The Officer Says I Do

by Jeanette Murray

  The salty taste caught on her tongue, and she swirled around until Tim moaned. The sound was a deep rumble in his chest, vibrating through his body.

  Gliding down and back up again, Skye chose a rhythm she wanted. One that kept him twitching. One that would draw out the pleasure until it bordered on pain.

  “You’re killing me,” he complained.

  She pulled away, breaking the suction with a pop. “I can always just go downstairs and start some breakfast,” she said and started to shift.

  One heavy leg clamped around her calves, making it impossible to move. “Don’t you dare,” he said, giving her the evil eye.

  “Poor Tim. So sad.” She scratched her nails up and down his stomach, watching him relax until his head dropped back onto the pillow. “How do I make it better?”

  When she took him in her mouth again, she picked up the speed, using her fist for additional friction. His hips pumped, as if he couldn’t hold back if his country depended on it. And she didn’t want him to. Holding back was the last thing she wanted from her husband. In bed or out. But for now, she’d start with this.

  “Skye, I’m close. Come here.” His hands gripped under her elbows, but she ignored them. Not this time. This time she wanted to finish.

  “Skye. Christ. Skye!” Tim’s arms dropped, his back arched, and he grunted as the climax took him over. When he fell back, silent and still, she gave one last lick—just because she could—before releasing him. She crawled toward the headboard.

  Tim was still as stone, one forearm draped over his eyes. All signs of life gone but for the rise and fall of his chest. He looked vulnerable, the position leaving him open and defenseless. It was an oddly endearing thought. But then, she thought, he was always so strong. So in control. Showing his emotional soft underbelly for even a moment was a triumph for both of them.

  Of course nobody would mistake the vulnerability for weakness. No, not with arms so thick she couldn’t wrap two hands around. Or the cut muscles of his chest, the ladder of abs working down to his rock hard thighs.

  No wimps for the Marines, she thought and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She looked back, seeing he hadn’t moved. “Just wondered something.”

  A moment of silence, and then, “Are you going to share?”

  “Hmm. Sure.” Of course she wasn’t. She could only picture the look of horror on Tim’s face as she explained the beauty of his vulnerability. The image made her laugh again. So she improvised. “I was curious if you were ticklish.” And with that, she poked him in the ribs repeatedly until he grunted and rolled around to pin her beneath him. His strength vibrated from every muscle.

  Yes, vulnerability was a beautiful thing. But her husband sure as hell was no pushover.

  ***

  Tim took the offered beer and sat back in the recliner, making sure his feet were propped up at just the right angle to aid in optimum beer and snack consumption and game-watching.

  Dwayne plopped into the opposite recliner, going through the same motions until he was settled, then turned his eyes to the television.

  “How goes married life?” Dwayne asked.

  “Great.” When Dwayne raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. “It is. Look at this. I’m at a friend’s house on a Sunday afternoon watching football and she’s not even ragging on me for it.”

  “I thought you said she was at work,” Dwayne chimed in.

  “I thought you would be deployed by now.”

  “Any day now. Or so they tell me. Any fucking day.” Dwayne saluted him with his beer. “Lame distraction, by the way.”

  “Fine. Yes, she’s at work. But she’s still not ragging, is she?” Tim pointed out.

  They watched in silence until a commercial.

  “How was the thing at Colonel Blackwater’s house?”

  Tim sighed. “Uneventful, luckily.”

  “Was there a concern?” Dwayne asked. “And with who—you or Skye?”

  “Skye, mostly. The way the Colonel’s wife tore into her outfit at the barbeque, I was sure she’d wear something even more… hippieish. Just to spite.” Part of him—the insane part, clearly—had even been looking forward to it. “But instead she hauled ass the other direction and wore something that looked completely…” Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Not her. It wasn’t her at all. It was conservative and boring. Some black skirt and a blue shirt. No funky jewelry, no patterns. Nothing. The model of conservative.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Dwayne drawled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Dwayne sat up and pushed the leg rest in. Then he leaned forward, rolling the beer bottle between his palms. “Oh, I’m just thinking back to all the women you’ve dated. How they were all nice, simple, dressed like that. Conservative all around. Safe. Basically, the female version of you.”

  “What? No.” Tim shuffled through his mental file cabinet of old girlfriends. How did they dress to go on a date? How did they look at home? How did they act?

  Damn. Dwayne was right. “Well, okay. You have a point. But that’s what normal women dress like. Act like. It’s a responsible mode of clothing. Those women were usually coming from work or something,” he justified. “Banks or attorney offices. Of course they’d dress and act conservatively.”

  “And yet, instead of being pleased with how Skye looked—and I can imagine she looked pretty damn fine in the outfit because she’s a beautiful woman—you’re bitching about how it didn’t look right on her,” Dwayne pointed out smugly. The bastard.

  “It did look nice. She looked great. It just wasn’t what I’m used to from her.” Tim took a sip of beer to wash the dusty feeling from his throat. “Besides, I doubt she’ll dress like that much anyway. I could tell she was uncomfortable, and she switched outfits as soon as we got home.”

  An outfit that turned him from an average, semi-sex-starved husband into a full-blown lusting animal with almost no finesse. God, he’d practically attacked her and dragged her back to the bedroom, Neanderthal style. All that was missing was pulling her by the hair to his cave.

  She didn’t seem to mind.

  Didn’t matter. Next time he’d show at least a tiny bit of skill. Show her he was at least one step up from a hormonal teen fumbling in the backseat of his father’s Jeep.

  “Basically what it sounds like is she was being practical. Assessing the situation and making adjustments to her normal routine as necessary.” Dwayne killed the bottle and sat the empty one down on the coffee table between them. “It’s logical. Can’t complain there.”

  No, he couldn’t. The fact that Skye understood how important staying on the CO’s good side was to his career pleased him. She was putting in the effort. That more than the outfit itself was what hit him the hardest. When she said she wanted to give the marriage everything she had, she hadn’t been kidding.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

  ***

  Tim opened the front door, cursing when it slammed back at him.

  “What the hell?” He pushed harder and finally managed to squeeze in. When he shut the door behind him, he saw the culprit.

  A shoe had bested him. A tennis shoe must have fallen from the mountainous pile of Skye’s footwear and wedged itself under the door when he pushed open. He kicked the offending shoe back into the pile, only to watch five more tumble down and litter the entryway. He turned to leave, then couldn’t. Lining all the shoes up along the wall made him feel slightly better about them being where they didn’t belong. Slightly.

  On his way to the kitchen, he smelled something different. Definitely not the air freshener Madison had left behind when she moved out. It was too earthy. He sniffed again, following his nose Toucan Sam-style until he halted in front of the fireplace. Incense. A lot of them. Lined up on the mantel between
pictures of his family and little statues of… someone. He picked one up, amazed by how heavy it was. Definitely not the fat Buddha guy. But it looked like some pagan god of some sort. He placed it back warily and took a step back, almost tripping over a stack of magazines.

  His house was booby-trapped. Against him.

  Finally he made it to the fridge for some water when he saw the check hanging by a magnet.

  “Skye?” he called out, waiting for a response, the check between two fingers like he was holding a vial of deadly swine flu and wanted nothing to do with it. “Skye, where are you?”

  “Back porch!”

  Tim walked out the back door of the kitchen to find his wife lounging on one of the patio chairs in the sun. Sunglasses shaded her eyes, her arms were tossed over her head as if she were napping. One knee was bent, the other straight out in an unconsciously provocative pin-up girl pose. If she had been wearing an old-fashioned 1940s bikini, his heart might have stopped. As it was, the thin tank top and ripped denim shorts had his heart skipping a few beats.

  “Skye, what’s this?”

  “Dunno.” She didn’t even turn toward him to see what he was referring to.

  He sighed and walked in front of her. When she didn’t move, didn’t even tilt her head, he gently reached over and pushed her glasses to the top of her head. They left a cute red mark on the bridge of her nose. The sun had bronzed her skin, highlighting a few freckles over her cheeks. What would she do if he—

  “Looks like a piece of paper to me. Too far away to see more.”

  Her answer snapped him back. “It’s a check. Written to me.”

  Her nose scrunched at that. “If you know what it is, why are you asking me? I was taking in a nice afternoon nap.” Her eyelids dropped and her voice became husky. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, as you well know.”

  He did remember last night. And the night before. The past several nights, actually, and it was taking all his willpower not to roll on top of her on the lounge chair and repeat the performance.

  Jesus, Tim. Sex outside? Seriously? This isn’t you.

  He dropped into the other patio chair… very much out of arm’s reach. Take that, temptation. This situation was going to be annoying enough without battling a raging erection. “It’s a check from you. What’s it for? Why are you writing me checks?”

  “Oh.” At the clarification, she sat up and brightened. “It’s for this month’s mortgage payment. I took a peek at the statement when I saw it sitting on your desk. No, don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Yes you are. Your jaw looks so tight it might snap. I live here too. I should know what it takes to keep this place running.”

  Tim rubbed the ache that started to form between his brows. “Okay. Besides the fact that you snooped through my mail—”

  “Not snooping. It was just sitting there on the desk and I noticed it. And it saved me the effort of asking you about—”

  “Aside from that,” he repeated, “why are you writing me a check for half the payment?”

  She looked at him, her head tilting like a dog being given a command it didn’t understand. “Because I live here too.”

  “I never asked you for any money.”

  Her expression cleared, as if realizing the problem. Then she patted his knee and pushed her glasses back down on her nose. “I know. But I fixed it. So now I know what I need to contribute every month. We’re all set.”

  He stared at her, no clue where to go from there. “Um, no. We’re not all set. You’re not some roommate, Skye. You’re my wife.”

  No response.

  “So as my wife, you’re not obligated to pay rent.”

  “It’s not rent. It’s a contribution. If you just let me know when you get the electric, I’ll do my best to get you a check fast. Although I really should call my old bank and have them issue new checks with the new address on them. Do you think I should switch to a local bank here? Or maybe open an account at whatever bank you use…”

  “Skye.”

  “I mean I don’t think a joint account is the right thing to do right now, but maybe if we—”

  “Skye.”

  “No, you’re right. I’ll just find a bank that I like myself. No need to—”

  “Skye!” Jesus, she could go on for hours.

  Her head snapped back. “What?”

  He ripped the check in two and let them fall to her stomach. And had the satisfaction of watching his wife’s mouth drop open without a word to say. Speechless. For once. Maybe he should grab a calendar and write it down.

  That lasted a whole ten seconds.

  “What was that for?” She stood up and thrust the patio chair back. “I only have a few checks left that have to last me until the new ones come in. What the hell, Tim?”

  “My wife doesn’t pay rent. I provide.”

  Once again, her mouth hung open like a flytrap. Then it snapped shut with such force he was shocked she didn’t wince with pain. “You forgot to scratch yourself and mutter in Prehistoric Caveman while you said that. Oh my God, did you spear us a mastodon for dinner too, dear?”

  “Look, don’t get all feminist about this. It’s just the way O’Shays work. Husband provides. I am more than capable of providing the roof over my wife’s head.”

  With the sunglasses shading her eyes, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. But from the way she was trembling, he could easily guess she wasn’t thinking about sunshine and rainbows. Then she raised her shaking fists, tilted her face heavenward, and let out a strangled, blood-curdling scream. Tim barely resisted the urge to cover his ears.

  “Christ, Skye. The neighbors are going to think I’m out here murdering you!”

  Without notice, she walked barefoot down to the small patch of grass they called a backyard and started to pace. And pace. And pace. Tim could have sworn steam actually poured out her ears. The entire time, her mouth was moving, and he could faintly hear her voice. But the words were undetermined. He didn’t have to hear them to know that they wouldn’t be flattering to his ego.

  He wanted to tell her that people would be staring out their windows and thinking she was crazy, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Chestnut hair flowing behind her with every turn, body vibrating with energy—even angry energy—legs eating up the ground with purposeful strides… she was magnificent. Even if she was causing a scene for anyone in the townhouse complex to see. His body tightened in response, even as his brain was shouting to stay alert because with Skye, who knew what she would throw at him next?

  Finally she stopped, turned on a dime, and stared at him. With precision and care, she lifted her glasses with one finger and stared at him. Her voice was calm—too calm—when she spoke.

  “I am a capable, intelligent, independent woman.”

  She paused, as if giving him time to either agree or fight. Tim kept his mouth shut. This would be what his father called a no-win situation for males.

  “I am completely able to contribute to the house that I am staying in. It just so happens that this house is my husband’s home. My helpmate. Isn’t that what a spouse is? There to help? Well, I want to help.”

  Tim wanted to say she helped in other ways, by cooking and cleaning and seeing to the domestic chores. But that’d be a lie. She didn’t cook any more than he did, and her idea of cleaning was to shove everything under the nearest piece of furniture to hide it from view. It should bother him. It didn’t.

  “I refuse to be a dead weight around here.”

  “That’s what you think? That you’re dead weight?” Tim thudded down the wooden patio stairs to stand in front of her. Though it was a risk, touching someone who still looked like a live wire of energy, he put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s not the truth at all. This is just h
ow I was raised. That the man—”

  “Provides. Takes care of the women. Yeah, I know.” Skye rubbed her temples and gave a shy grin. “I’m sorry. I get a little upset at the whole male macho 1950s routine.”

  “This is you a little upset?” The screaming, the pacing, the calm-before-the-storm attitude?

  God help him if she ever got well and truly pissed at him. And why did that thought make him want to smile?

  She shrugged then walked up the stairs to the patio chair she’d vacated ten minutes earlier as if nothing happened. “So will you let me help with the bills?”

  He rubbed a hand over his hair, feeling completely trapped. To say yes meant going against his entire upbringing, an upbringing he happened to believe in. But saying no obviously didn’t yield desirable results with his wife.

  As if sensing his problem, Skye waved him to sit down in the other chair again. When he did, she held out a hand until he placed his in it. Her skin was soft, warm from the sun. He wanted to see if she was warm all over.

  “Please.” It was all she said, and he felt helpless to deny her at that point.

  He raised their hands and kissed the back of her fingers. “Okay.”

  Though it gave him a little twist in the gut, her smile unraveled it and soothed the churning. He still felt like he barely knew her. But to see her smile like that, Tim knew he would do almost anything.

  He waited until she relaxed before he scooped her up in his arms. And he walked the shrieking, laughing woman back up to their bedroom to spend the rest of the afternoon finding other ways to make her smile.

  Chapter 17

  Skye plodded into the kitchen, eyes blurry and droopy with sleep. Reaching in the cabinet, she pulled out the makings for tea. Right now, coffee would be nice. Except she didn’t drink it. But the kick it could give her was enviable. Instead she picked the strongest tea she had and started the water.

  Her day off, and she’d slept half of it away. Then again, understandable since she’d had a late night. A private party kept her at work two hours past expected close time. And Tim had kept her awake well into the early morning hours.