by L. A. Witt
“It isn’t, right?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “I’m going to see all that through no matter what, even if I have to hand walk every piece of paper to where it needs to go.”
“What if I said I wanted you back?” I stepped closer, wondering when my knees had started shaking. “And that I wanted you back even before you showed up?”
Mark searched my eyes. “Do you?”
My throat was getting tight and achy, so I just nodded.
He swallowed. “I just . . . I don’t want this—us—to have anything to do with . . .” He motioned toward the papers. “I mean it when I say there are no strings attached. I’d . . .” He avoided my eyes, and his voice was soft when he spoke again. “I want you, Diego. And I love you. But undoing what the Navy did to you is more important than me having you, so—”
“Who says we can’t have both?”
He chewed his lip. “It’s your call.”
Our eyes locked. My heart went crazy. This was the part where I had to say everything I hadn’t figured out how to say. Shit . . .
So, I took a deep breath and hoped I didn’t make things worse. “I’ve, um . . . actually been wanting to talk to you. And trying to figure out what to say.” I couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so I watched my thumb play with the sweat-dampened corners of the papers in my hand. “Ever since we met, I’ve been going back and forth in my head about being with you and being around the military. I knew I wanted you. That’s never been a question. But I . . .”
“But it hurts to be around the Navy. I get it.”
“No. You don’t.” I shook my head. “You don’t get how much I’ve been trying like hell to get over my shit with the Navy because I wanted to be with you. The Navy’s already cost me so much, and I even told one of my friends not to let the Navy be the reason he lost the guy he loves, and I . . .” I sighed. “That’s exactly what I was doing. Because I was too hurt and fucked up to see that being with you is worth being close to the Navy. And I mean, what happened will never change. Even with this”—I gestured with the papers—“my situation still happened and I’ll still have to live with it. None of that will magically change just because I’m not with you anymore. And not being with you . . .” I swallowed. “That hurts too much.”
Mark’s lips parted.
“This?” I held up the papers again. “Just sealed what I’d already figured out—that walking away from you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” he said softly.
“Yeah, it was.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Question is, do you still want me back? After I left the other night?”
For the first time tonight, Mark smiled, but he still looked sad. “You really think I’d hold that against you? In your shoes, I probably would’ve done the same thing. I’m honestly not sure I’d have stuck around long enough to even go to that thing.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
He dropped his gaze. “It means I’ve been counting myself lucky as hell that you wanted me in the first place. And feeling guilty as hell that I put you in that position the other night.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I told you I’m not good at relationships, okay? I want to be. And God, I want to be good at this one, because I don’t want to lose you. So yeah, I’m kind of amazed you hung on that long.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and I stepped a little closer. “You really think being with you was ‘hanging on’?”
He met my eyes, silently challenging me to suggest otherwise.
“You’re an idiot.” I reached out, hugged him tight, and tried like hell not to cry as I said, “And I’m an idiot too. I’m sorry I left.”
Sighing, Mark wrapped his arms around me. “No. You had every right to leave.” He held me closer and kissed my temple. “I should have known it would be pouring salt in the wound if I took you to a function like that. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know. But I thought I could handle it.” I pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “So it was my fault for agreeing to go.”
He brought a hand up and ran his fingers through my hair. “Still. And I should’ve gotten this paperwork rolling the first time you told me what the Navy did to you. You deserved so much better.”
I smiled. “I think I found it.” I cradled the back of his head, pushed myself up, and kissed him. I was surprised the papers didn’t slide out of my hand, but I was holding on to them almost as tight as I was holding on to him.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both out of breath.
Panting and shaky, I whispered, “I thought you said you were terrible at relationships.”
Mark laughed and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I am. I was. I . . .” He sighed. “The thing is, I’ve never been good at them. But you make me want to be better at it. You make me want to get it right.”
I managed a laugh even as a hot tear slipped down my cheek. “You’re off to a damn good start.”
He held me tighter. “You deserve it. And the paperwork . . .” He touched his forehead to mine. “I mean it. It wasn’t mine to give you. It should’ve been yours from—”
“Don’t.” I kissed him hard. “I get it. I really do. And . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’d do anything for you, Diego.”
The words I know lodged somewhere around the lump in my throat.
“And you don’t have to go to any military functions. I have to go to them, but if you don’t want to . . .” He shook his head.
I thought about it, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s see how I feel when we get there.”
“Okay. It’s totally up to you, though,” Mark said softly. “I really do want to get this right.”
I smiled past the emotions trying to bubble up. “Like I said, you’re off to a damn good start.” I cradled his face and kissed him. “I love you.”
And Dios mío, no words had ever been truer than those three. I’d been fighting them so hard for reasons that were justified and stupid at the same time, and now that I’d said them, I felt like I was going to crack from the intensity of pure, sweet relief.
Mark’s hand slid up into my hair. “I love you too.”
Then he kissed me again, but I only let it linger for a second before I buried my face in his neck and just held him. It was all I could do not to break down. Or collapse. Like the stress had been keeping me so rigid for the last few years that I literally didn’t know how to stand on my own now that even some of it was gone. Between the papers in my hand and the man in my arms, I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t think straight.
Mark pressed his lips to the side of my neck as he stroked my hair. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
After a while, though, I became aware of the club’s bass vibrating the ground under my shoes and remembered where I was. Where I was supposed to be.
Sighing, I pulled back a little and looked up at him. “I have to get back to work.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah. Sorry I crashed your shift. I couldn’t wait, and I wasn’t sure where else I could talk to you and—”
“I’m glad you did.” I swallowed. “I’m, um, off at two thirty. Is that too late to come by?”
“Not at all.” Mark’s smile turned my insides to liquid. “I’ll wait as long as I have to.”
It was seriously tempting to blow off work and go now, but I knew better. The doors he’d opened for me wouldn’t solve everything overnight, and I needed to hold on to this job until I was sure things were coming together. And what was a few hours if this man—this gorgeous, loving, amazing man—was waiting at the end?
He cupped my jaw and gave me one last long kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”
“As soon as possible.”
Then we exchanged grins, and he headed for the parking lot.
After he’d gone, I paused before going inside. I needed a moment to collect myself, so I closed my eyes and released a long breath.
Wh
at had just happened? Twenty minutes ago, I’d . . . There hadn’t been Mark. There hadn’t been any way out of my visa problems or my health issues or . . . anything. And now there was. I had Mark back. I had an envelope full of tickets to unfucking a lot of the things that had gone wrong in my world. None of this would magically solve every problem in my life, but it was a breakthrough that would make some of the uphill fights feel less steep. Like I actually had a shot at getting on my feet in this country and the means to maybe go back to my family. There were options now. I could . . . fuck, I could talk to someone about the PTSD and do something about my knee besides store-brand ibuprofen.
All because Mark had pulled some strings I didn’t even know existed and made things happen that had seemed impossible.
With any other guy, I might’ve thought he’d been doing it to get back into my good graces.
I smiled to myself, gazing down at the papers he’d left with me. I had no idea what it had taken for him to get all of this together, or how many cages he’d have to rattle to get it all the way through, but he had. There was no way I could ever show Mark just how much I’d forgiven him and how grateful I was for everything he was doing.
But I could damn sure show him how glad I was to have him back in my life and how hard I’d fallen for him.
I checked my phone. Three hours, and I could go to Mark.
Three hours, and I could go home.
On the way into the High-&-Tight, I’d been a mess. Anxious. Scared out of my mind I was going to say the wrong thing or that I’d already done the wrong thing.
Now, waiting at home for Diego, I was still a mess. What if he changed his mind? What if he didn’t show up? What if he gave it some thought and realized he wasn’t interested in—
A car engine outside raised the hairs on my neck. He came?
I looked out the front window as the headlights dimmed, and when my eyes adjusted, the familiar shape of his black pickup truck materialized.
He came.
I was at the door before he’d even made it up the front walk, and when he met my eyes in the glow of the porch lights, he smiled brighter than I’d ever seen him smile.
He came up the steps, and as soon as he was at the top, he wrapped his arms around my neck. “Sorry I took so long.”
“I could say the same thing,” I whispered. “Should’ve come through for you before—”
Diego kissed me hard. “Shut up. Just shut up.” He held me tighter and kissed me again, and I shut up.
And just like that, we were back where I’d needed us to be. Hopefully where he wanted us to be too, and from the way he was holding me—so, so tight—I had a feeling he needed this as much as I did.
Holy shit. He was in my arms. He was kissing me. He wanted me again. He was here. It didn’t matter that he’d said he was coming or that he’d told me he loved me. The proof was in this tight embrace and long, sweet kiss.
Diego gently broke away and touched our foreheads together. “Your neighbors are getting a show.”
I have neighbors? “They don’t have to watch.”
“No, but we might be more comfortable in your bed.” He squeezed my ass through my jeans. “No indecent exposure when I take your pants off.”
And with that, I was persuaded. I herded him inside, stopped long enough to dead bolt the door, and jogged up the stairs on his heels.
We dropped our clothes and shoes unceremoniously all over the bedroom floor. I hadn’t even settled on the bed before Diego was on top of me, straddling me, and he leaned down for a long, deep kiss. Oh fuck. We were here. Naked and kissing, my hips between his thighs and his erection thickening beside mine.
I broke the kiss and stared at him. “You’re really here, right?” I ran shaky fingers through his hair. “I’m not hallucinating?”
He laughed, warm breath rushing across my lips. “No. You’re not hallucinating. I’m here.” He kissed me softly and added in a hoarse, unsteady whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” I kissed him, and as I did, I curved a hand around the back of his neck and slid the other between us. Diego moaned into my kiss and fucked into my hand.
“I missed you so much,” he breathed, lips barely leaving mine.
“Me too.” I gave his cock a gentle squeeze. “Will you do something for me tonight?”
He lifted his head. “Yeah?”
I grinned, trying hard not to smirk. “Quiero que me des duro hoy.”
Diego snorted. Then I did. Laughing harder, he let his head fall beside mine. “You are such a dork.”
“Would you expect any less?”
“No.” He lifted his head and, still grinning, kissed me again. The longer the kiss went on, though, the more our lips relaxed, and the joking faded away as we lost ourselves in one of those intoxicating kisses I’d been addicted to since day one. Our hands slid all over each other’s bodies, kneading and tracing and groping and caressing, almost like we needed to touch every inch of each other again to make damn sure this was happening.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded. “I want . . . Fuck me, Diego.”
He groaned against my lips and kissed me even more frantically. He still wasn’t fucking me, even though our bodies were starting to rock like he was already deep inside me, and I was on fire with frustration, but he was kissing me, so to hell with it. I held him tight and breathed him in, and we moved, and . . . Jesus, I loved the things this man did to me.
With a string of breathless Spanish swearing, Diego broke the kiss and lunged for the drawer where I kept the condoms and lube. Oh yes. Oh, fuck yes. My toes curled with anticipation as he fumbled with the wrapper.
Yes, yes, yes. Please. Now.
He was quick as always about putting them on and putting a little lube on me, and when he pushed my thighs apart, I almost came right then and there. The anticipation was driving me insane, and the view? Oh God. Diego. Flushed. Aroused. Hungry for sex. For me.
He started guiding himself in but paused, meeting my gaze with a raised eyebrow as if to ask if I was ready for him.
“C’mon,” I growled.
The eyebrow came back down, and Diego grinned. With a hand on my hip, he pressed against my hole. He met resistance, of course, but not much—after a moment, the head slipped past the tight ring, and we both grunted.
“Fuck.” He closed his eyes and moaned.
The burn and the stretch took my breath away. With no prep besides a few strokes with his lubed fingers, he could have easily made this painful. He was patient, though, easing himself deeper. He paused for some more lube, and as he pushed back in, my back arched off the bed.
“Ungh, Diego . . .” I tried to spread my legs even wider for him so he could get as deep as possible. “Oh yeah . . .”
He murmured something under his breath as he took long, fluid strokes.
My eyes watered. I couldn’t tell if it was from the burn or the relief, the invasiveness or the fact that Diego was here. All of it, maybe. Probably. Whatever—he took his time, letting me yield to his thick cock, and now the anticipation was driving me even wilder than it had before he’d put on the condom. He was in, but he was still going slow, and I was too far gone to care that it was either that or hurt me.
Diego moaned. Something Spanish, and no doubt dirty, tumbled off his lips as he withdrew. He pushed back in, and I took more of him this time. Then more. I was taking him easily now, and he was moving faster, and before long, skin slapped skin and we both grunted and cursed as he bottomed out with every deep, hard thrust. Yes. Fuck yes.
Abruptly, he stopped.
What? No! Keep—
Before I could protest, he panted, “I want . . .” He shivered, then pulled out and sat back on his heels as he made a turn over gesture. “On your stomach.”
I didn’t argue. As soon as I’d turned over, Diego mounted me from behind, and when he pushed back in, the whole world blurred. I’d jokingly asked him to fuck me hard, and I’d meant it, but this? Christ, he felt good. Even better when he
sank down on top of me, molding his body to mine. That was almost as amazing as his cock moving inside me. We were touching in as many places as two men could possibly touch, and it was mind-blowing. So intense and hot and sexy it was almost painful, and it was perfect. Everything was. The stretch, the friction, the weight of his body, the breathless Spanish curses—it was all Diego, and it was all perfect, and if it got any hotter, we’d both go up in flames.
It seemed crazy to fall back into sync like this when everything had been in pieces earlier, but it made sense too. Of course we’d made it back to this. Why wouldn’t we?
Because makeup sex has never felt like this before.
The last thing I wanted to think about now was my marriage, but I couldn’t help comparing this moment to all the times Angie and I had pulled ourselves back together and wound up in bed. Makeup sex had always been hot and a relief, but . . . never like this. Maybe that should have been a sign that my marriage was doomed from the start. Or maybe it was proof this wasn’t makeup sex. It wasn’t fucking away the remaining tension after a fight. It was like all the walls had come down, and there was no reason to be apart anymore, and now we wanted to be as close as possible.
This, what I had now in this moment with Diego, was nothing if not a sign that we had something worth holding on to. Not because the sex was spectacular—it was—but of this almost painful need to be against him. Feeling his heartbeat, his hot breath on my skin, the friction and slide of our bodies moving together—meant things I couldn’t even get my head around. That we’d really found our way back to each other. That he wanted me as badly as I needed him. That if I screwed this up, it was a regret I would take to the grave.
I love you. The words kept echoing inside my head. Diego, I love you. I love you so, so much.
All that came out, though, was a whispered, “You feel so good.”
Diego moaned. He pressed his lips behind my ear and murmured something I didn’t understand. I couldn’t even say for sure if it was English or Spanish—I was just too far gone to make sense of anything except his body and his cock and his presence and how close I was to coming. Oh God, I really was close. Right on the edge. Right there. Almost. Just about.