I bite my bottom lip, and he groans some more. One hand wrapped around him, I spit as much as my dry mouth can muster and put him in my mouth. Working all the way down as far as I can, I make sure to move my tongue along the underside of his dick. He juts his hips to get more of his length down my throat. I lick as I move my hand and mouth at the same time. He likes it when I take him deep, so I focus on every other stroke deep-throating him.
He makes noises of complete bliss as I work him into a frenzy. He tosses my name into the praises every several seconds but for the most part he’s in nirvana, his hands on my head. When he tells me he’s about to come I grab his balls with my free hand and tug a little. Smith thrusts into my mouth one more time, his movement jagged and uncontrolled. Then I pull away quickly.
“What about now?” I ask. “Sex now?”
He’s panting, a frustrated melody of groans and rasps. “No, your turn now. If I put my dick inside you right now I’ll come before it even starts.” He spins me on my back with ease and licks my nipples. “You taste sweet. My God. This. I’ve missed this so much.”
His warm mouth on my breasts sends tingling over every inch of my skin. I’ve missed this too. I’ve missed so much that I finally feel whole after being empty. His full, wet lips glide down my stomach. Merely lips and wet kisses turn into his wet tongue diving between my legs. There’s no teasing. It’s an assault of flicking and sucking furiously. It’s pleasure so unbearable that I almost forget where we are and how much time has passed.
“That. Keep doing that,” I say. I arch my back, and he pushes my hips back down with strong hands. He keeps one arm draped over my stomach to control my movements. The other hand is busy rubbing my clit in small, firm circles. It’s the quickest I’ve ever come. It’s explosive and out of control. I scream out and tilt my head back as the waves hit me. One by one. Cementing the decision we just made. “I’ll never not want this, Smith,” I rasp. “Being with you like this is the only thing that feels right.” The truth, spoken out loud, sounds so good. Better than a million lies to make myself feel something after he left.
He sucks my clit one more time, wipes his lips off on my lower stomach, and slides up to kiss my cheek. “Promise?” he asks, lips brushing the side of my ear.
I nod. “Yes.” When I kiss his mouth I taste myself. I lick his lips, tracing the outline with the tip of my tongue. “Right now I want this.” I grab his dick between our sweaty bodies. “Inside me.”
I guide him to my entrance and tease the head with my wetness. I force just the tip inside, and we both groan in pure bliss. The sensations are almost overwhelming. I want to scream and cry and come around him over and over and it hasn’t even started. “Do that again,” he says, burying his face in my neck. “I want to feel that again.”
“Don’t move,” I command. Squeezing him in my palm with a firm grip, I move my hips up and swirl them in circle. His hard cock grazes my wet hole, but doesn’t enter. The next circle I make, I press a little harder. His cock goes in. Not all the way, but a little more than the time before. “Like that?”
“Just like that,” he rasps.
I repeat the movement, but this time I grab his ass and push him all the way inside me.
“Fuck, yes,” Smith hisses. He kisses my lips as we relish in our connection. He doesn’t move at first, but we both want it so badly that I know it won’t be long. His tongue dives in my mouth and his hands fist in my hair.
“Your turn,” I say.
“Permission to move?”
My core clenches in anticipation. “Please,” I moan, rocking my hips.
He doesn’t need any more than that. He begins thrusting into me with fury. His lips turn into teeth. He bites my bottom lip with a smile still on his mouth and absolute lust shining in his eyes. The sight is intoxicating.
“This is where I want to be, Care,” he says in between kissing me. He closes his eyes as he continues his punishing thrusts. I raise my hips to meet each one stroke for stroke, the wetness and friction proving to be too much for my willpower to handle. “This is everything,” he breathes, his voice ragged with desire.
I moan as a reply and tell him I’m coming and to keep the pace just where it’s at. Running my hands over the sculpted planes of his back and backside, I feel his scars, the rigid indents where smooth flesh used to be. He’s home.
“You’re mine,” I whisper. A claim I’m more than ready to accept for the rest of time. I’m his fiancée.
He dips his face into the crook of my neck as we come at the same time. Smith clutches me tightly, and I wrap my legs around his waist to keep him deep inside me. There’s no one to see this moment, two naked bodies combined as one.
But I think if there were, they wouldn’t second-guess what it meant. Smith is kissing my forehead and stroking my face rashly, roughly asking me if he’s dreaming. I’m staring at him like he’s the only man left on the face of the planet and I can’t bear to separate from him.
He eventually does pull out of me, a reluctant feat that just stirs the lust inside our hearts even more. We end up making love again, this time slower, more cautious of what it means, excited for what we’ve done.
We promised each other forever.
And that almost never happens.
Not in our world. Not where family turns a blind eye to abuse, or when bad men prey on insecurities and weaknesses. Not when a man loses brothers to bad men with ill intentions. No, forever is a pipe dream. We’re lucky enough to have right now and we’re going to make the most of it. If luck is on our side, because we are surely owed some of that, time will grace us with the ability to love each other so much that the amount of months and years doesn’t matter.
We will take the dim reality of the state of this world and color it with something spectacular.
Epilogue
Carina
THE TREE IS DECORATED beautifully. I made sure it looked perfect before I went back home to get dressed for the wedding. This isn’t a typical wedding and not just because we aren’t technically supposed to be having a wedding in Balboa Park, but because everything is…different. Smith’s best man is married to his ex-fiancée. Megan is not only attending, she’s making sure that everything runs smoothly. That includes giving us a heads-up if security shows up while we’re saying our vows.
I’m not nervous because I’m getting married to Smith. I’m scared it won’t be what I envisioned. The wedding day is the easy part. It’s forever that proves to be difficult in marriages. That’s why, combined with the attacks, we decided to have a small ceremony and reception. We’ve lived together for a while now and there haven’t been any surprises yet. Sure, we argue about who left a centimeter of milk in the jug without tossing it and our different showering habits. I jump out of the shower soaking wet without a towel, and he has to dry off completely before he takes one step from the stall. But everything that matters in a marriage? It’s been there from the word go. The love. The sex. The compromise. The push and pull of two different hearts headed in the same direction.
Smith and I have lived without each other and it’s a place we never want to return to again. I need him. He needs me. More importantly we want each other. We choose each other every single day. The way he looks at me gives me an indescribable high. It’s as if everything in the world is perfect. I need that confidence.
“I swear to God, Carina, if you don’t stay on schedule I’m going to come in there and chop your hair off!” Jasmine screeches through our bedroom door. “Smith is already at the park with the guys. They’re setting up chairs, so you know we have to be there quick. Before anyone realizes what we’re doing.”
I laugh and pull the door open.
“Fuck. You look beautiful,” she says. Her eyes widen as I spin around the cotton maxi dress swinging around my feet.
“It’s perfect, right?” I ask when I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.
She nods. “I’ve been fielding PR phone calls all day. The masses are expec
ting some high-class wedding in the Gaslamp between their two favorite sweethearts.” Ah, the facet of my world I hadn’t thought of yet today. Never Forever was a smashing success. The movie is filming as we speak in a production lot in Los Angeles. I stay out of the limelight as much as I can, but Jasmine dips me in it every once in a while.
For all the success of Never Forever, the next novel I wrote as a companion novel was received even better. I think it’s because I wrote it from two points of view instead of just the heroine. Smith’s point of view and gave it a happily ever after. His head is a more lucrative place to reside in. It’s the running joke in our house.
“Poppet is in her soft cage on the bed. I have her leash and harness in the side bag. Make sure she doesn’t escape. That’s your only job today!” I bark at Jasmine. “No one will know to look in the park. Weddings aren’t allowed there.” I smile to myself. Sex isn’t allowed there either, but we’ll still sneak away to ravage each other under that tree where we started over.
“I still think it’s weird Smith is walking you down the aisle. I mean, I get it. You’re like a lone soul in the family department, but couldn’t anyone else give you away to the person you’re being given to?”
I shake my head and explain the Barbie story. She laughs, calls me insane, but in the end agrees that it’s a sweet notion. I look at myself one last time in the mirror. Wide, excited eyes and not a hair out of place. I’m ready for this. The happiness is almost unbearable, my stomach flipping and turning at the thought of seeing Smith in his suit—my cheeks flushed with the promise of a night full of passion-fueled lovemaking.
Jasmine prattles on and on as we drive. She talks too much when she’s nervous. I fist a handkerchief in the palm of my hand as we pull into the parking lot. I see our tree from here and a few people dressed nicely are walking around.
“Take a deep breath,” Jasmine says. “This is your day.” Then she squeals in excitement. It’s more than my day—so much more.
Smiling, I look down at the square of fabric in my hands. It was cut from my favorite floral dress my grandmother made. The one I wore until it turned into a shirt. The dress that kept me company on the nights when no one came to save me. I get choked up for a moment, but then laugh when I remember how happy it made me when she gave me this dress. It was packaged in a pretty box with a purple flower bow on top.
I let one tear fall down my face and land on the small square. And then I promise myself this is the last time I’ll cry today. At least in the name of old memories. “He said not to get a bouquet. That he was taking care of it,” I explain to Jasmine when she asks if I have everything and then freaks out when she realizes the main bridal thing is missing. Poppet meows from her bag when she hears my voice.
“Put her on the leash,” I say.
Jasmine sighs, says a silent false prayer that her Louis is nowhere in sight, and does as I ask. Poppet walks alongside of her just like a small dog. I beam at my trained cat.
“Groom. Twelve ow, ow, hot baby o’clock, Miss Bride,” Jasmine says.
My heart picks up and I raise my gaze slowly until I see the most entrancing sight I’ve ever seen. Smith waves, his face a wash of pure joy, a smile so wide and so white that I automatically break out in my own grin.
I wave back, a small gesture. I didn’t want surprises on our wedding day or a revealing of the bride. Mostly because he makes me feel happy and safe and if there’s a time when a woman needs that, it’s right now when nerves and emotions are running high.
Jasmine leaves, Poppet prancing next to her as she excuses herself to go make sure we’re ready to begin. The few guests we have are seated and there are probably only minutes before a pregnant Megan rushes to tell us it’s time to begin. The small rolling hill hides him for a short time before I see him walking up toward me. Closer and closer that beautiful man comes, until he stops in front of me.
“Now that I’ve confirmed that I am indeed the luckiest man alive, I need to know how you’re doing,” Smith says. “You look like the most gorgeous creature on the planet. How do you feel?”
I laugh. “Happy. Equally as lucky as you. Excited. Nervous excited. I want to kiss you right now,” I say.
Smith bites his lip and pretends to be upset.
“We can’t kiss yet, Carina. What will our guests think?”
Gently he places his hand on the side of my face. I lean into it and release a sigh of contentment.
“I don’t care what they think. I need you,” I whisper, eyes still closed.
Smith kisses me. A soft flutter of his lips on mine. “I don’t want to ruin your makeup. You look like a work of art.”
I lean into him and kiss him one more time. The response he has on me is immediate. My heart rate slows and my nerves disappear.
He’s had one hand behind his back since we met. “Are you going to give me that surprise or what?” I ask.
He clears his throat and his face goes solemn. Eyes down, he brings his hand in front of him. It’s a bouquet of intricately folded paper flowers. “This is your bouquet,” he says, meeting my gaze.
“They are absolutely beautiful,” I say, reaching out for them. I want to look more closely. They truly are stunning. The petals meticulously folded and curled and the stems long and detailed.
He shakes his head and draws one out of the bunch and hands it to me. “There is a flower in this bunch for every one of our most cherished memories,” he says, clearing his throat again. I look closer at the one he just put in my hand and the world tilts on its axis.
“Never Forever,” I say, tears springing to my eyes. “Pages from Never Forever?”
“You’re holding the first time we met,” he explains. “And this one is folded from pages of our first kiss.” He extends another black and white bloom. I take it and put it next to the other one.
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you did this,” I say. “No one has ever done anything this special for me before in my life.” The significance is so profound I’m sure no one ever will.
“No one has given me a love story,” Smith replies. “Our first, ahem,” he says, smirking. “That one was a challenge to fold. I kept wanting to take a break to uh, take care of business.”
I laugh and cover my mouth with my free hand.
“I spent about twenty hours on YouTube figuring out how to fold them perfectly. It’s your bridal bouquet. I wanted to do your words justice.”
I squint down at the three flowers and see words that trigger the memories. He hands me another one, and I add it to the bunch, the paper smooth against my hand and the words bleeding into my heart. “I love you,” I tell him in a silent lull before he hands me the last one. He doesn’t give it to me, though. He tucks it in his back pocket and extends me his bent arm.
“Let’s get married first. I’m going to keep this one for good luck.”
I wipe away a few more stubborn tears and take his proffered arm.
Linked, we walk down the grass carpeted aisle up to our tree. My friend plays the violin, a sweet melody that carries on the cool air, and Poppet stands next to Jasmine. The officiant is waiting with a smile on her face and a book in her hand. We exchange very simple vows. Vows that bind us. Vows that will keep up. Vows that we will forever treasure and most importantly, honor.
It’s a short ceremony that tastes like a sweetness I never dared to dream of. It sounds like a light breeze and birds chirping. It fills me completely with a profound sense of self. When Smith leans over and kisses me after we are declared man and wife, I know without a shadow of a doubt, life dealt me a certain hand so I would grasp my future tightly—cherish it fully.
We’ve greeted our few guests and they have left to head to the restaurant where we will all celebrate. Smith and I steal a quick moment by the tree, holding each other close and talking about the ceremony. Moose cleans up chairs while keeping a hawk like gaze on Megan and her clipboard wielding hands. Smith’s family, all of them, were the most happy about our union. We laugh at the fact
that his nephew fell over his own two feet while heading down to his seat, and kiss when we talk about our first kiss as a married couple.
“Let me ask you a question,” Smith says.
I fold my arms across my chest in mock irritation. “I’m the one who asks the questions around these parts. Or have you already forgotten in the cloud of marital bliss?”
“Would you have married the person if a different man answered your ISO ad?” he asks, keeping his mouth in a tightly drawn line. I see the smile in his eyes, though.
I scoff. “That’s offensive, but I still love you,” I proclaim. I run my hand down the front of his suit and stop right at his waistband. “You’re the only one I want to undress tonight.” I bite my lip and cock my head to the side.
“I know.” A smile appears on his face. It’s a little crooked. “I love you, too.” He extends the last flower to me and sighs deeply.
“This one is our happily ever after,” he says.
I shake my head. “Not in Never Forever.” The editors wouldn’t let me change that ending in a million years. It’s what made it so memorable.
Smith shifts from one foot to the other. Looking over my shoulder and then meeting my gaze, he explains, “I wrote it myself.”
I widen my eyes in shock and immediately look down at the typed words on the last flower, squinting to see anything that might spoil the plot. “I can’t open it or I’ll ruin the flower!” I say, turning it over to look at the bottom and carefully peeking in the center of the folds.
Smith laughs and takes my face in his. With his beautiful eyes boring into my own, he says, “That’s the point, Care. That’s the whole point.”
I nod, put the flower in the bunch, and let fate weave its way into our hearts.
Always Forever,
Greenleigh Ivers
Why The Real SEAL Series?
I wanted to begin a new series with my favorite types of characters, but I wanted to approach the novels a little differently. SEALs are stereotyped more frequently than they are not. Even I’m guilty of the joke or two. (I can’t even type Froghog without giggling.) How many alpha, top-dog, high-and-tight haired (even though SEALS do NOT wear this hair-cut), throbbing muscled SEALs are out there? So many multiplied by infinity. Of course these reasons are some of the main reasons we love them. My characters will have those characteristics (for the most part), but they will also have a little more depth, a look into the real personas behind their main “label.”
Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1) Page 24