Five Ways 'Til Sunday

by Delilah Devlin

  “Do you think I’ll look down on you one day because you don’t have a piece of paper hangin’ on the wall? You’re better traveled than me. And you speak three languages.”

  “I have blue hair.”

  “A pretty blue streak. It matches the color of your eyes.”

  “I have a tattoo and more piercings than a tuna fish.”

  “Your tattoo makes me hot.”

  She deepened her scowl. “Everything makes you hot. What happens when you take me to the policemen’s ball and the wives turn up their noses at me?”

  “What century do you live in? A lot of them have ink.”

  “You don’t,” she muttered. “Bet your family doesn’t.” Not that she knew for certain because she’d never met any of them. He didn’t mention them much either, which had made her wonder whether he was ashamed of her.

  Jackson kept right on swirling his hips, screwing slowly into her. “Would you feel more on a level playing field if I got a tattoo or two? I’d wear a heart with your name on it. I’ll even let you choose where. Arm or ass?”

  How’d he expect her to stay mad when he moved like that? When he gave her a lazy forward thrust, she all but purred like a kitten. “You’d do that for me?”

  Jackson settled on his elbows and cupped her face between his hands. “Baby, I’d do anything for you. I want to marry you. Have children with you.”

  This close, his jaw tight with lust, but his expressive eyes soft and warm, it was hard to stay annoyed. She wrinkled her nose. “Can you imagine me with the soccer moms?”

  His snort was all male. “My boys’ll play football.”

  “What if I don’t want kids?”

  He grunted. “But you do.”

  “Yeah, but what if?”

  “We’d talk through whatever worries you have.” He moved again, this time easing out—so slowly her channel clenched all along his length to hold him inside.

  “I never pegged you as lackin’ in confidence,” he growled.

  The warm whiskey of his deep voice sent a prickly shiver across her belly. “I’m not. At least, not usually,” she gasped. “But…I’m not ready to get married. I’ve told you that before.”

  He sighed, pushed his cock back inside then aligned his legs on either side of hers to clamp her thighs closed. “Tell me your concerns. We can work through them.”

  Despite the languid heat causing her body to yield, she thought fast. “It’s not so much concerns as I have this bucket list.” At the arch of his brow, she glanced away. “It’s a list of things I have to do before I die.”

  “And you can’t do them after we’re married?”

  “Um, some of them are things I would never do after I have a husband.”

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What kinds of things?” Gone was the husky, seductive note in his voice. He’d bitten each word. The body weighing her down slowly turned rigid.

  “You won’t like it,” she said softly, eyeing him with defiance.

  “Maybe I’ll be in agreement—after I hear you out—and then you’ll have won the argument.”

  But she didn’t want to win. Not really. She just wished he’d stop thinking that they had something more than this. “But I don’t want…” Her eyes stung with unshed tears.

  His expression lost a little tension. His dark eyes smoldered. “You don’t want what, baby? You can tell me anything.”

  “I don’t want this to end before it’s supposed to,” she whispered.

  Jackson sighed. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s not supposed to end? Baby, I love you. You love me. It’s really pretty simple.”

  She shook her head. If it was so simple, why did her stomach feel like it was tangled up in a knot?

  Jackson sighed. “What’s on the list? Show it to me.”

  How? She didn’t have a list, just a notion that she needed to stall. “It’s not written down. It’s…in my head.”

  “Are these things sexual in nature?”

  That made her blink. And gave her an idea. She nodded, a blush heating her cheeks. She’d win this argument. There was no way he’d agree to fulfill her secret desires. Not when they were too wicked to voice and mostly against every law known to a straight-arrow kind of guy like Jackson.

  The corners of his mouth eased upward a fraction. “Tell ya what, you write it all down for me.”

  “I’ll write it down and leave it on the table. That way when you read it, I won’t have to see your face.”

  “Will it be that bad?”

  “That naughty,” she whispered. “Things a girl fantasizes about doing just once before she’s leg-shackled.”

  His mouth curved. “And why do you think I’ll be mad?”

  “Because I know you. I know how territorial you are. If you were a dog, you’d piss all over me to keep every other horn dog away.”

  “So this has to do with another guy? Anyone I know?”

  “No one I know. Let’s not talk about it now, Jackson.” She slid a hand between their bodies and reached down to ring the root of his cock with her thumb and forefinger. “I got you off. Turnabout’s fair play.”

  “Feelin’ neglected?” he murmured.

  She walked her fingers over the crest of his shoulder. “Yes, and ugly. You’re all the way up inside me and haven’t moved. Makes a girl wonder if you’re bored.” She squeezed her pussy around him just to watch the heat flare in his eyes.

  Air left him in a slow breath. “Do that again,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated, tightening first the mouth of her vagina then pulling him inward to caress his length.

  His hips dipped, digging his cock between her closed thighs. “We’re not finished talkin’.”

  “I’ll make your damn list—just fuck me, Officer Teague.”

  His legs shifted, and his knees pushed one at a time between her thighs. She opened eagerly, bending her legs to cup either side of his hips as he settled into the space she made.

  Jackson dipped down and kissed her, rubbing her lips with a lazy wag of his head. “Baby…”

  “Mmmmm?”

  “It’s gonna get rough.”

  She grinned. “Do I look scared? I had a molester do me in my office today, and I didn’t scream once.”

  “You screamed exactly once. Craig can verify.”

  “Craig better keep the rest of the details to himself.”

  “Don’t count on it,” he muttered. His hands slipped beneath her, arms wrapping tightly around her back. She savored the hug, accepting the comfort.

  Only comfort wasn’t really what he had in mind.

  He reared back on his knees, lifting her from the bed, their bodies still connected.

  She caught her breath and grabbed for his shoulders. They knelt face-to-face; she straddled his lap. Liquid seeped from inside her, the wet warmth surrounding him, coating her.

  Scooting her knees in closer, she took her weight and began a sexy little up and down bounce that pulled and pushed on his cock because she hugged him inside as well, her feminine grip constricting around him.

  He groaned and sank his forehead against her shoulder. “Tryin’ to kill me?”

  “It’d be murder one. Think they’d let me off for good behavior?”

  “I’d come back from the grave to testify I died with smile on my face.”

  Marti’s breaths shortened to strained rasps. “Baby?”

  “Umm?”

  “I gotta move real bad, but I don’t think I can. I’m starting to shake.” And she was, a delicious quiver prickling the skin of her belly and weakening her thighs.

  Hands clamped on her ass. He raised his face, and there was that look again—the feral, hard-edged lover who took no prisoners.

  A shiver of feminine fear shook her. She cupped his cheeks with her palms and bent slowly toward him.

  His chest rose and fell. His nostrils flared.

  Tilting her head to align their noses, she brushed his firm mouth once with her wet lips, then ag
ain more insistently, knowing instinctively that when she went soft and pliable, his arousal grew more intense.

  Sure enough, a low, rumbling growl worked its way up his throat. His mouth opened to capture hers, his tongue pushing past her lips, invading her to thrust against her tongue. Then his hands squeezed her ass and lifted her off his cock, his whole body tightening so she felt every flex of muscle against her chest, her belly, her inner thighs. He slammed her down, his thick, hard rod forcing guttural gasps.

  She broke with his kiss and clutched his shoulders for support because he was moving her relentlessly up and down, his arms straining, his face sharpening, reddening.

  Their gazes locked. She felt as though the room became smaller, her sight constricting until she saw only his taut features.

  Her breaths grew more shallow, chopped apart by the hard, downward thrusts. His breaths were coming faster, too, accompanied by manly grunts, the same sort of sound he made when he worked out, sounds she adored because she loved this big, powerful man and the way he dwarfed her, overwhelmed her at every turn.

  Inside, her core heated, melted. Her channel rippled, clasping at his cock. She felt every ridge and vein as her tender walls were crowded, rubbed relentlessly—until at last she gave a whimper.

  Her head fell back, her mouth stretching open. The beaded tips of her breasts tangled in the dark fur of his sweaty chest, and everywhere their skin touched she burned. Her orgasm built, pushed higher now by the motion of his thighs, lifting him to thrust upward as he jerked her down.

  It was too much, too powerful. Tears leaked from her eyes, and her back arched. At the height of the explosion, she gave a strangled scream and dug her nails into his skin, holding tightly because she was shattering.

  “That’s it. That’s it,” he rasped. “Fuck. So beautiful. Fuck…”

  Scalding spurts of come jetted inside her, but he continued rocking upward. His hard hands drove her down and up, his fingers digging into her ass.

  Gradually, she came back to herself and leaned into him, pressing her face into his shoulder as he shuddered through his own orgasm.

  Marti kissed his cheek and ruffled his short hair with her fingertips, soothing him until his breathing evened out. “I like this part too,” she whispered.

  He turned his head and kissed the corner of her neck. “This is good… What we have. Give us a chance, Marti.”

  She swallowed hard. Lord, how he tempted her. But she’d be selfish to cave in now. He needed to know more about her, be sure in his mind as well as his heart that they could make this work, because once she committed, she knew she’d wither up and die if he ever changed his mind.

  Chapter Three

  Jackson fingered the envelope he’d stuffed into his pocket before he’d headed out the door to work. Marti had still been sleeping when he’d left. Apparently, she’d snuck from their bed sometime in the early morning hours to leave him this.

  It had to be The List.

  He smiled, thinking about the way she’d looked, so stubborn and scared all at once, as she’d talked about her bucket list of sexual fantasies.

  He laid the envelope on the bench in front of his locker and stripped off his jeans. As he was reaching for his uniform, he heard the pad of footsteps nearing.

  “By that smile, I take it she said yes.”

  Jackson aimed a glance over his shoulder. Craig stood behind him, already in uniform, a crooked grin stretching his mouth.

  “Nope,” Jackson said, his voice uninflected.

  Craig’s glance went to the envelope. “She give you a love letter?”

  “Not quite. It’s a list.”

  Craig’s eyebrows rose.

  “It’s a bucket list of fantasies. Things she says she has to do before she marries.”

  “And you haven’t opened it?” Craig bent and swiped the envelope from the bench.

  Jackson straddled the bench and lunged at Craig, but the other man backed nimbly away, raising the envelope over his head.

  “Maybe I should read it first,” Craig said, grinning.

  “Bastard, give it back.”

  “No way. You’ve been grumpy as hell for weeks. I’ve put up with you bitin’ off my head, played lookout while you screwed your girl—I’ve earned this. Besides, it’s unopened. You’re scared to know what’s inside.”

  Jackson lowered himself to the bench and crossed his arms over his white T-shirt. “All right. Read it. But not a word to the other guys.”

  Craig shook his head. “You know you really shouldn’t trust me. Not when it comes to your love life. The guys are enjoyin’ the hell out watchin’ Marti make you squirm and grovel.”

  “I don’t grovel.”

  “But you’ve never worked this hard to get a girl’s attention. You’ve never had to.”

  Jackson grunted. “Roll call’s in fifteen. Read the damn thing.” He tightened his jaw, warning Craig silently that he wouldn’t take much more teasing.

  Craig slid a nail under the flap and opened it. He drew out one sheet of folded paper, arched a wicked eyebrow at Jackson then scanned the front before flipping it over to read the back. His lips twitched, he cleared his throat then quickly handed the list to Jackson. “Yeah, you better read it. I think you’re gonna have some problems here.”

  Jackson took the note, smiling inside as he read the opening line, picturing Marti chewing her bottom lip as she rambled on before getting to the point.

  Before you read my list, you have to know how much you mean to me. How much I look forward to seeing you at the bar, and rushing back to the apartment to greet you at the door when your shift ends. What we have is good. You were right about that, but…

  There’s something inside me. That gypsy part of me that gets restless sometimes. It’s why I backpacked alone across Europe, tended bar in Bali, counted birds on Padre Island. I get these ideas…

  Well, just know I care about you more than I ever have any other man, and it’s not that you don’t fulfill me in bed either, it’s just—I have these dreams. Things I have to do, even if it’s just once. Okay, so I’ve blathered a bit. If you’re serious about what you asked me, flip the page.

  Jackson’s smile slipped. His gaze shot to Craig whose expression, for once, was free of any teasing.

  His heart thudded dully in his chest. He took a deep breath then turned the sheet over.

  Two days later, Jackson sat at his usual table with his buddies in The Emerald Tavern, eyeing Marti’s flushed face as she worked the bar. She hadn’t glanced his way except once when he’d first arrived.

  Things had been strained between them since he’d read the note. Although they’d gone through the motions, the part of their relationship that made it so different than anything he’d experienced before was absent, crushed beneath the strain of the damn list.

  “So’s the honeymoon over?”

  Jackson shot Craig with a stinging glare then scanned the rest of his friends. Thursday was the one day of the week where their schedules allowed them to meet. They slouched in their seats. Condensation glistened on the sides of their beers. Not something that happened often because the first beer was always eagerly consumed.

  Absent were the rowdy laughter and crude jokes. Not a single gibe had been aimed his way, even though his attention was snagged, as usual, by the curvy brunette behind the counter.

  Beau McIntyre cleared his throat. “Craig said you needed some help with something.” Humor glinted in his slanted, dark brown eyes, but his features were difficult to read. Although he was only half Asian, the other half African American, inscrutable was still a word that fit his neutral expression. If he was laughing inside, no hint shown in his dark eyes as he watched Jackson.

  Jackson glanced at Craig, frowning, wondering if he’d spilled the beans about The List. “I don’t need help with a goddamn thing.”

  “Yeah,” Beau said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “I can see things are peachy between you and Marti. She hasn’t been to our table even once. I’d say she�
��s avoiding us.”

  “She’s avoidin’ me.”

  Gus Taggert’s seat creaked as he shifted his large frame. “Can’t say as I blame her. You’re givin’ her the stink-eye.”

  Jackson glanced away from Marti and turned his full attention back to the rest of his friends, flicking to Beau who challenged him with his steady stare, then moving on to the rest of his crew whose varied expressions all showed disapproval or concern.

  Gus frowned. He adored Marti and likely thought whatever had happened between them was all Jackson’s fault.

  Mondo Acevedo’s dark eyes glittered with devilment.

  Craig’s expression was carefully neutral. But then he knew what the problems were.

  These were his best buddies. Gus and Craig he’d known since high school, having played varsity football together. They’d met Beau and Mondo in the academy seven years ago and quickly bonded over Saturday touch football and chasing women. He trusted every one of them with his back. But Jesus, could he trust them with his woman?

  “Guys, I have a problem.”

  “We’re here for you, Jack,” Mondo said, his smile fading as he waited.

  “Marti’s got some issues.”

  Mondo’s brow arched. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “Yeah, but she’s got issues with commitment.”

  Mondo grunted. “You asked her to marry you? She say no?”

  Jackson nodded.

  “She say why?”

  Jackson’s cheeks billowed as he blew out a breath. “She gave me a list.”

  “Of reasons why she won’t marry you?”

  He grimaced. “No, of things she has to do before she settles down.”

  Mondo shrugged. “Those things—can they be accomplished here in Memphis?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But they’re…sexual things. Fantasies.”

  “And you’ve got a problem with that?” At Jackson’s sudden glower, both of Mondo’s eyebrows rose higher. “Does she want to watch you do another guy?”

  Jackson huffed. “Fuck no.”

  “Then what’s the freaking problem?”

  Jackson cleared his throat, glanced back at Marti to make sure her attention was elsewhere, then pulled the list from his wallet. He handed it to Beau, because he sat nearest. Beau skimmed Marti’s long-winded apology. Then he turned it over and took his time reading. When he was done, he didn’t look at Jackson, but firmed his mouth into a straight line and passed the note to Mondo who skipped the front and went straight to the list on back. His chuckles were low and dirty, but stopped when Gus elbowed him to pass it along.