Incapable of much else, I simply enjoyed having him fuck me.
He continued his sexual onslaught while I gawked at him mindlessly. The sound of our skin-on-skin contact rang throughout the home like an echo bouncing through a canyon’s walls.
As the aroma of our sex filled the room, I closed my eyes and focused on nothing but the feeling of having him inside of me. All I could feel, understand, or even come close to processing was the feeling of him pummeling my pussy.
One inch at a time he convinced me to never to challenge him again.
His breathing became labored, as did mine. Soon, my emotions came to a head and my skin began to tingle. I felt him begin to swell, and my heart raced in anticipation. As I felt my inner walls clench his thick shaft, he pressed his mouth to mine.
He already owned my pussy, but he took possession my soul with that kiss. With his last few thrusts, he sank his fingers deep into my flesh.
I moaned against his mouth as the orgasm rushed through me. Then, I felt him explode. A different level of satisfaction came with it, and the combination proved to be all too much. I’ll never know if it was the kiss, the mind-blowing orgasm, or feeling him release his satisfaction into me that caused me to go mindless, but it happened nonetheless.
When I came to my senses, I was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
His fingertips traced along the outline of my jaw. “Are you okay?”
“Shhh.”
“Taryn, are you alright?”
I gazed blankly into the sea of white above me. “Give me a minute.”
He’d fucked me mindless.
“You fucked me stupid,” I said.
“Give me a minute to recover,” he said. “And then I’ll fuck some sense into you.”
Oh. My. God.
Chapter Thirty
Marc
The free-standing wooden menu was positioned halfway between the entrance and the cashier. We stood in front of it contemplating our order. Taryn’s eyes gleamed with interest, while mine were filled with slight disgust.
“Personally, I think it should be against the law. Anyone participating in the heinous act would be arrested. If convicted in court, a short imprisonment should follow.”
She shifted her eyes from the menu to me. “How short?”
I hadn’t given it much thought. I decided a weekend should suffice. “Forty-eight hours.”
She shot me a look. “Two days in jail for eating a pizza?”
“A pizza with pineapple on it.”
“It’s called the Hawaiian Delight. It’s probably a staple in Hawaii.”
“In the Guangdong province in China, they eat cat meat. That doesn’t mean it should be on a pizza here.”
“You don’t have to eat it.”
“I won’t,” I huffed.
She shrugged. “Don’t.”
I turned toward the cashier. “I’m going to have the Meat Lovers.”
“I’m having the Hawaiian Delight.”
I spun around. “You are not.”
“I sure am.”
I exhaled a long breath. “Are you serious?”
“I’m going to have it, and that mozzarella salad.”
The thought of seeing pineapple bits on a pizza disgusted me. I folded my arms across my chest and gave protest. “Get something else.”
“It’s a free country.” She looked me up and down. “And you said you weren’t controlling.”
“Fine.” I turned around. “Get the pineapple.”
The bearded teen behind the register offered a cheery smile. “Welcome to Ward’s Woodfire. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the 10” Meat Lovers, a glass of tea, and the house salad. She’d like the…” I paused and stepped aside. “I can’t even say it. You can order.”
Taryn edged her way in front of me. “I’d like the Hawaiian Delight, the Caprese Salad, and a glass of water, please.”
He pecked the keys on his register, and then looked up. “That’s an amazing pizza.”
She shot me a look. “See?”
I rolled my eyes. “A jury of one.”
“What are your best-selling pizzas?” Taryn asked.
He cocked his head to the side and widened his eyes as if he’d been asked to solve the world peace problem with one simple sentence. After considerable thought, he pursed his lips and met Taryn’s wondrous gaze.
“Margherita is probably number one. Pepperoni is number two. Then, the Hawaiian Delight. A lot of people add jalapenos to it, though. So, a modified Hawaiian Delight’s right in there.”
She looked at me. “See?”
“I think it’s disgusting.”
“Huh?” the bearded kid asked.
“He thinks the Hawaiian pizza is disgusting.”
He looked at me. “Duuude. It’s soooo goood.”
I handed him a $50 bill. “I’ll take your word for it.”
We took a seat on the outdoor patio and enjoyed our salads. As we waited for the pizzas to arrive, we sat and sipped our drinks. Despite her desire to torture me by consuming a pineapple pizza in my presence, I was elated to have Taryn in my life on a permanent basis.
It had been three and a half weeks since we’d agreed to be in a relationship, and I still found it difficult to believe I’d found someone to share my life with. I pushed my glass of tea to the side and admired her for a moment as she wiped the condensation from her glass. “I think you need to move in.”
She choked on her surprise, then looked at me with widened eyes. “What?”
“Move in. I think you need to move in.”
“Live together? You and me?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“You don’t think that’s premature?”
I felt just the opposite. “No, I don’t. Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must think something,” I said. “You mentioned it.”
“I just…I don’t want you offering something like that because you think--”
“It’s not an offer. I’m not attempting to lure you into something. It’s a suggestion. Excluding one day, we’ve seen each other every day for seven and a half weeks, three and a half of which we’ve been committed to each other.” I leaned against the back of my chair and studied her. “Is the condition that must be met before two people live together a matter of time, or a matter of their level of commitment?”
“Level of commitment.”
“I’ll assume your off-hand comment regarding prematurity was referencing time, then.”
“I was,” she said.
“Why postpone the inevitable? You’ve stayed all night twenty of the last twenty-four days. It would save time, money, and a hell of a lot of headaches.”
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
I leaned against the edge of the table and let out a sigh. “I couldn’t be any more committed to a relationship, or to a woman, than I am to us, and to you.”
“When did you know I was the one?” she asked.
I was surprised it took her so long to ask. The response was an easy one. “The day you opened up to me about your parents. The day we kissed.”
She smiled and leaned over the center of the table. “Me too.”
I kissed her. “So, it’s settled?”
“One Meat Lovers, one Hawaiian Delight,” the waiter said. “Who gets which?”
“I don’t even want to see the one with pineapple on it,” I said.
“The Hawaiian one is mine.” Taryn said.
He placed the pizzas in front of us. The baked pineapple smelled good, and although I liked pineapple, the thought of having it on a pizza disgusted me.
“I feel like I need a barrier,” I said with a laugh.
She lifted a slice and gave it a look. “For?”
“Separating me from that disastrous mess.”
“You investigate murder scenes, and this bothers you?”
“The murder scenes I investigate are part of life
. That? That’s something that’s been developed, probably as a joke, and someone decided to embrace it and offer it to the public. I suspect most people get it as a novelty, and never get it again.”
She took a bite and smiled. “He said it’s number three on the best-sellers list.”
“Fifty Shades of Grey was a best-selling book, too. That doesn’t mean it was any good.”
She lowered her slice and shot me a shitty glare. “Fifty Shades of Grey was a great book.”
“It was horrendous. I had to choke it down. I barely finished it.”
Her eyebrows raised. “You read it?”
“Like I said. I choked it down.” I lifted a slice from my tray and took a bite. “Now, this is pizza.”
“It’s all a matter of personal preference. Just like the book,” she said. “I loved it.”
“She was a great story teller, but a terrible author.”
“I think she did a good job at both. It was fan fiction first. You knew that, right?”
“It should have stayed fan fiction.”
She took another bite. “Again, that’s your opinion. The movie was bad, though.”
I looked up. “I haven’t seen it.”
“Don’t bother.”
She finished her slice and reached for another. “This pizza is insane.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She hoisted her slice as if giving a toast. “It’s so good.”
“You sound like the guy with the beard.”
She folded the slice along the center, lengthwise, and took a bite.
“You should eat the rest of it like that.”
“Like what?” she asked over a mouthful of food.
“Folded like that,” I said. “That way I don’t have to see what’s on it.”
She took another bite. “So, it’s the thought of it that bothers you, not the pineapple?”
“I like pineapple. Not on pizza.”
“But you’ve never tried it?”
“Never have. Never will.”
As I finished my slice, she set hers aside and reached for her phone. After a few minutes of pecking and scrolling, she looked up.
“Well, guess what?”
“What?”
“A Greek immigrant invented pineapple pizza in 1962. And, this article says pepperoni pizza didn’t become commonplace until the early 1970’s. So, pineapple pizza is older than pepperoni.” She tossed her phone into her purse. “Put that in your pizza pipe and smoke it.”
“Enough about pineapples. What did you decide about moving in?”
She took a bite of her pizza, unfolded it, and looked at it. “You’re committed to us?”
“Absolutely.”
She folded the slice and took nonchalant bite while she looked at me. “There’s no doubt in your mind that I’m the one for you?”
“None in my mind, no.”
I reached for a slice of pizza, and then paused. “Do you have doubt? That I’m the one for you?”
She poked her crust in her mouth and then shrugged. “A little.”
“I thought we were beyond this,” I said adamantly. “What causes you to raise doubt?”
She reached for a slice of pizza. After looking it over, she held it at arm’s length. “Take a bite.”
I leaned away from the table as if she were inviting me to take a bite of a turd. “No.”
“Prove your commitment.”
“By taking a bite of that?”
“I love it. You’ve never tried it. You think it’s ugly, that’s all. Prove your commitment to me, and to the relationship. Take a bite.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
“I really like it. I want you to taste it. Relationships are about commitment, but they’re also about sacrifice, remember? You made me eat oysters, and I’m not so sure that wasn’t a test.”
I let out a sigh.
She shot me a glare. “Was it?”
I shrugged. “Kind of.”
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “The coffee too?”
I nodded. “Maybe a little bit.”
She held the pizza over the center of the table and shook her hand. “I sprayed perfume on my tongue so I didn’t have to taste those nasty oysters. That shit made me sick. I pooped like a hundred times. That, March Watson, is commitment and sacrifice. Now, prove yours.”
“You sprayed perfume on your tongue?”
“It’s all I could come up with.” She laughed as she waved the pizza in my face. “Now, take a bite, mister.”
With reluctance, I leaned forward. After closing my eyes, I opened my mouth. She shoved the slice into my mouth until I gagged on the pointed tip.
“Bite it,” she demanded.
I bit off what was in my mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. Much to my surprise, the pizza was pretty damned good.
“Well?”
“It’s pretty good.”
We laughed about the oysters, the fact she’d never eaten Cod before that night, and the perfume she sprayed in her mouth. She shared the story about staying up all night with diarrhea, and of her hatred for coffee, although she now felt it was diminishing somewhat.
I admitted to knowing about the coffee, and admitted the Starbucks trip was an opportunity for her to either express herself or remain silent. It wasn’t a win or lose scenario, but more a simple means of me learning more about her personality.
I finished my pizza, and pointed to her last slice. “Are you done?”
“I am.” She clenched her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
“What did you decide about living together?”
She grinned. “I’d love it. Let’s do it.”
“I proved myself to you, then?”
“A long time ago,” she said.
I gave her a look. “You’re a turd”
“Turd?” She gave me a sideways look. “You’re a fucking turd. You made me eat oysters and drink coffee.”
She was right, I had been a turd. In my quest to prove that a woman of her caliber couldn’t possibly exist, I’d offered her many opportunities to confirm or deny my beliefs. On every occasion, however, she convinced me further that she was exactly what she appeared to be.
“You’re right, I did,” I said. “And, I’m sorry.”
“Accepted.”
I finished what little iced tea remained and then pushed my chair away from the table. “Are you ready to go?”
She grabbed her purse. “Sure.”
I started to stand, paused, and then reached for her last slice of pizza.
“What are you going to do, throw it away?” she asked.
“No.” I folded it in two. “I’m going to eat it.”
Some of life’s sacrifices weren’t sacrifices at all, I decided. They were opportunities we were afforded to enrich our lives. When Taryn moved in, I was going to make many more sacrifices, and I knew it.
I simply hoped that in the end they would enrich my life as much as pineapple pizza.
Chapter Thirty-One
Taryn
I opened my eyes and gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. Although we’d lived together for three weeks, I still felt uncomfortable in a home that he so easily called ours, but I felt was his.
I turned to the side, but knew the answer long before I saw that his side of the bed was empty. He was either running, in the shower, or in the spare room exercising. He was methodical in that respect, and in many others, too. After moving in with him, I’d learned a lot about him and his mannerisms, most of which I found rather interesting.
His workout routing was the same, every day. A shower, upper body exercises, a three-mile run, and then another shower. Breakfast at a place he called a dive came afterward, and then he began his work day.
He washed dishes after each meal, did laundry nightly, and never left anything in the washer or dryer for more than a few minutes. Bedding was washed on Fridays and Tuesdays. Monday was my day off and we went out to eat.
Sundays had become o
ur day, and it was Sunday.
As I gazed blankly at the windowed wall, the bathroom door opened. I turned toward the sound, and was pleased to see him wearing a fitted white tee shirt and his stark white boxer briefs.
I suspect most women preferred their men to walk around naked, or half naked, anyway. I didn’t prefer that Marc walk around clothed, but when he chose to wear his boxer briefs and a tee shirt, I never complained.
“First shower, or second shower?” I asked.
He sauntered toward the edge of the bed. “Second.”
I doubted I’d ever become immune to gawking at his body, and stared at him admiringly as he took each step.
I raked my eyes up his tanned muscular legs, paused at his bulge for an instant, and finally met the gaze of his commanding gray eyes. “Good run?”
“Great.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “The weather is gorgeous.”
“The weather’s always gorgeous,” I said with a laugh.
I liked Sunday more than the others, and not solely because it was our day. On Sundays, he didn’t shave. Combined with the fact that he often didn’t shave on Saturdays, the forty-eight hours of beard growth – when it happened – made him look rugged and sexy in a totally different way.
This was one of those days.
“Are you going to sleep all day?” he asked.
I didn’t want to sleep all day. I wanted to have him crawl in bed and have his way with me. After his workout, however, he needed to eat.
“No. I’ll take a shower.”
“I’ll make breakfast.”
“Okay.”
With reluctance, I got out of the bed and took a shower. Upon walking into the bedroom when I was finished, I noticed the bed wasn’t made, and I took pause. He always made the bed the instant I got out of it.
“March?”
“Right here,” he said from behind the wad of covers.
“You scared me. I thought you were going to make breakfast.”
After brushing the covers to the side, he laid his cheek against his palm and looked me over. “I decided I wanted to roll around naked with you first.”
“Roll around?” I asked, my tone playfully sarcastic.
He searched every inch of me with his eyes. “That’s what I was thinking.”
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 137