by Aliyah Burke
He arched a brow. “Really? Are you sure?”
“No.”
Sam stepped closer yet. “Listen to me and listen well, Roxi. You have no reason to be jealous of her. She’s my past. I’m looking at my future.”
She shook her head and it was like she stood there, driving a knife into his chest, over and over. “I can’t, Sam.”
“Can’t what?” I will not panic and I will not run.
“Can’t deal with the zero letting me in. Physical is great and wonderful, but I need the emotional connection more than just rare glimpses.”
“I know. I haven’t let you in, Roxi. And that wasn’t you, it was me. I wasn’t able to reconcile my past and I almost ruined our future. I’m sorry. Give me another chance and you’ll see I can do this.” He eliminated the final step separating them. “I want to do this. I want it all with you.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth and he cupped her chin. “Listen to me, Roxi. You asked me what it was I wanted for Christmas. Do you remember what I said?”
She nodded.
“What did I say?” He saw her hesitation in airing his wishes to the public listening in. “Tell them, I don’t care. What did I say?”
“You wanted a home.”
He nodded. “Yes. But more than that, I wanted the home that you’d already given to me. From the moment I arrived here and you took me in, Roxi, you gave me the home I’d wanted all my life. You are my home. I love you, Roxi.”
Her eyes shone like diamonds with her unshed tears. He drew her in close and put his forehead to hers.
“Sam,” she whispered.
“Yes, Roxi?”
“I love you, too.”
His sigh of relief was swallowed up by the kiss they shared. He groaned in delight as her taste seeped back onto his tongue, filling him with its heady flavour. The clearing of a throat had him reluctantly ending the kiss.
“It’ll work,” he vowed softly.
She reached up and brushed her fingers along his cheek. “I want you to meet my parents.” Roxi peered around him and waved at someone. “Daddy, I want you to meet Sam.”
“I’ve already met him”—Sam paused and amended—“met them.”
Her gaze was wondrous as she glanced back up at him. “Already met them? When did you meet them?”
“I had to get in contact with them,” Sam admitted.
He scanned the room and caught the gazes of each of the Marines by doors. They gave him a nod and stepped away, assured they didn’t need to keep one Roxi Mammon in the room any longer. She seemed willing and content to be there.
“Laila?”
He nodded. “Yes, she gave me their number.”
“Why?”
“You love Christmas, Roxi. That much is obvious. I wanted to give you the best one I could. Besides. I needed to ask your father’s permission.”
“For?”
He released her, moved back a single step, and dropped to one knee as he pulled a box out of his pocket. “To marry his daughter.” Sam looked up at the vision in red and silver before him. He knew in his gut this was the right thing for him to do. There would never be another woman who was better for him than Roxi. No one who would give him more support, love him better, or make his life worth living even more.
“Sam,” she said, capturing her lower lip between her teeth and reaching a shaky hand out to the box he offered.
The ring was platinum with a hand-crafted, sweeping design. There were two round diamonds set within the head and pavé diamonds along the ring. He’d also purchased the wedding band that went with it. Inscribed on the inside were two words which meant the world to him and he knew she’d understand the significance of them. Semper Fidelis. Always Faithful. For that was what he would be for her.
“Will you marry me, Roxi?”
The first tear leaked over and he had to force himself to remain where he was instead of standing so he could wipe away her tears. Her fingertips grazed along his.
“Yes.”
His own hand shook a bit as he removed the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. Then he stood and gathered her close for a kiss, their hands linked between them.
“I love you,” he murmured when he ended the kiss. “And you’re killing me in that dress.”
“Come dance with me.”
He couldn’t refuse her. So despite his own misgivings about his ability to dance, he followed her and began dancing with everyone else. During a break, he stood near Dean and enjoyed some drink.
“I’m proud of you, son.” Dean laid a hand on his arm.
“Thank you, sir.”
He couldn’t begin to explain how Dean’s words made him feel. Having this man proud of him was ultimate and meant everything to him. He never wanted to disappoint him. Raising his gaze, he found Roxi across the room. She stood with Laila and they were staring at her ring. His stomach flipped a few times when she lifted her head and looked at him.
Even though a room separated them, he could feel her gaze like a caress. It warmed him from the inside out. He hadn’t a clue how it would all work out, but he knew it would. He knew he’d found more than a temporary home. One with the woman in the sexy-as-hell dress, who had been a Marine herself, and knew just what he needed in his life.
At the end of the party, she gave her keys to her dad to drive home, and Sam led the way to his truck. Laila and Ritchie were taking Dean back. The snow continued to fall and they walked slowly, his coat over her shoulders to keep her warm.
“What about tonight?” he asked after they were in the truck.
“What about it?” She buckled her belt.
“Your parents are at your house, as well as Eric and Ritchie.”
“I’ll remake the bed in the guest room. Mom and Dad can have that room and Ritchie and Eric can crash on the couches.”
“And I’m with you?” He lifted her hand and kissed the tip of each finger.
“Better believe it, Marine.”
He got them on their way and took his time, driving carefully on the snowy roads. Back at her house, he helped her make the bed and soon after everyone settled in for the rest of Christmas Eve night. He leaned against the door and watched her in that intoxicating dress as she made her way towards the bed.
“Wait,” he said, moving to intercept.
He dropped to his knees before her and slowly unwrapped the rhinestone bands from around her lower calf then removed her shoes, massaging the bottoms of each foot before placing them on the floor.
“God, that feels good. These shoes are comfortable but I’m ready to not have any on whatsoever.”
Sam dragged one hand up the silken length of her leg until he reached the high slit in her dress. Lord help him, he wanted to go higher until he reached the velvet core he knew waited. Swallowing back his lust, he took to his feet and turned her so he faced her spine. He undid the halter top and dragged his fingers to the zipper that kept the damn dress on. Ever so slowly he tugged it down, exposing inch after succulent inch of her dark skin.
His cock jumped when he tugged the red material over the globes of her ass. Damn, she’s wearing a thong. Down and down he pushed it until the dress pooled around her ankles. Reaching for the sticks in her hair, he gently pulled them out and inhaled deeply as the strands cascaded around his hands. He wanted to grab it and rub it on his skin.
She turned to face him and his throat was dry. Her pert breasts and tight nipples—he wanted to lick them, suckle them, nip them. He lowered his gaze and saw the unadorned red G-string she wore.
Her hands settled upon the buttons of his uniform. “You’re wearing too many clothes, Marine.”
He got to work on it. Stripping off every article as quickly as possible. Roxi removed her final item and got on the bed. He faltered at the sight of her playing with herself. Her fingers lightly teasing her slit as she watched him, hunger flaring in her gaze.
The second his boxers were gone he was on the bed, replacing her fingers with his mouth.
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“Ah, hell,” she whimpered as her hips bucked under his touch.
He placed an arm over her belly, holding her immobile as he continued to lick and lave at her sex. The spiciness of her unique flavour flooded his tongue and his cock got even harder. He feasted until she coated his tongue with her thick cream.
Rising up, he covered her mouth with his own, sharing her taste. She moaned and writhed beneath him, making her desire clear. He wanted to go fast, sink hard and completely in her and yet, he wanted to go slow. To linger over the pleasure of making love to his fiancée.
She reached down and wrapped her hand around his shaft then began to stroke him. He groaned and thrust his hips into her touch. His fingers drifted down and lightly trailed through her moistness. She widened her legs on a soft sigh of pleasure.
He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I love you, Roxanne.”
Her fingers tightened around his turgid length and she bucked her hips up, encouraging deeper contact from him. “Sam.” The single word was barely intelligible but he heard it and understood.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want you to burn for me.”
“Al…already do.”
He slipped two fingers inside her wet sheath, grinding his teeth as he struggled not to lose control right then and there. The feel of her snugness around him, along with the tight hold she had on his cock as she continued to fist him, was almost too much.
“Come first,” he ordered.
Faster and faster his fingers moved inside her, one curved to stimulate her even more. Lowering his head, he captured a nipple in his mouth and grazed it with his teeth. She tightened around him as her grip increased. He did it again. And again. Until he had to cover her mouth with his to capture her scream of release as she shattered around his fingers, her desire slipping from her, over his hand and onto the bed.
“Sam,” she panted, her body still sending out small tremors as he cleaned off her essence with his tongue.
He readjusted, sheathed himself with a condom and slid home in a single stroke, moaning as her heated walls gripped him with familiar possessiveness. So wet and so tight. She was his. And he hers. Nothing else mattered.
Lacing their fingers together, he stared at the ring on her finger, the diamond winking in the lone light shining in the room. He read her love in her expression. The amount of emotion in him stunned him for a moment but when she shifted and tightened her internal muscles, he focused solely on her.
He’d been so close to coming just with the firm touch of her hand, he knew it wouldn’t take long now that he was in her. Back and forth he moved. Eyes locked on one another, neither of them said a word, just allowed emotions to be expressed in touches. He kept it slow and easy, creating a burn which threatened to engulf him. Faint mewls fell from her plump lips as she undulated beneath him. He knew she was close. So was he.
Rising up, he gripped her hips and angled them to allow deeper penetration. Her eyes burned with the need for release. He didn’t want this to end and tried to prolong it even more. She wasn’t having any of that. Her hands smoothed over her breasts and he felt a pull when she tugged on her nipples before moving her hands lower.
When she began to stimulate her clit, he growled low in his chest at the response her pussy had. She tightened around him, rotating her hips. Passion flooded her eyes while she held his gaze. And he couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping her hips, he increased his thrusts until the bed moved beneath them. Harder. Faster. Deeper. He was relentless and she kept up, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she tried valiantly to keep her screams inside.
They came together in a powerful rush and floated back down slowly. Sam stayed buried inside her, just brushed a kiss along her lips, rolled to the side and wrapped her as close as he could. He buried his nose in her hair and the familiar scent of autumn flooded him. He couldn’t believe he’d almost let fear take this from him. This was home. Here. Now. In Roxi’s arms.
“I love you,” he whispered as his heart began to slow its strong cadence.
She answered with a squeeze and a brush of breath against his chest. “I love you, too, Sam.”
He disposed of the condom then returned to the bed. Reaching out to click off the light, he stared out of her window at the still-falling snow. A perfect end to his day. He had everything he could ever want. His friend and mentor was recovering and he had a woman who loved him and gave him the ability to turn any house into a home. There was also Eric, who’d come to mean so much to him and would hopefully continue to be a part of his life. As Sam drifted off to sleep, he knew the boy who’d been shuttled from temporary home to temporary home was content. There would be no more of that. He’d found his home. And he’d never let it go.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
In Aeternum: Casanova in Training
Aliyah Burke
Excerpt
Chapter One
Rain ran in rivulets from both his black coat and the brim of his cover. Lieutenant Commander Giovanni Cassano barely moved, even with the loud and angry retorts of gunfire. The noise sounded ominous. Three sets of shots fired by the seven impassive men. He flexed one hand into a fist before relaxing and allowing the smooth glove to straighten.
Through the dreariness, the beginning notes of Taps started to play, weaving in and out of the raindrops with haunting precision. His right hand snapped up in a sharp salute as his shoulders automatically squared even more.
With a deep breath, he fixated on the casket and the two stoic men who had the honour and privilege of folding the flag. Their movements precise and perfected. Each of the thirteen folds corresponded to an important meaning and allowed him to see the wet gloves the men wore. White cotton to his black leather.
First fold was representative of life. He swallowed hard and blinked. Two, three and four took place. The fifth fold, a tribute to the country. Tears burned the corners of his eyes. Six, seven, eight and nine. The tenth fold was a tribute to fathers, for they, too, had given both sons and daughters for the protection of the country since they were first born.
Stiffening his spine, Giovanni clenched his jaw as he watched the remaining three folds to complete the thirteen, so the flag looked like a cocked hat. A reminder of the soldiers who served under George Washington, the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, and all those men and women who followed them in the United States Armed Forces, preserving the rights, privileges and freedoms enjoyed today. As the two men finished folding, the final poignant note faded from the air. And the salutes ended.
He stood ramrod straight. Only his gaze moved as he tracked the presenter who paused before the slender auburn-haired woman clad in black. Michelle Walker. She sat there under a canopy beside her father to accept the flag.
None of the military members there seemed affected by the steady downpour.
“On behalf of a grateful nation,” the presenter said, offering the folded flag.
Giovanni saw Michelle hesitate. The man with the flag waited, unmoving, until she finally took it. His hand rose into a salute and, when she gave him a nod, he completed it. The rain increased but Giovanni watched Michelle hold the flag to her chest.
Over the pounding of the rain came the unmistakable sound of fighter jets. He lifted his gaze to see the four planes scream overhead, his heart clenched with a mixture of pain and regrets that he wasn’t even close to being ready to face. A lone jet peeled off and his heart did that same thing again. It should have been him up in the one that honoured the fallen man. But no… He had yet to be cleared for flight status.
He ground his jaw and ignored the threatening tears. One by one people filed away, the rain not allowing the mourners any respite. Finally it was him and the two family members. His legs wouldn’t cooperate and he had to force them to move him closer.
Stopping at the middle of the closed casket, he took a deep breath, and snapped a salute. “Goodbye, my friend,” he murmured before lowering his hand and walking off
.
Anger ate at his gut. It was never easy to lose a member of the military. However, when it was a fellow pilot and best friend, it became that much harder.
“Giovanni?” a rattled yet distinctly feminine voice reached him. And halted him.
He swallowed before pivoting around to face her. Damn it! For a brief second he was seeing him again. Alive and well. Michael Walker. Sidewinder. Best friend.
She moved closer, the folded flag still clasped tightly to her chest. It hurt looking at her. Mike’s twin. A softer, feminine version of Michael, but he was still there in her delicate features.
“Michelle.” He hated how gravelled his voice sounded.
Green eyes watched him steadily. “You were going to leave without a word?”
He put his gaze on their…her father. Martin Walker showed his age. He seemed so tired and worn out. However, in his eyes, there was anger. The siblings had taken after their mother. Giovanni had always teased Mike about being so pretty. Now his body had been so badly burnt and mangled it had had to be a closed-casket ceremony.
“No,” he managed to say as he glanced from father to daughter. “I was going to wait by the car. Allow you final moments.”
Martin shook his hand briefly then nudged Michelle. She lifted one gloved hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Take this.” She held the flag out to him.
His heart seized as he glanced at the flag. Stars uppermost to remind us of our nation’s motto.
“No. I can’t. That is for you.”
Her smile was shaky at best. “Mike would want you to have it.”
Giovanni glanced to Martin, ready to plead his case, only to pause. The look Martin bore told him the flag wouldn’t be going back with them. Martin was in a rage from having just buried his only son. He focused on Michelle and saw the opposite. She loathed to give it up and was only doing so for her father.
Almost as if he hovered outside his body, he saw himself reaching for the flag. Michelle relinquished it to him but didn’t step back. Instead, she lifted his hand, pressed the flag against his chest, and hugged him.