by Jodi Watters
“I’m close, darlin’.” His breathing hitched, coming in rapid pants. “Come for me, Liv. Show me you love this as much as I do. Let me feel you go off around me.”
And when he reached down, still thrusting at that deliciously deep angle, and circled her with skilled fingers, Olivia had her first ever orgasm with a man buried inside her. Ever.
Pulsing around him, her body squeezed and gripped and held tight, sensing this man was her mate for life.
The word amazing seemed wholly inadequate.
Ash dropped his forehead to hers, riding out his own orgasm with shuttering spasms and a long, rumbling groan, and she experienced another first.
A crazy insane first. An utterly impossible first, if you’d asked her a day ago.
It may have only been a quick slip and a tiny drop, but for the first time ever, Olivia prayed for the one thing she wanted most in life. Pregnancy.
“That was something.” Winded and sweaty from her wild morning ride, Liv collapsed across his broad chest, wondering when she’d become a sex maniac.
It was sometime during the last sixty-four hours.
“That was everything,” Ash replied, slipping out of her body and rolling so they lay face to face. He brushed damp strands of hair from her face. “This whole weekend has been everything.”
An epic understatement. They’d not left the condo at all, spending every minute wrapped up in each other, pushing the limits on her inhibition and his stamina.
Mixed in with their weekend of marathon sex were several bottles of wine and Coors Light, takeout from any restaurant offering delivery, and conversation spanning silly to serious. He’d thrown in some pretty spectacular assumptions about their future, too.
Only breathing fresh air when they snuggled on a padded chaise on the balcony, they’d stare at the starry night sky, Ash pointing out constellations until she became preoccupied with how much of him she could fit into her mouth before he lost control and came, and they’d return to the privacy of enclosed walls.
The Rolex on the nightstand, along with the cell phone next to it, were the only items other than Olivia that held his regular attention. She’d see him check the time every now and then, a harsh reminder they were on the clock. Occasionally the cell phone would glow, silently advising of a call or notification. He’d casually reach for it, but only when he didn’t think she was paying much attention, scrolling through the screens and tapping a message before shutting the phone off, the glow fading to black.
It lit up now, just as he placed a soft, sweet kiss on her lips.
“Should I be worried you have a wife or a girlfriend trying to reach you? You seem to be in high demand.”
He laughed off her question, not bothering to check the caller or the message. “I need to clean up or this is gonna get messy.” Pointing down, he carefully sat up and disappeared into the bathroom.
There’d also been no more unprotected sex this weekend, either.
Hating herself, Olivia reached for the phone, shocked to see it wasn’t password protected. A quick look at the log showed only outgoing calls to restaurants, with a few incoming from contacts saved as Sammy and Mike. The text scroll showed the most activity, with an ongoing, hours-long conversation between him and someone named Tin Man. She read a partial section of text.
Tin Man: Shit’s going down. Need your expertise. Where are you? Bat phone goes unanswered.
AC: Stateside.
Tin Man: WTF? Aren’t you team leader on desert terrain extractions gone FUBAR? I’m knee-deep right now. Random fire. Bodies left and right. You want in on the fun? Fair warning, I’m way the fuck outside the wire.
AC: When are you not outside the wire?
Tin Man: That’d be never. You got a team deployed yet? ETA? It’s hairy as all hell here. Good thing you’re not scared of blood and guts.
AC: Damn, you’re chatty for a sitting duck.
Tin Man: *Update. The intestines are animal, not human, but the bad guys with the sniper rifles on the rooftop next to me don’t know that. I’ll let them think it’s my dinner. Freak them out. I am kinda hungry.
AC: No chance I’ll be rescuing your Cinderella ass from the Terrorist Ball. Play your cards right, you might be crowned homecoming queen by a bunch of goat fuckers. Perks of being a pretty boy.
Tin Man: Too far, man, too far. Really, where are you?
AC: RR for nineteen more hours.
Tin Man: Let me guess. Balls deep right now? Screw you.
AC: Duck when you see a chaser, Jason. Keep that ugly mug attached.
Tin Man: Will do, Coleson. Enjoy your lady friend. ISIS says hello.
“Find anything interesting?”
Olivia screeched, dropping the phone at the sound of Ash’s voice right behind her.
“Jesus!” Letting out a laugh, she covered her pounding heart. Tried covering her tracks, too. “Jesus, how does a man your size move so freaking quietly?” Scooping up the phone and setting it where she found it, she scrambled into one of his huge T-shirts. It was her only source of clothing other than a wrinkled party dress. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
He scowled when the cotton slid down her body, the hem hitting her knees. “It looked like you were checking up on me. Got any other plausible options?”
“No,” she whispered, biting her lip. “What can I say? You busted me. Do you want me to leave?” She pointed to the phone like it was a snake. “I’ll need to borrow that to call a ride. My cell’s been dead since last night.”
Her car was still at the vineyard, no doubt drawing all sorts of speculation.
He laughed. “Not a chance in hell.”
Padding into the kitchen, naked as the day he was born, he leaned into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. Twisting the cap off one, he handed it to her.
“First of all, I don’t want you to leave, Liv. I never want you to leave. Second, I have no wife, girlfriend, fuck buddy, baby mama, or side piece. I have you. And I will never cheat on you. You copy?”
Nodding, she swallowed, her mouth dry as dust.
“Third, I have two cell phones, one for work and one for play. That one,” he said, pointing toward the open bedroom door and the nightstand beyond, “is for play.” Grabbing a phone she’d not noticed before, he held it up. “Work. And you couldn’t access this if you hired the best hacker in the free world. When it rings, beeps, lights up, or makes any hint of a fucking sound, I leave. Immediately. I do not pass go, I do not collect two hundred dollars, and I do not say a long goodbye. I leave, Liv. It’s my job.”
“Okay.” Her voice was small.
“You can look at my play phone anytime you want. I have nothing to hide. You cannot look at my work phone. You’re just gonna have to refer to my second point and trust me. Have a little faith in me.” His narrowed gaze told her this was the crux of his conversation. “Can you do that? Can you trust me? Because if the answer is not a definite, unequivocal yes, then we don’t need to go beyond this point.”
She looked at his work phone, imagining a world of women in the contacts. “You won’t cheat on me? Ever? I mean, I know you’re gonna say no, even if the answer is yes, and I’ll never really know for sure if you are or you aren’t, but—”
“Livvy,” he interrupted, tilting her chin up with his index finger. “You can trust me. I will never cheat on you. I promise.”
She believed him. Call her crazy, unrealistic, or naive, but in that moment, Olivia believed him. And in that moment, she gave her trust—and her heart—to a man she’d only known for two short, sex-filled days.
“Mmm, what time is it?” Rolling toward the man next to her, she slowly came awake. The drapes were closed, cocooning the bedroom in darkness. “I slept for too long.”
It was Sunday afternoon. Time was winding down.
“Fifteen forty-five,” he replied lazily, running his fingertips along the arch of her back.
“Fifteen forty-five?” Confusion filled her voice. “Twelve, thirteen, fou
rteen,” she mouthed, ticking the numbers off in her head, picturing the face of a clock. “This is why I could never be in the military. I’d have no idea what time it was. I’d literally show up late for a war.”
“It’s quarter to four, and this body is way too gorgeous for fatigues.” He touched the emerald stud piercing her navel. “This was a sexy surprise. I didn’t peg you as a girl who’d go for body modification.”
“I don’t.” Olivia mirrored his movements, sliding her hand over his hard body. “Macy and I got a little tipsy at the food court in the mall last Christmas. Let’s just say, fresh pretzels with cheese dip, Heineken on tap, and a piercing station at the top of an escalator make for a bad combination. We hit the trifecta of poor decision making. Macy pierced her nose.”
He made a face.
“Yeah, I know, but trust me, the nose was the lesser of two evils. She would’ve done her labia, had the Piercing Pagoda been willing to break company policy and strict health code laws. She was dating a tattooed biker at the time. The biker got the boot by April and the nose ring went with him, thank God. It was disgusting.”
“Never get a labia piercing, Liv.” He cupped her heat. “And nobody touches this but me.”
She scoffed at his possessiveness, gripping his rising erection with a firm hand. “Then nobody touches this but me.”
The sheet slid away as she straddled him, done wasting daylight.
Kissing his defined pec muscle, she nibbled her way south. “No tattoos?”
His body might be nicked with random scrapes and scars, signs of the physical rigors of his chosen career, but his skin was surprisingly clean of ink.
“No. The Unit frowns upon them.”
“Why?” Nuzzling along the ridges of his ripped abdomen, she paused to look up. “They own the skin you’re in?”
“Essentially, yeah, they do.” Lacing his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes, the picture of warrior perfection chilling while his body was worshiped. “No identifying marks. Don’t wanna make it easy for the bad guys to, well, identify me. Blending in with the scenery is the goal if I don’t want a real thorough manicure.”
“Jesus.” She blinked as the implications of that statement sunk in. “Holy shit. What—” She swallowed, remembering his work phone. “What is it that you do exactly?”
With a carefree lift of his shoulder, he continued to doze. “Earn a paycheck.”
“Yeah, doing what, though? Like, where do you go, and what do you do there?”
Barely lifting his head, he cracked an eye open and stared at her, his expression shuttered. Almost intolerant.
He’d closed himself off as quickly as the slam of a door.
“You can’t even throw me a bone?” That got her zip in return. “What, are they gonna put you in jail if you tell me where you were last Tuesday? Or what you ate for lunch?”
Mute, his head dropped back to the pillow. Either unable or unwilling to disclose the slightest detail. She didn’t know which one was worse.
“Wh-what happens if I wanna call you? O-or come see you? What if you run out of Coors Light? How will I know wh-where to bring you some?” Hot sugar, was she crying? Yes. Yes, she was. Not full-on bawling, thank God, but just a teary-eyed, mini-breakdown. It was mortifying. “I’ve always wanted to visit Afghanistan in autumn, you know.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. “Don’t ever leave this country without me by your side. It has nothing to do with trying to control you or me being an overbearing asshole. There are places not safe for women traveling alone.”
“I’m not going to Afghanistan, you knucklehead. I’m joking.”
“I’m not. And I can’t tell you, Liv. I can’t tell you anything, not even what stale sandwich or shitty soup I may or may not have eaten for lunch last Tuesday. And if you need to reach me, you call my play phone. I already plugged the number into your cell. I may not answer.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Shit, there’s no may. I won’t answer. But I’ll call you back as soon as I can. It may be hours. It may be days. Hell, it may be weeks. But I will call you back, I promise.” Dragging her up his body, he hugged her close, his forehead against hers. “This is the part where you trust me, okay?”
His body tensed when she didn’t respond.
This was going to be hard. The not knowing. The never knowing. Sending him off to God only knew where, as if there was a guarantee he’d return by dinnertime. As if there was a guarantee he’d return at all. But her brain no longer had a choice in the matter.
Old logic gave way to new love. Her heart already decided.
“Okay.”
“Say it, Livvy.”
“I trust you.”
He relaxed, the tension leaving his body. “How’s Hope? She doing okay?”
The rapid change in subject was welcome.
“She’s a pretty teenage girl,” Olivia replied, with a knowing laugh. “She’s navigating her way through life, one boy at a time.”
“Great. Now I have to track down and kill a few punks before I head out.”
“Oh, stop with the badass soldier act. She can take care of herself. She’s just rebelling against Marshall. Haven’t you ever rebelled against your dad?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He indicated their naked bodies. “I’m doing it right now. And it’s no act. There were times when she needed me to protect her. Her mom wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. Did some things any judge in family court would consider felony child abuse.”
“Really? Oh, that poor thing.” Hope’s mother was a taboo topic around the vineyard, but Olivia couldn’t imagine anyone hurting the sweet girl. “That’s terrible. Was she arrested? Did they punish her?”
The blank look in his eyes told her nothing.
The sudden rigidity in his body told her something.
The fist he made, a completely subconscious gesture, told her everything.
“No. She was punished, though. Hope deserved to have her wrongs righted, and I was more than happy to do it. Inez never hurt her again.”
He left it at that, pushing her to her back and kneeing her legs apart, reaching for a condom as he sealed his mouth over hers.
Minutes later, when a thin sheen of sweat covered their bodies and she was ever so close to another wonderful orgasm, he stopped, pinning her with a smoldering stare that could turn a nun into a whore.
“What?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
Did the condom slip off? Did he leave the oven on? Did a meteor just hit the condo and his huge ramming manhood kept her from noticing?
“I love you.” His eyes were so blue they looked Photoshopped. “I love you, Liv.”
It was the first time love had been served up, and she was stunned Ash had taken the first bite. After a single weekend together, no less.
“I don’t have a goddamn clue how the hell that happened, but it did, and I thought you should know.” He kissed her, their lips clinging as if sealing a deal. Then he slapped her ass. “Now back to business.”
“No, wait. Stop—” Her laugh turned to a gasp as he hit a particularly good spot. Then hit it again. Clutching his ears, she steered his face to hers. “Ash, wait. I—” She’d never said this to a man in her life. “I think I love you, too.”
It had never been true until now.
“Like I love you?” It was a remarkably serious question amid hot, sweaty sex.
“How do you love me?”
“Not half-assed. Not just for now.” His lips brushed her temple. “All the way.”
She swallowed, knowing she might be kissing her career goodbye. “Then yes, like you love me. All the way.”
In the coming months, Olivia would tell Ash she fell in love with him the moment she had an orgasm with him inside her. And honestly, there was a kernel of truth to that.
But in reality, it was when, in a sparse condo in Mission Bay, he unknowingly outed himself as the protector of a little girl turned rebellious teenager. As the executioner of a barbaric population of e
xtreme terrorists. As the defender of freedom and liberty in its most humanizing sense.
And as the incredibly accomplished man who could have any woman in the world, but instead, loved a smart-mouthed girl from the poor side of Savannah, Georgia.
And he didn’t just love her, he loved her all the way.
Which is why, only a few months later while on his two-week leave, Olivia Quinn stood in front of a minister in the rose garden at Coleson Creek Winery, wearing white lace and pure happiness, and married Asher Coleson. With only Macy, Hope, Rosa, Benny, and a curiously subdued Marshall Coleson in attendance, they pledged their undying love to each other, promising to forsake all others until death did them part.
It was a beautiful wedding and an equally beautiful sentiment to begin their life together, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Asher Coleson believed it with every beat of their intertwined hearts.
And then someone died. And somebody broke a promise.
Three suitcases, two garment bags, one travel case, and a black trash bag.
Her whole life stuffed into seven containers.
The trash bag held her goose down bed pillows, and while any onlooker would surmise the Louis Vuitton luggage held her most prized possessions, they’d be wrong. If you were a woman with long hair prone to breakage and ungodly frizz in high humidity, you understood the value of a good, silk-encased feather pillow.
Olivia wasn’t normally a vain person, but since she’d just signed up for three months’ worth of sex—every kind of sex, according to her obstinate but well-hung husband—then looking her best while doing it was of utmost importance.
A secret smile crossed her face as she folded several pieces of delicate lingerie, placing them on top of her preferred sleepwear—lightweight cotton drawstring shorts and washer-softened tank tops. Nothing awakened a woman from her sexual coma like an indecent proposal from a naked man sporting major wood, followed by a shopping spree for lacy, silky, and downright naughty bras and panties. After paying an insane amount of money given the sheer lack of fabric she’d purchased, the saleswoman handed her a bag full of frilly underwear, gushing over the huge commission and offering her the boutique’s customary Sex Tip of the Week.