soul sighed.

  Then he started talking.

  “Right, baby, this mornin’ the play is, I get the bathroom first then I get Bud up and in the shower while you shower and I make coffee and breakfast. You get outta the shower, get Billie up, we have breakfast, you get Billie in the shower and do your thing and help her do her thing while I shower then we go. You with me?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said on a grin, used to this, liking this, we did it every morning.

  “Break,” he whispered, lifted his head, kissed me quickly then rolled me off him and rolled the other way while flicking up the covers.

  I watched as he walked into my bathroom.

  My soul sighed again and it was a good one.

  Mitch closed the door and I rolled to my back, pulling the covers up to my chest.

  It was June and summer had hit the Rockies with surprising vigor. Usually, you could expect anything through May and into June, even blizzards but it had been warm and sunny, afternoon thundershowers nearly every day for weeks taking the heat off and leaving the nights cool and crisp.

  The six weeks since Mitch hauled me into the real world were the six best weeks of my life, bar none, not a single day I’d lived in Mara World even came close.

  * * * * *

  First I sorted out birth control. Mitch said it was a priority and I agreed.

  I wanted nothing between Mitch and me so, without delay, I made that so and went on the pill.

  * * * * *

  Second Mom and Aunt Lulamae totally disappeared. A call to Lynette and a recon mission by her told me they were back home. This was likely because they’d run out of funds to use to make my life hell and didn’t have their usual cadre of drunks and assholes whose wallets they could steal money from after they’d passed out.

  Incidentally, I had shared everything with Lynette in a marathon phone call while my ass was planted in a lounge chair by the pool. It was hard to concentrate on all the important stuff I was telling her because Mitch showed halfway through our conversation, sweaty from a workout at the gym and he looked hot sweaty. It became harder to concentrate when my sunglassed eyes got a look at his face when he was walking toward me and I knew he seriously liked my bikini. It was even harder to concentrate (for obvious reasons) when, right in the middle of me listening to Lynette, he kissed me, hard but closed-mouthed. And it continued to be hard to concentrate when Billy and Billie noticed him and he spent the next ten minutes standing at the pool’s edge picking them up and throwing them in the water. They’d get out and he’d do it again and again. And lastly, it was hard to concentrate seeing as his hotness increased beyond measure because he was, sweaty, smiling and laughing a lot while making Billy smile and laugh a lot and Billie smile and squeal a lot. I wasn’t the only one to notice and would have to tear my sunglassed gaze away from my man and my kids when my possessive woman radar pinged and I’d need to glare down bikini-clad women who were drooling and giving him come hither looks.

  But I managed it.

  Lynette was beside herself with glee, informing me (repeatedly) she told me so as to the fact I was so a Ten Point Five.

  “You might even be an Eleven!” she’d shrieked.

  I couldn’t say I believed her (definitely not about the Eleven part). But that didn’t mean Mitch tearing my cocoon wide open and helping me fly didn’t mean I wasn’t (mostly) convinced I was at least a firm Eight.

  But it wasn’t Lynette who convinced me of that, it was Mitch.

  She was planning a trip out to meet Mitch, Billy and Billie in August and her parents were considering coming with her. I hadn’t seen her in three years, since her last trip out, and I hadn’t seen her folks in thirteen.

  I couldn’t wait.

  * * * * *

  Third Bill was broke, incarcerated and had obviously played his trump card first. He was awaiting trial, a public defender preparing his defense, something Mitch told me would not go well. Firstly because he was guilty, secondly because he already had two strikes and thirdly because he was stupidly refusing to plea bargain.

  I never heard from him, the kids never heard from him but I had visited him once and only once and I did this with Mitch standing at my back (Mitch’s decree) so this visit didn’t go well. Still, it probably wouldn’t have gone well even if Mitch wasn’t there.

  It lasted long enough for me to pick up my phone, Bill to pick up his phone while his angry eyes stayed glued through the glass to Mitch then they dropped to me, he said in his phone, “Fuck you, Mara. Fuck you.” Then he hung up the phone, got up and walked to the guard.


  I walked out trembling and trying not to cry while Mitch held me close with an arm around my shoulders. When I got out, I was trembling and trying not to shout when it hit me I was looking after his kids, kids I intended to raise until they were old enough to build their own lives; my apartment had been ransacked because of him; he’d set Mom and Aunt Lulamae on me and he had absolutely nothing to be pissed about but I had a lot to be pissed about.

  I shared all I was pissed about with Mitch in his SUV. I did this in detail and at length and I included family history that went way, way back, something I never shared with anyone but I was on a roll. I only stopped when we got to his apartment, he handed me a glass of wine, kissed me hard to shut me up, lifted his head and I focused on him (finally) to see his eyes were dancing.

  Then he muttered, “Gotta go to Bray and Brent’s to get the kids. You gonna tear my place apart in the two minutes it’ll take me to do that or are you gonna light a fuckin’ candle, take a sip of wine and get your shit together?”

  I glared at him.

  Then I mumbled, “Door number two.”

  “Right,” he mumbled back, kissed me again, this time not hard but a lot longer. Then he went to go get the kids.

  In the two minutes he was away, I did what I promised him I would do but I also took that time to freak out that during my rant I’d shared family history with Mitch. Ugly, revealing family history and he might take that two minutes to realize I was a Two Point Five.

  He didn’t. He came back with Billie over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, squealing; Billy following, grinning up at them and Mitch declaring he was going to teach Billy how to man a grill.

  Then he’d made hamburgers while Billie and I sorted the fixin’s. Billie and I fried French fries and made salad (well, I did, she watched, sitting on the counter and babbling) while Mitch was out on his balcony teaching Billy how to man a grill.

  I cancelled my freak out, sipped my wine, ate dinner with my family, got the kids to bed and forced Mitch to watch a Cubs game on TV with me (Cubs win!) before I gave him his reward for being a really nice guy and I did this when we were in his bed.