The evening had served to make her feel closer to Tim, and yet farther away. The niggling fear in the back of her mind that she was less than what Tim expected couldn’t be ignored. Not entirely.
Skye wandered into the kitchen and aimlessly opened the fridge. She wasn’t hungry; she hadn’t even eaten all of her dinner. But who could swallow around the mouthful of inadequacy she’d been chewing on the entire night?
She was the one who had pushed for the marriage. She was the one who had felt—still felt—the importance of what they were trying to work through. Tim was giving it his all; she had no complaints on that point. But would his reluctance in the beginning translate to an easy-out attitude later?
The front door opened, then closed. Skye scanned the shelves and picked up an apple and turned around.
“Thanks for that.” Tim turned a kitchen chair around and straddled it, arms folded over the top.
“For what?” She hunted around until she found a knife and cutting board, then began to slice the unnecessary apple. Having something for her hands to do—a prop of sorts—gave her more confidence.
“Dealing with my parents. They’re great people. It’s just a little hard on them.”
Skye didn’t turn around, concentrating on her slices. She could read between the lines without facing her husband. “I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I understand why you didn’t mention the marriage. I just… I think we both wish we’d had some time to prepare.” She wanted to ask about his mother. Ask about his wants from a wife. But the words wouldn’t squeak by the lump in her throat. Did she want to know the honest answer?
No. Not yet.
“You were good with them.” His voice was closer now, but she didn’t turn around.
“They were nice. Made it easy.” For the most part, anyway. “Did you expect me to bite?” she teased as she took a step to the left to drop the knife in the sink.
His hand caught her wrist. She barely had time to gasp before he whirled her around, pushing her back against the fridge door.
Tim’s mouth was on hers in an instant. Aggression, possession. Everything ruthless, insistent, nothing sweet. His lips pried hers open, tongue thrust in to claim the recesses of her mouth. His feet bracketed hers. The outline of his erection was impossible to miss.
They were supposed to be taking it slow. Chaste, closed-mouth kisses were all they’d allowed themselves. All they’d managed to suffer through. But feeling his need, his desire in such a dark way, put a serious crack in the reserve she’d been holding onto.
But there had been a purpose. A damn good one. Relying on sex wasn’t going to get them any closer to a true marriage. Instant gratification always felt fantastic in the moment. But afterward? Never as good as the thing you waited patiently for.
Now, could she just get her body to catch up to where her mind was headed?
“No,” she breathed as his mouth worked over to her ear. His teeth nibbled, nipped, worked her lobe until her knees were spaghetti, along with her resistance. “No, we said—”
“We said no sex,” he said, breath tickling her ear. “This isn’t sex, is it? Not yet, anyway.” His tone said there was always hope.
True. No, wait. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But oh God, it felt so good.
One large hand crept down her rib cage with steady confidence, fingers bunching and pulling at her tunic until it sat above the waistband of her cotton pants.
She sighed when his fingers finally touched skin. The light caress of his rough fingertips over her belly spread heat and desire across her skin like a flash fire. She ached for him. Was too aware of the emptiness where he should be. Had been once before. Her mind drew a blank on reasons to stop his exploration. But there was one large, insistent reason to keep going, and it rocked against her hip with obvious impatience.
“Let me,” he panted against her cheek. “Let me.” His hand was untying the drawstring to her pants, tracing the skin above the waistband, making her shiver.
“Yes,” she whispered. As if she could say no. Not now. She was too far into it now to dig her way back out. Logic and reason be damned.
His fingers walked their way beneath the waistband, beneath her thong. Pressing into her core, massaging down to the place she wanted him most. He was taking forever and she squirmed to silently hurry him along. Instead he stopped completely.
“Wh—what are you doing?” Did her voice just break? Was she that far gone? Embarrassing. Pull yourself together, McDermott!
“Slowing down. My pace,” he said, his tone hard. The other hand pushed her hips back against the fridge, removing her wiggle room. Taking complete control, demanding submission. “I lead.”
Every feminist, dominant cell in her body revolted. But when she gave him a hard stare, he only gave it back tenfold. The heat of his fingers only inches from her core was a burning reminder of what she had to lose if he changed his mind.
The man wasn’t joking. She had a very good feeling he’d rather walk away and suffer the blue consequence than relinquish control.
The message was clear. He might be indulgent with some things, letting her have her way. But when it came to this very base, carnal area of marriage, he was alpha dog. And that thought made her want to scream with frustration, all while she felt the faint, annoying flutter of excitement.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. She would play his way. For now.
Later, all bets were off.
“Good choice,” he said, voice husky, and took her mouth with his once more.
Inch by inch, his fingers brushed down until they traced the slick outer edges of her folds. She shuddered but forced herself to stay still. Torture. Absolute torture. One long finger dipped in, then pulled out. Her hips lifted to keep the contact, but he pushed her back.
“Cheating,” he murmured and started to pull his hand out.
“Okay!” She growled and fought back the urge to kick him in the shin. Had she really thought this domineering bit was sexy just a minute ago?
He rewarded her with another long, lingering stroke of his finger, grazing the bundle of nerves and making her whimper. But with supreme effort, she stayed in place when he retreated.
“Good.”
The single word of praise made her flush with pleasure.
Okay. Maybe the domineering thing was a little sexy.
His breath fanned over her collarbone as he worked his way down. The tunic’s wide neck gave him plenty of skin to caress, kiss, light on fire with his touch. One finger entered slowly. Her breath caught. The smooth glide in made a dent in her emptiness, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. As if hearing her thoughts, he added another finger, filling her more. Stretching her.
Skye’s head thumped against the freezer door. Every ounce of control in her body was focused on not thrusting up to meet his questing hand, to force the rhythm. She was pleased with her restraint… until he added his thumb.
The pad slowly pressed on her clitoris like a button, then released. Her body shook with the effort to remain motionless, to abide by his stupid rule. His fingers worked her faster, and his thumb pressed against her once more, then moved away.
It was maddening. No rhyme, no rhythm to his attentions. She had no way of anticipating his next move. Just his labored breathing against her shoulder, and the knowledge that at some point, when he felt like it, he would—ah, there!—touch her where she wanted it most.
The pressure inside built up like a teakettle, low in her belly. Her muscles were contracting; she could barely stand. He had to feel her straining with the effort to stay immobile, had to recognize how close she was to dropping like a sack of potatoes. He must have realized how unsteady she was, because he used his free hand to wind her arms around his neck for support.
“Tim. Tim, I need—” She couldn’t
catch her breath. She was going to black out from lack of oxygen. And it would be all this infuriating man’s fault. All his fau—
His thumb brushed against her, circled this time, continued the pattern with more force and didn’t let go.
And the top blew off the teakettle.
Everything inside her shifted, shook, and exploded. Like the champagne bottles they served in Vegas, her insides roiled, rattled, bubbled until they had nowhere to go and she shattered. Her knees gave and Tim helped her sink to the floor, sliding his hand away as she landed with an ungainly plop.
After a moment of deep breathing, he pulled her onto his lap and rubbed her back in soothing circles. He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured soft words while she came back to her own body. Her limbs felt like dead weight; her joints were loose and useless. But even as she shifted, she felt his cock still hard, still insistent, and she felt guilt.
Her own rule, and she broke it. Quickly. The man somehow managed to kill every single thread of resistance in her, even on something so serious as this. If he’d pushed, she had no idea if her body would have caved into the temptation to go at it like teenagers on the kitchen floor, damn the consequences.
Guilt, yeah. She had it. And a little bit of shame.
“Stop thinking so loud.”
She leaned back and looked into her husband’s eyes. “If you can hear, what am I thinking of?”
He lifted a brow, as if to say, Like this is even a challenge. “You’re beating yourself up over what just happened because of your rule. But you shouldn’t be. Know why?”
She shook her head, curious to hear his interpretation.
“I think in your mind, sex is a wall. But what if it’s not? What if it’s really a bridge, leading us to the better parts?” He shrugged a shoulder, her head bobbing with the movement. “We’re hot for each other. That’s good. You need that in a marriage, and it’s natural. I’m not going to push it though. So we took the edge off. And from here, we can just go on. Right?”
Mutely she nodded. How could she argue with that? He’d explained her thought process to a T. And released just a little bit of the shame that she’d felt creeping in.
It didn’t, though, make her feel any different about her choice to forego sex for the time being to strengthen their bond. Well, from here on out.
Tim nudged and pulled until she was on her feet.
“I’m going to go take a shower, and you’re going to… do something. That doesn’t involve me or the shower. Understood?”
More commands. More orders. She wanted to bark at him that she wasn’t one of his Marine minions. Instead she nodded. Because in the end, this was the whole point. And he was holding up his end of the agreement.
He blew out a breath, as if he’d just been given a reprieve from the governor not a moment too soon. Then he kissed her forehead and left, walking with a slight hitch.
She bit back a giggle until she could hear his uneven footsteps tromping up the stairs. Then she chuckled and turned back to her abandoned apple slices, then bit into one for the satisfying crunch.
Doing the honorable thing was killing him, but he was doing it. She’d accidentally chosen her husband well.
For the first time in a few days, confidence seeped back into her bones, warming her. This was going to work.
***
Hiding in his guest bedroom like a fucking coward was not how Tim planned on spending his Saturday morning. But after leaving Skye in the kitchen the night before, after instigating the break of her no-sex rule, that’s exactly what he was doing.
The way Tim saw it, he had two options. He could climb out the window, shimmy down the drainpipe, and head toward the nearest golden arches for breakfast. Or he could stay in the guest room until he died of hunger.
Or you could choose door number three: Grow a pair and go downstairs, O’Shay. She might not even be upset.
Right. And a wet cat might not be spitting pissed.
As his stomach rumbled, he realized he had no choice but to find out the depths of her anger. He walked down the stairs, prepped and ready for a fight, to give in-depth explanations, to apologize.
Instead he found breakfast cooking. Smelled like—he stopped to take a sniff at the bottom of the stairs—smelled like bacon and eggs. The good stuff, no tofu required. He shuffled into the kitchen to find Skye in another of her trippy outfits, this one a black ruffled skirt that came down to her knees, tan and pink striped leggings, and some sort of baggy purple top. Her hair was, as usual, pulled into a messy knot at the top of her head, which bobbed with every movement she made.
The radio was on; some top forty song blasted. Just not loud enough to drown out her unfortunate singing. Tim smiled at the picture she made. It was definitely not his mother’s famous Saturday morning pancake buffet. But it was something he could get used to. Especially if she was making real food, not something that rabbits would eat.
Hedging his bets, he walked up behind her and snuck a kiss on her cheek. She gasped, whirled around, and smacked him in the chest with the spatula, splattering what he hoped—and feared—was egg residue on his shirt.
“Good thing I didn’t wear my favorite shirt,” he joked as her eyes widened. “It’s okay.” He carefully unclenched her fingers from the utensil and set it aside, then reached behind her and turned down the burner.
She started to protest, but he kissed her soundly, and she melted like butter in the frying pan. Just a quick one, then he stepped back.
“Needed a good morning kiss.” Was she going to smack him? Make some comment about last night? Fling the half-done eggs in his face?
She only smiled and turned back to the stove. “That was nice.”
Hmm. It was, but that wasn’t quite what he expected. In fact, he found himself waiting for the other shoe and almost enjoying the anticipation. But she merely hummed along with the next song and flipped eggs.
He grabbed a glass of juice and sat at the table, waiting for some sign that she wanted to talk. But all he got was the opportunity to watch her flit around the kitchen with no real pattern until she had two plates full of bacon and eggs. She placed one in front of him, sat the other in front of the seat next to him, and plopped down with an exaggerated sigh.
“Whew!” She grinned. “I’m more of a cereal person. But I felt like doing something extra today.”
“I’m not going to argue,” he said and took a bite of bacon. “Hmm. Did you season this with something? Tastes different. Good though,” he added and took another bite.
“You like it?” she asked uncertainly.
He killed off the last bite and grabbed another slice. “Yeah.”
She sat back a little and blew out a breath. “Good. I was afraid you wouldn’t like the fakon.”
Tim paused with the next slice halfway to his mouth and eyed it warily. “The… what?”
“Fakon. Fake bacon.” She picked up a slice and bent, smiling when she heard the crisp snap. “It’s a vegan bacon substitute. Like I said, I’m not a big meat eater, but I know you are, so I was looking for ways to combine meals.” She smiled brightly. “I guess this is a score.” And with that she picked up her fork and dug into her eggs.
Or were they eggs? He glanced at the simple, fluffy yellow concoction on his plate with new curiosity. If he poked it, would it poke back?
Skye glanced his way, her smile slipping a little as she noticed his frozen state. Quickly he shoved the entire fake food product in his mouth and chewed with renewed vigor. Then he grabbed his fork and shoveled a load of I-hope-it’s-egg into his mouth and swallowed before he could taste it. With a large grin, he said, “It’s great!”
She smiled again and went back to her meal. “They’re real eggs, you know,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m a vegetarian, not a vegan. I actually like eggs.”<
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He sighed with relief and glanced over. She was looking down at her plate, but the corner of her mouth tilted up.
A few minutes and two more slices of fakon later, he asked, “Do you have plans for the day?”
“Nope. I have today off, then work six days straight.”
Tim opened his mouth but shut it again as he watched Skye drag her tongue over the tines of her fork. Her taste buds rasped over the cool metal, slipping between to grab every last bit of egg. His body hardened instantly. Was that her plan? He glanced at her eyes, but she was staring innocently at the vase of flowers she’d set out the other day.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “There’s a mixer today at the battalion if you’re interested. Guys bringing their wives and kids. Barbeque gets going. That sort of thing.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the clock. “Is this a last-minute thing they put together?”
Of course not. The MWR put these things together weeks in advance. But between putting off announcing his marriage and just not being used to RSVPing for an additional person, he realized this was the first he’d mentioned it to her. Shit. “These things are pretty casual,” he hedged. “I’ll probably just wear this.” A polo and khaki cargo shorts were basically an out-of-uniform uniform for most Marines. “Well, minus the egg.”
“Ah.” She glanced at the clock again and nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go in two hours?” When he nodded, she stood up and took her plate to the sink. After rinsing and putting it in the dishwasher, she came back and gave him a dazzling smile that made his lungs burn and his cock stiffen almost painfully.
“Thanks for asking me,” she said and bent down to give him a kiss.
Tim clenched his hands around the seat of the chair to keep from pulling her into his lap and spending the day remembering every spot on her body that made her moan. But no, he’d invited her to a battalion barbeque and he’d live up to the promise. Because for some unknown reason, it made her ridiculously happy and grateful.
As she disappeared up the stairs to do who knows what girly things that were required before leaving the house, he wondered about that. Mandatory fun, as they often liked to call “recommended” off-duty events, were usually attended grudgingly, at best. People didn’t like giving up an afternoon out of their free time. But Skye had acted like he’d presented her with the chance to go deep sea diving or take private flying lessons. It was just a barbeque.
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