Taming Marco (The Moran Family Book 2)

by Alexis James

  “Don’t call her a broad,” I say around a mouthful of hash browns.

  “Sorry. But you get what I’m saying, right?” At my shrug, he continues. “Just relax a little bit. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. The only thing that’s changed since last night or even a week ago is that you guys put a name to what you are. Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working just fine.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” I remark, tossing down my fork and massaging my temples with my thumbs.

  “Then don’t. If you get nervous about something, talk to her. But don’t sit there silent, acting like a dick and expecting her to know exactly what you’re thinking. Tell her.”

  Frowning, I growl, “Since when did you become such an expert on relationships?”

  He shrugs. “I’m no expert, man. I just know what I want.”

  “So that’s why you are in love with someone new every other week? Because you know what you want?”

  Roman smirks. “Yeah, I guess.” A shadow falls across his face briefly, something I’ve never seen from my easy-going little brother. But in the blink of an eye the shadow is gone and he’s right back to his charming, sweet self. “I’m having fun, that’s all.”

  “Are you?” I suspect that he’s using his bevy of love affairs to mask something else. Something deeper, something painful.

  He shows me the token Moran grin, guaranteed to charm the women right out of their panties. “Of course. I love women.”

  I’m not buying what he’s trying to sell, but I know first-hand how difficult it can be to talk about something painful. Pushing him to talk isn’t the answer, so I go with something a little less excruciating. “Yes you do. But have any of those women ever made you want to commit for more than a week or two?”

  That dark shadow passes over his eyes again before he looks away. “Nah. I just like hanging out with them. It’s nothing serious.”

  Uh-huh. Right. “Do you ever think you’ll be ready to settle down like Cruz has?”

  Roman shrugs. “I doubt it. Mia is one in a million. He’s a lucky guy.” His eyes dart to mine briefly. “You’re lucky too, man. Amita is a keeper.”

  “Yeah, we shall see.”

  A few minutes later he gives me some lame excuse and takes off, leaving me with not only the bill, but with a heavy feeling of concern about my little brother. He does the Romeo thing so well that none of us ever seem to look very deep and ask ourselves why he dates so many women and so often. Could it be that somewhere along the line, while we were all dealing with our own lives he got his heart broken?

  I think back on our childhood, and Roman is still the same sweet, funny guy he has been all his life. Even after he returned from a few years away at college in upstate New York, he didn’t change. He was always the happy one, never silently brooding like Cruz, never partying the night away like me. Roman has always only ever been Roman: happy and content with his life just as it is.

  Tossing some cash down onto the table, I head directly to my car and gun the engine. I should go into the office and organize a few things, but my heart simply isn’t in it. I could call Amita, try to make amends for how I behaved earlier, but my head reminds me that space between us is a good thing. Space is something we both could use, especially after last night.

  I make a quick trip to the grocery store and get stocked up on things then head home to change into workout clothes and go for a run. It’s brutally hot and muggy, not exactly running weather, but I feel like I need to torture my body a little after all the over-thinking I’ve been doing since I first woke up. So I push myself, feet pounding on the pavement as I run through the neighborhoods, deliberately avoiding the area where Amita lives on the off chance she’s driving somewhere and sees me.

  Good boyfriends don’t go out of their way to avoid their girlfriends. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I need to seriously consider reevaluating what I want from my life and from her as well. Mile after mile I run, stopping only to chug a bottle of water before heading right out again. How ironic, I think as I turn down another block, that what I’m doing mimics what I should be doing. I should run from her, should let her go live the beautiful life she is destined to live. I sure as hell shouldn’t be avoiding her, sending her away, and hating every word out of my mouth. I most certainly shouldn’t be insisting that she’s my girlfriend, then regretting doing so in the first place. I’m not being fair to her … or to myself.

  I suck at this boyfriend thing. While that shouldn’t exactly come as any big surprise to me or anyone else, I do find it rather off putting that before Amita and I became something official, we were working just fine. Since the wedding, all I do is question and doubt and worry that I might have made a mistake. It seems like I’m constantly looking for anything to reaffirm the idea floating around in my head that she and I are nothing more than a passing fancy. I’m suspicious of any comment she makes, even the ones I know are innocent. There’s got to be some ulterior motive in the works. Thinking like this is fucked-up. I know it.

  We do have fun together and when I step out of my head for a while, I actually manage to believe I made a wise choice in pushing her that night. Now she’s officially my girlfriend and there’s all this added weight and expectation hanging over my head. She never says a word, but I feel like I should at least tell her if I’m going to be busy or go out with some of my buddies for a drink. I notice she always does that, but she’s so damn easy-going about it all it never comes across as a chore or something to resent like it does when I do it.

  Amita must sense all this craziness is going on with me because she’s never once insisted or even suggested that we take another step forward. We don’t leave clothes or toothbrushes at each other’s places, and we don’t go everywhere together. Sunday dinner sometimes includes her and sometimes doesn’t. I keep what little control I can, but that doesn’t displace the odd sense I have that I’m taking advantage of her somehow.

  With Cruz and Mia now back from their honeymoon, I can at least not live at the office eighteen hours a day. I welcome the much-needed break and the ability to wake up in my own bed late Saturday morning and do whatever the hell I want. But when I look at my phone, see the missed text from Amita inviting me out for breakfast, I feel like a complete jerk for not responding until three hours later. Is this how boyfriends behave? Being grateful for a lonely bed and looking forward to a day without priorities or commitments?

  Disgusted with myself, I shoot off a response, ask if she wants to have dinner tonight, then hit up Roman to see what he’s doing. He answers on the first ring, sounding out of breath, and there’s a distinctive sound of female laughter in the background.

  “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

  He chuckles. “Nah. She’s just leaving. Give me a sec.”

  I hear what sounds like him setting the phone down, some murmured conversation, more giggling followed by a breathy moan. Rolling my eyes, I half consider hanging up. Roman tends to get caught up and forgetful when he’s got a warm body in his arms.

  Speaking of warm bodies, I’m more than anxious to get my hands on Amita’s. The craziness of the past few weeks with Cruz out of the office has left us only small pockets of time to get together. Usually that time is spent fucking … quickly. I haven’t seen her for a few days and haven’t really touched her since last weekend, so I more than need to reacquaint myself with her body. Preferably all the soft, warm, wet parts.

  My dick hardens at the idea of all her beautiful parts. Roman comes back on the line, and I quickly adjust myself and set those thoughts aside for when I’m not speaking to my little brother.

  “Sorry, man.”

  “It’s all good.” We chat briefly about work then make a plan to meet for lunch at our favorite taco place. Once the call is disconnected, I slide on shorts and a tank top and head downstairs to the gym. It’s blazing hot outside today, so a run is out. Besides, I think as I shove my earphones in, I can punish my body when in a hos
t of ways: treadmill, bicycle, weight machines.

  A two-hour workout does nothing to relieve the need that’s been wearing on me since my wayward thoughts from earlier. By the time I arrive back at my condo, I’m fixated on a hot shower to ease my sore muscles and a few strokes of my hand to take the edge off and hopefully get my brain back in gear.

  No big shocker that I’m rock hard by the time I step under the spray, and with a little help from a squirt of body wash into my palm, I grasp my cock and start to stroke. Images hit me one by one: Amita spread eagle on the bed, her hands stroking her body while I watch; the two of us tangled together, sweaty and spent, her soft whispers begging for one more time. The countless pictures flit through my mind, the smell and taste of her something I’ve memorized, and it doesn’t take me long to reach the peak, growling out my release while the steamy spray runs down my back.

  Head down and hands braced against the tiled wall, I attempt to steady my breathing and clear my head. Rubbing one out to memories of her is probably not something a boyfriend should do, but damn if I’m not relieved to lose some of the tension that’s been slowly eating away at me for the past few days. It’s my own damn fault. I could have made plans with her last night, but when she started making noise about a double date with Mia and Cruz, I panicked and told her I was meeting up with the guys. It wasn’t a lie, because I did go for one drink, but then I came home and watched a movie, which she could have easily done with me. It was a total douche move.

  What the fuck am I doing? Making excuses, avoiding her, acting like some skittish scaredy-cat … this is so not me. I’m Marco Moran for crying out loud. Arrogant asshole, confirmed bachelor, admitted player. I don’t hide in my house avoiding women because I’m afraid demands might be put on me.

  Uh … yeah you do.

  Shutting off the water, I step out and swipe my body with a towel then pad naked into the bedroom. I need to get a handle on all this shit, figure out what I want from her and for myself, and put an end to all this second guessing.

  How the hell can I accomplish that?

  I’m still mulling over that question when I arrive at the taco joint. Roman is already seated, beer in hand, when I come strolling into the tiny restaurant. He shoots me a grin as I slide my sunglasses on top of my head and take a seat. “You’re late.”

  Yeah, a two-hour workout followed by gratifying myself in the shower did set me back by about twenty minutes. Totally worth it though. “Sorry, man. Got caught up.”

  “With your dick,” he smirks.

  I throw him a dark look. “Did you order?”

  “Yeah. I ordered for us both, sweetie pie.” He winks and moves quickly to avoid me hitting him across the head.

  We settle in with beers and plates of soft tacos, beans and rice, and he proceeds to tell me about this week’s new love: the giggling wonder whom I heard in the background. If Amita were here, we’d laugh about a nickname for this new chick, just like we always do with Roman’s trove of women. But she’s not here, and I’m certain the burning in my stomach is from the hot salsa and not from the woman who seems to linger far too long in my head each day.

  “What’s Amita up to today?” Roman asks, wiping his mouth and taking a pause between tacos to chug at his beer.

  I shrug. “How the hell should I know?”

  He shoots me a confused expression. “Uh, maybe because she’s your girlfriend.”

  “Dude, we don’t keep tabs on one another. That’s your deal, not mine.”

  Setting down his napkin, he threads his fingers across his stomach and glares at me. “You still freaked out over this boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

  Rolling my eyes, I fork a healthy mixture of rice and beans and reply, “I’m not freaked out.” Shoveling it into my mouth, I can hear the word ‘liar’ coming from my own head as well as from his lips.

  “What’s your problem man? Amita is a cool chick. Why are you so convinced she’s going to drag you to the altar?”

  The idea makes me slightly nauseous, though I do admit that the vision in my head of her in a white dress is very appealing. “Who the fuck said anything about marriage? Jesus, man, that’s not my thing. You, of all people, should know that.”

  That same dark glimpse of pain I’ve seen a time or two passes right through his eyes again, before he turns his attention to his meal. “You’re going to screw this up, Marco. You need to chill out and just go with the flow.”

  Easier said than done, I think as I drain my beer and shove my plate aside. Going with the flow is what got me into this situation; the same situation where I’m now questioning every thought I have, every word I say, and every single thing I do.

  “Let me ask you something,” Roman says, elbows on the table as he looks at me intently. “Do you want to see other women?”

  I outwardly cringe at the thought. “Jesus, no.”

  “Well, if that is the truth, then why are you trying so hard to sabotage this relationship you have with her?”

  His words hit hard, a direct slam to the center of my chest. Is that what I’m doing? Avoiding her, making excuses … all in an attempt to push her away? If I am, then I need to ask myself why I’m doing that. Roman is right. If I don’t want to see other women, why am I not content just to see her? Why is being with her and only her such an issue?

  A weird sense of panic unleashes inside of me at the realization that I might have blown my chance with her somehow. I may not be one hundred percent all in, but I’m also not walking away anytime soon either. The idea that one day I might wake up and not be able to call her or see her terrifies me. Suddenly the only place I want to be is right by her side.

  Slapping some bills down onto the table, I get to my feet and state, “I gotta run.”

  Roman grins up at me and sits back in his chair. “Going to see Amita?”

  I don’t confirm or deny, but I think we both know there’s only one place I want to be right now. “See you at dinner tomorrow.”

  “Tell her hi,” he calls.

  During the time it takes for me to drive across town and pull up in front of her building, I neglect to consider the fact that she’s probably out. A quick check around the building confirms that her red beater is in its space. After quickly punching in the access code she gave to me weeks ago, I take the stairs two at a time to her floor.

  Out of breath, I knock repeatedly on her door, until finally I hear her grumbling, “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” Then the chain is undone, so is the lock, and the door is being pulled wide, where she greets me with a smile. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”

  Stepping inside, I kick the door closed and immediately take her in my arms. “I know. I missed you.”

  She looks shocked at my words, as would I if I took half a minute to consider what I’ve said, but she simply loops her arms around my neck and grins broadly. “I missed you too.”

  My mouth comes down on hers, probably harder than I intended—a mix of lips and tongue and teeth that will leave her with no doubts about where I plan for this to go. Thank God Amita is … well … Amita, and she immediately takes me by the hand and pulls me up the stairs. Once we step foot in her bedroom, she turns to me with a smile and reaches to remove her shirt then quickly does the dame with mine.

  Then we’re kissing again, and I’ve got her back against the wall, rocking my already hard dick against her as her fingers stroke over my skin. I make quick work of her bra, tossing it aside as my mouth makes contact with her hard nipple, sucking it until she moans loudly with approval.

  “Hurry,” Amita begs, reaching for the button on my shorts.

  Christ, doesn’t she know what saying that to me does? I’m literally blind with need for her, stripping her then myself in record time, before easing her down onto the unmade bed. Her hands grip my hair as I slide down her body and shove her legs wide. My tongue finds her already slick. Groaning, I shove two fingers in deep and lap at her clit. She squeals and arches her back, rotating her hips with
every slip and slide of my fingers and mouth. I can tell by how tightly her inner walls grip me that she’s already there.

  “Oh … yes!” Her fingers tear at my hair as she comes against my mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her body as I work her through it. She’s sensitive, but still horny as hell, at least if the way she’s riding my fingers is any indication. Which to me means our sweet trip has only just begun.

  Rising up and over her, I thrust in to the hilt and fuse our mouths together. It’s like we haven’t touched in months instead of days, and I can tell she’s right there with me by the way she’s digs her nails into my skin and sucks on my tongue.

  I set a hard, fast pace, pushing us both to the edge before backing off and slowing slightly. Slow is not what either of us wants but it’s what has to happen if I have a hope in hell to make her come again, which is all I want. Watching her release is a beautiful thing, no doubt, but hearing my name on her lips while it’s happening is the real kicker. Any man who tells you he doesn’t appreciate the sound of his name on her mouth when she’s coming is a damn liar. The only thing better is the act itself.

  Dark, needy brown eyes meet mine and she whispers, “Please … I need more.”

  Fuck, if only she knew how much more I wanted to give her. Not a day goes by when I don’t imagine her in one of twenty positions, all with that beautiful end result of mutual satisfaction. “What do you need, babe?”

  She moves her hand, shoving it between our bodies and directly to her hot spot. When I start to thrust harder in response, she moans, “That’s it. Right there.”

  I lift up just enough so that I can appreciate her touching herself while simultaneously watching as I sink into her again and again. One of the hottest things ever is her ability to be free of all inhibitions in bed. She says what she wants, tells me what she needs, and eagerly does what she feels like to bring us both the most satisfaction.