“I don’t think so,” he says.
“The boys will be home soon.” I nearly wince at the growing desperation that turns my voice reedy and thin.
“No, they won’t. They’re staying the night. Friend’s mom is going to bring them by tomorrow morning.”
I swallow against the growing lump in my throat. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you have nothing to be afraid of now.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say immediately.
He pulls me closer and I let him because I’m so damn tired I don’t have the strength to fight anymore. “You need to stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re blaming yourself,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do. I think you’re working yourself to death here for me and the boys because you think you have to for some reason. To make up for being gone or to apologize for that sonuvabitch playing slice and dice with my leg, but neither of those things deserve your blame or your penance because neither of them were your fault.”
“I’m not—”
“Stop,” he says. “Just stop, baby. I can’t watch you punish yourself like this anymore. So do whatever you have to, blame me, hurt me, use me, whatever. Just take it out on me so we can move on.” He presses his cheek to mine. “I want my best friend back.”
The crack in his voice causes one to form in the wall I’d built to be strong for him and Rafe and Donnie after Damian attacked me again. I try to patch it up, try to calm my breathing and still the flow of tears, but they spill over and the wall comes crumbling down.
As I sob into his chest, he lifts me like a child and carries me to our room, laying me down on the bed and cocooning me with his body. The headboard rattles against the wall with the effort of grief I expend into his shirt. By the time the tears come to an end, my whole body feels numb.
He strokes feeling back into my back and arms with a heavy, soothing palm, resurrecting pleasure and passion like an artist creating a masterpiece. I press my forehead into his damp shirt and release a shuddering breath against his chest, the catch more from the growing yearning for him than any lingering emotion.
Going on instinct now, my hand that was balled against his chest moves lower to the hem of his T-shirt. I yank it up, needing to feel his skin, whole and well, with my fingers. A reassurance that goes deeper than reason. A light dusting of hair tickles my palm, sparking nerve endings to life. The heat I find trapped by the material of his shirt stokes the flame to a low burn.
His hand finds my own and he starts to push it down. “That’s not why I did this.”
I flip him on his back, catching him by surprise. The look on his face is worth the six weeks of intensive training I took in self defense. “I know you didn’t.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says.
My shirt lands somewhere behind me, followed by the lacey bra he likes so much. When all he can do is stare, I slide my hands up his abs, and his shirt joins mine. I lean down to kiss him, letting our bare chests touch, entice and incite. His hips arch up as he takes my lips in a kiss so ardent it borders on violence. I match him stroke for stroke, my hands above his head, my hips circling his lap.
Breaking the kiss, my mouth a breath away from his, I whisper, “You said use you, right?”
I watch his Adam’s apple bob before he says, “That’s right.”
I slide down his body until I’m kneeling by his hips. With surprisingly steady hands, I undo the tricky button on his jeans, my fingers brushing against the hair that disappears into his briefs as I draw the zipper away. With care, I pull the jeans over his hips and help him push them down his legs. The bulge under the thick layer of cotton makes my mouth water.
Peeling those off as well, his cock springs free, the head flushed red, the base thick and ready. I kneel beside him, using my tongue first on the underside vein and have the pleasure of watching his hand clutch the sheets in my line of vision. He throbs in my hands as I take him deep in my throat. He grips the back of my thigh with one big palm, so high up I can feel the heat of his palm through the material of my jeans.
When I begin to suck in earnest, his hand moves higher, teasing me through my pants and wringing gasps of pleasure from my mouth around his cock. Unable to feel me how he wants, his hands move to the space between my back and my jeans, sliding in until he finds the skin he craves.
He cups one cheek with a firm grip, wrenching a deep groan from my throat. With sheer strength alone, he manages to squeeze his hand between the tight fit of my jeans until he reaches my pussy from behind. When he can’t find enough space to move in the confined area he growls, lurching up to fumble with my buttons until they release and he can plunge a finger into me.
I gasp around his cock, working him frantically now, deep enough that it brings tears to my eyes, making me gasp with each release. His legs start to contract, his toes curling up into little knots, and his balls draw up tight between his legs where I’ve been fondling them with one hand. He tries to pull back, dislodge me, but I don’t budge, sucking him into my throat until I can’t anymore.
When I think he’s about to come, he explodes from the bed, but not with release. Instead, he forces me onto my back, his face a ferocious contortion of a man on the edge, nearly wild with need.
His legs bump mine open and he rips my pants and panties down and off. Then his hips lock onto mine and he drags the broad head of his cock over my sensitive clit, causing my back to arch away from the bed. He does it again, his face twisted with indecision now.
“Fuck me,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Please, don’t worry about being gentle this time, Jack. I just want you. Hard and fast and rough and everything in between. Just fuck me.”
He thrusts home before I even finish my plea, the last part of it going high and hoarse as he plunges so deeply I lose the ability to breathe. His lips take mine and he gives it back, kissing me deeply, thoroughly, even as his cock sets a brutal rhythm that stokes the fire and offers no relief.
My arms and legs twine around him, my legs high up on his hips and my arms around his neck, anchoring him to me as I buck against him. The push and pull that’s fueled our relationship since the first time he kissed me is present in the torturous climb to release that he stalls, making his strokes long and deep, but not quite fast enough to bring me to completion.
I sob against his throat, but this time in frustration. His weight pins me to the bed now, leaving me no other option but to take each thrust as he gives them, which is almost as hot as the feeling of him hard and thick inside me.
“You have to go faster,” I say desperately. “Harder.”
He takes my hands and knots them with his above my head as he continues his leisurely strokes. “No,” he says. “You’ll take it as I give it. You want me to fuck you, I’m gonna fuck you my way. And that means I’m gonna enjoy every wet suck of your pussy until you come.” He tips his hips up to punctuate each thrust, hitting a spot inside that makes my eyes cross. “That’s it,” he whispers into my hair.
“Please.” I strain to create more friction, but it’s useless with his rock hard body above me, holding me down to suffer the teasing strokes.
“Please what?”
“Make me come. Please. I wanna come.”
His thrusts increase and he adds a finger to my clit, just a light, teasing touch, but it, combined with his body enveloping me, his cock overpowering me, builds an orgasm that is a release in every sense of the word. It washes over me in one, fluid wave that builds for a second time as the pressure of his finger and the speed of his thrusts increase. When it hits, a sob tears free of my throat with each slap of our bodies until my cries turn soundless.
He comes with a full-body shudder and a shout that he clamps off by pressing his face into my hair. He rests his weight on me, heaving unsteady breaths and sweaty, his chest sticking to mine, but neither of us care—or have the ability—to
move.
When he finally sums up the energy to move, he lifts and simply falls onto his back. Concerned, I prop up on one arm and look down at him. “Are you o—”
His hand covers my mouth and he says without opening his eyes, “If you ask me if I’m okay one more time, I’m gonna fuck the worry right out of you.” He pauses, considering. “Once I catch my breath.”
“I think that might kill me.”
“Be fun trying,” he says, then smothers my laugh with a kiss.
Jack
“Thank God! I thought we’d never find you.”
I angle my head and find Livvie and Ben climbing up the bleachers, their two oldest children following close behind. Livvie holds another in one of those wrap carriers on her chest and Ben has the last on his shoulders.
“Almost didn’t,” Sofie says beside me, her smiling eyes shielding the sun with a hand. She leans against the arm I have wrapped around her shoulders and I smile as I look out over the growing crowd. I’ll never get tired of feeling her in my arms. I plan to keep her there for the next, oh, fifty or so years. That may be enough time to make up for the years we lost...and by then maybe I’ll finally be tired of kissing her. “They’re just about to start.”
And just because she enjoys it, she kisses the underside of my jaw.
Or maybe I won’t.
“Yeah, well you try corralling five children.” Livvie settles on Sofie’s other side and starts unwrapping the baby. “Cole, Phoebe. You two sit right here in front of me. Help Daddy keep an eye on Henry, please. And keep it down, James is sleeping.”
“I think you lost count,” Sofie comments. “Last I checked you only have four kids.”
Livvie smiles at the sleepy baby in her lap. “You forgot to count Ben. He plays with the kids instead of getting them ready.”
As if to punctuate her statement, Henry squeals as Ben flips him over his shoulders, narrowly missing the family a step down in front of them. “I couldn’t help it if Henry wanted me to show him the proper way to conduct a search and rescue mission.” He takes a seat next to Livvie, placing Henry on his lap. He leans over and kisses his wife on the mouth.
“It was a tablet, Ben,” she manages, though there are two bright pink spots on her cheeks.
“A man has to have his electronics, spitfire.” He kisses her again, the argument forgotten.
Sofie turns and looks up at me. She digs a finger into my ribs and I grunt. “It makes sense now. This is why Rafe was almost late to his own graduation!”
I hold my free hand up in mock defense. “That was totally not my fault.”
“You said you were looking for his cap and gown, but I know for a fact I hung it up in his closet two weeks ago.”
“The boy never did learn the proper way to clean his room,” I say instead of answering. When caught, a man’s first defense is to deny, deny, deny.
She narrows her eyes. “What were you two doing in there?”
Shaking my head, I say, “Bro code, babe.”
When that doesn’t work, evade.
“They’re my brothers!”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “But they’re my sons.”
And if all else fails, always break out the charm.
“I’m going to find out,” she says, but she melts into my side anyway, laying her cheek against my chest. Her hand comes up to my ribs and I tuck my arm more firmly around her, bringing my hand to rest on her swollen belly. As if the baby knows I’m there, an arm or an elbow or a little foot connects with my palm, bringing a smile to my lips. If there’s anything to be said about life with Sofie now, it’s that each and every day gives me more and more reasons to smile.
Sofie winces. “This girl must take after you,” she says as I rub her stomach to soothe the ache. “Not even out of the womb and she’s already practicing her moves.”
“Tough,” Ben says. “Like her Uncle Ben.”
“You wish,” I say.
“Where’s Donnie?” Sofie asks, probably to stop the familiar argument. “Shouldn’t he be here by now? I know Louisiana is a new state and all, but we’ve moved enough since you reenlisted that he should be used to it by now.”
“He left when we did,” I say, looking up to scan the crowd. “He should be here. He wouldn’t miss this.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have let him drive,” Sofie shields her eyes again and scours the football stadium. At fourteen Donnie hit a growth spurt and shot up over six inches in a couple months. At six three, he now towers over the rest of the family, which makes him easy to spot in a crowd.
“There he is,” Livvie says, pointing to the entrance. “Oh my God, is that a girl?”
Sofie shoots up straight. “What?”
“Oh my God, he brought a girl!”
I sigh, shaking my head and staring at the clouds. “Ladies, calm down. Don’t embarrass the kid.”
Sofie glares at me. “What do you mean calm down? How am I supposed to calm down? Did you know about this?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“You just wait until we get home,” she says, her voice low.
I wink at her. “I look forward to it.”
“Was Rafe in on this, too?” she asks. Then realization dawns and her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “This is why we were almost late, isn’t it? You boys were having some sort of pow wow up there, weren’t you? I can’t believe we were almost late because you three were gossiping about girls.”
“We weren’t gossiping,” I say. Donnie has his arm around the girl now and I try, and fail, to hide a smile. “He was just asking to borrow the car is all.”
“The—my dad’s car?” Her voice turns shrill and I wince.
“When he got his license you said he could use it for special occasions,” I remind her.
“This is what you consider a special occasion?”
“His first date?” Ben and I share a look. “You better fuckin’ believe it.”
“Fuck!” Henry says delightfully.
“What did I tell you about cussing in front of these children!” Livvie squawks, then mouths apologies at nearby families.
“I’m just preparing them for boot,” Ben says with a lift of a shoulder, then he snatches Henry up to dig his fingers into his son’s ribs. “Gotta make sure they’re fluent in Marine.”
Livvie throws her hands up, then stands to soothe the baby when he wails in protest.
Donnie bounds up the bleachers with his pretty date in tow, a smile on his face. Before he can say a word, Sofie announces, “You’re on my list Donovan Varano.”
He holds up his hands. “Jack said I could.”
Sofie ignores him and offers a hand to his date. “Hi, honey. I’m Sofie. Welcome to crazy,” she says.
Phoebe, a little miniature Livvie draws up to her full height and says with all the authority of a two-year-old, “Shh! Shh! Rafe is coming! Rafe is coming! Shh!”
The commencement music begins and even though Sofie doesn’t shed a tear, I can feel the tension running through her like a livewire.
She leans into me and whispers, “Logan couldn’t make it?”
I shake my head. “No, but I’m sure he wanted to. He’s been having problems with his father and had to go out of town for a while.”
“Too bad,” she says as the first of the graduates start to receive their diplomas. “I haven’t seen near enough of him lately.”
Phoebe turns with a stern look. “Shhh!”
Livvie zips her lips with an exaggerated gesture.
The kids file through until only Rafe is left standing with the biggest smile of them all. When his name is called our entire section stands up to cheer. I whistle so loudly baby James starts to join in with a wail and Phoebe shrieks like an 80’s slasher scream queen.
Down by the podium Rafe shrugs and accepts his diploma, moving his tassel from one side of his cap to the other.
I tug Sofie close to my side, my hand resting on the side of her belly. As the life we made together kicks my hand,
I watch half of the one we fought for stride down center field and the other whisper into his girl’s ear.
Then I kiss Sofie’s forehead and get ready for whatever comes next.
Because no matter what it is, we’ll be ready.
Together.
He would start over. A kind of rebirth, he figured. A new place, a new life, a new name.
He’d do it right this time. Be more careful.
The Sunshine State was the perfect place. It was far enough away from his mistakes that no one would know him, and close enough to bright landscapes that were full of opportunities. Miami itself was awash with activity and color—vibrant. Life begging to be taken, possessed.
He followed the crowd out of the airport and slipped into the back of the first cab he reached. He was already sticky with sweat from the heat, and the cabbie had his air conditioning blasting, which didn’t do much to cut the humidity.
“Afternoon.” The cabbie looked back over his shoulder with a weary, but friendly, smile. “Where to?”
“Southern University. Thanks.”
He had no concrete plans other than to get as far away as he could. No place could be farther than the southernmost state in the country.
Traffic was hell. Normally, it would test his patience, but nothing could shake his good mood. It took more than an hour to get close to the campus, and by then the fare was well over fifty dollars, but he was too elated to care. It was better than he imagined, so fuck the money. He’d figure something out.
Didn’t he always?
“Anywhere specific?”
He was silent, his voice lost beneath the pressure squeezing at his chest, exhilaration caused his hands to grip the leather seats until his knuckles ached. The cabbie repeated his question, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from shouting back in impatience.
“First motel you see.”
“All right,” the cabbie replied in a lazy drawl.
The sprawling campus boasted an excellent and very sought after curriculum. Students from all over the country flocked to Miami in droves come the start of term, which made his choice even more appropriate. July was just shaking off its last few days, and with August, the swarm of new co-eds would arrive. He’d be able to lose himself in the crowd.
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 55