Bad Boy Romance: Bad Marine (Bad Boy Military Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy New Adult Contemporary Male Stories)

by Joyner, GP

  She shook, heavily conscious of the union of their loins, and closed her eyes as his lips pressed down on the sides of her neck, easing her into a sweet, dizzying state of mind, his fingers curling into her own above their heads, their hands clasped together, her grip squeezing tighter and tighter into him as a means of support.

  She moaned again as he began to rock gently about inside of her, pushing, pushing, pushing, and then pulling softly out, moving so slow at first that it was barely enough to disturb her, but gently working up into a steady, pumping rhythm, thrusting his body into her, cleaving her apart but then making her whole again, and again, and again, and again and again and again and again and-

  And their bodies were suddenly bursting with energy, her breasts swaying about on her chest as she screamed and moaned and howled with pleasure, his body thrusting into her at a relentless and staggering pace, until at last slamming one final time inside, and holding steadily in place.

  The orgasm raged through their bodies, the full moon above them getting brighter and brighter with the interminable passing of the seconds. Her fingers dug so intensely into his palms that she began to fear she might draw blood, but it was impossible to contain herself, reeling as she was with these sensations. His seed spilled into her in long, radiant torrents, each pelting sensation driving her madder and madder with ecstasy, as a climax of her own swiftly tore her to her foundation, her body convulsing, her limbs twitching, the world spiraling briefly out of its orbit and shooting across the heavens like a star.

  At long, long last, the two of them touched down, and lay wrapped for hours on end in one another's arms. They continued to kiss and to touch and to explore, as no amount of familiarity could ever be thorough enough for the two of them, no matter how intimately each might have believed they'd experienced the body of the other.

  And as they pulled apart, staring for any number of lifetimes into one another's eyes, sleep slowly and softly overtaking them, each felt utterly and completely secure for the first time in their lives, feeling at last as though the thing they'd been searching for so long had been granted them, a celestial gift from the heavens.

  They drifted off in one another's arms, sleeping soundly and undisturbed.

  THE END

  2 Wolves

  A Paranormal Romance

  By: G.P. Joyner

  WARNING: This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This ebook is for sale to adults ONLY

  Please ensure this ebook is stored somewhere that cannot be accessed by underage readers.

   Copyright 2015 by G.P. Joyner - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Terry looked over at Victoria's slumbering form, staring for a long, long time at the body of the woman he loved. Her breasts heaved lightly with the softness of her breath, bathed exquisitely in the opalescent light of the full moon streaming in through the curtains of her bedroom window, painting her body in a softly varied texture of overblown light and blackest shadow. Her nostrils flared with each light puff of breath, and every so often she would let out an exquisitely feminine whimper from somewhere deep in sleep. Her hair, even in the darkness of the room, shimmered with its chestnut glow, pulling him towards her, filling him with an almost irresistible urge to run his fingers through its soft, silky texture.

  God, what a lucky, lucky man he was. Unbelievably so, it seemed to him at times such as this.

  And yet he was haunted.

  Haunted by a past that he once had given everything to rid of, a past from which he'd thought Victoria's warm arms could provide him refuge. Victoria, he'd thought, had been a symbol that he'd made it out of his own darkness. A beautiful finish line in his race from insanity, or, if the metaphor wasn't too crass, a trophy. Not in the sense that women were objects to him, but in the sense that the life he had constructed with his immaculate lover was a victory most absolute in nature, a thing worth celebrating, and Victoria in her beauty, in her gentility, in the softness he viewed sprawled out before him in this tender moment, was as concrete a symbol of that victory as anything.

  Hell, it was even in her name.

  Victoria. Victory.

  So why couldn't he sleep beside her? Why couldn't he wrap his arms around her and let the well-earned warmth of her body soothe him into dreams, her softly beating heart a lulling metronome, her breath like the wind of a soft sea breeze, the scent of her chestnut hair as an intoxicating as any?

  Why wasn't Victoria enough?

  He knew, beyond any doubt whatsoever in his head, that the shortcoming was not with her. Victoria, as far as he was concerned, was flawless. Or, as flawless as any human alive can be. Hell, any human being who could give off as pure a symbolism as she had to be pretty damn close to flawless, almost to the point of being worshipped. An angel, rather than a human.

  There was more to Victoria than simply her beauty, that is if her beauty itself could be profaned as simple. Her beauty, in truth, was celestial, almost godlike even, a thing to be worshipped itself even without her many other assets. And part of that beauty entailed the very fact that it consisted not only of physical things- the smoothness of her skin, the roundness and the firmness of those breasts, the tautness of her body, her succulent gluteals, the taste of her lips, the feeling of being inside her...

  Their relationship could have consisted solely of sex and it would have been leagues beyond any delight most men ever know, but Terry thanked God that that was not the case, as her value went so, so much deeper than that.

  Victoria was as understanding a human being as he was sure he'd ever encountered in his life. She was caring and compassionate, yet she knew exactly what questions a person preferred not to be asked, and refrained respectfully from asking them. In the months they'd been together, she'd never once prodded into Terry's murky and mysterious history, even though on multiple occasions he'd almost been able to detect the curiosity in her eyes as a tangible thing. Instead, she'd simply been there for him, offering to listen and to support him through anything he cared to discuss, but respecting the fact that there were things that a person felt obligated to keep to themselves, not only for the sake of others, but for their ability to go on living.

  But of course, that didn't stop those very things from haunting him for the rest of his life, from robbing him of what should be the thing that makes him happy.

  The past never gives up quite so easily as that.

  Furthermore, Victoria was an accomplished trilinguist, having traveled to several nations around the globe and occasionally lived there abroad for months at a time, expanding her mind and the wealth of her experiences on this earth, enriching her personality in a way that only travel can accomplish.

  She was an avid reader, burning her way through two or three books a week, continuing to explore the depths of human consciousness even after physically settling down for a while. She meditated, volunteered, was an active runner who participated in charity runs, practiced yoga, occasionally taught yoga, was an exceptional cook and a vegan, a great dancer, and could be incredibly creative when the mood struck her. And all while building a successful career in business, getting very close to paying off her student loans, and maintaining an eternally chipper, optimistic demeanor.

  Victoria, Terry thought, accomplished more that was more worthwhile in a week than most people did in the course of a given year. He didn't know why the hell someone as sad and pathetic as him could have ended up with someone like her, or why any human being might have been arrogant enough to believe himself worthy of her inebriating love.

  In fact, sometimes he asked her this.

  �
�Why the hell do you love me?” he would say.

  And she would look at him with those eyes of hers, and she would smile at him with that smile, and she would say, as though it was the clearest and most obvious thing in the world, “I love you because I know your heart, and because I can see that it's a good one.”

  And he would melt, even as the words passed her lips, even if he never really believed them.

  He should have been as satisfied with his life as anyone under the sun, but of course that didn't go very far in actually making it so.

  If he was truly satisfied, would he be gazing up at the obtrusive light of the full moon at three o'clock in the morning, instead of snuggled up naked in bed beside the woman he loved, spooning her soft body, feeling himself unified with her in as intimate a fashion as is possible between two human beings?

  Would he be putting his hands on the windowsill, gripping the wood tight beneath his grip, and waiting anxiously for the morning to come?

  His lunar transformations had ceased upon meeting Victoria, yet the full moon still exhibited an immense pull over him, a wakefulness that he could never quite seem to shake, which often drove him insane on nights that it occurred.

  Almost worst than the past itself was the reminiscence thereof. Remembering, again and again and again. Fearing that one day he may wake up and discover that this life, this existence with Victoria had all been a sham, a feverish dream, a celestially induced bout of lunacy, and that he was still asleep beneath the canopy of the forest, staring up at the pinpricks of stars through the occasional gaps in the treeline, and condemned to live as a monster for the remainder of his time on the Earth.

  And then, inevitably, his thoughts revolved, each and every last time, to Preston.

  Once his closest friend in the world, whom he'd left behind to live the days of the fate that he himself should be leading, were it not for his salvation at the hands of his beloved Victoria.

  What had become of him in the days since Terry's abandonment?

  What would he be doing right now, he wondered?

  But of course this was a ridiculous question. Terry knew exactly what Preston would be doing right now, as it had been the same thing he'd spent so many years doing himself, and the same thing, in many ways, which he was doing in this very moment.

  Looking up at the moon, and begging that great white satellite for answers.

  But of course, this was an absurd, narcissistic comparison.

  To think that his own, selfish rumination, his thoughts of having abandoned his friend, came anywhere near to approaching the torments of his former friend beneath the penetrating rays of the full moon was nothing but self-righteous pity. It was a half-assed means of justifying his actions to himself- it was okay for him to be freed of that old life as long as he felt bad for leaving Preston. His remorse at his actions, this mindset told him, were just as hard on him as what Preston himself was now going through. His suffering at abandoning Preston was the same as the suffering he'd be experiencing if he'd stuck around, and that made his leaving okay.

  And of course it was total bullshit...

  Just rationalization. Just a means of justifying that which he knew to be indefensible.

  How could he have left his dearest friend in the world behind?

  How could he have taken the prize for himself, when both of them had so desperately sought the same thing, and prior to Terry's selfish departure, had worked together to mitigate the suffering of their lonely and difficult forest-bound lives?

  How the hell was Terry ever going to make it up to him?

  Victoria stirred from sleep, inhaling a massive breath, but silently, as though even when stirring from unconsciousness she was acutely aware of the comfort of others, and feared awakening Terry if she issued too loud a noise.

  But Terry wasn't beside her in bed.

  His corner of the sheets was overturned, the blankets askew and tangled, and a cool spread of perspiration where the shape of his body should have been now adorning the bedspread. She ran the palm of her hand through the vacant spot, so cold that a body might reasonably not have lain there beside her for several past hours.

  She rubbed her eyes, bleary as they still were with sleep, and looked dazedly about the room, only to find Terry right where she expected him to be, because that was generally where she found him on nights when the heat of his body was no longer with her. Standing naked at the window, staring absently out through the panes of glass at the looming full moon up ahead, thinking God knew what with that clearly troubled head of his.

  She waited a moment before introducing her awoken self to him, studying the man staring there, and, despite her concern for him, admiring his moonlit body. His physique was an intense, powerful, and muscular one, chiseled pecs, six pack abdominals, clearly defined Adonis muscles, carved into his body and pointing like an arrow to the immense, lethal penis he brandished below the waist. Her present view, however, was of his backside, no less desirable of a sight, by any means. The musculature of his sweat-soaked back strobed and heaved in the dimness of the moonlight, and she stared for a long, lustful moment at the sculpted cheeks of his ass, oblivious as they were to the fact that they were being watched.

  She couldn't help herself. She was becoming moist with arousal, ripped straight from sleep and plunged into sexual desire, though nonetheless acutely aware of the fact that something was troubling her exquisite lover. Something deep and dark was on his mind, regardless of whether or not she knew what that thing might be, or whether there was any way at all for her to fix it. But then again, maybe it wasn't her job to fix it, as she often had to remind herself when he became like this, because it made her feel so damn helpless.

  Sometimes, she concluded, fixing things wasn't her job so much as it was to help him forget them. Sometimes that was all a person needed- or not really, who knew? Perhaps it would be more accurate to say, sometimes that was all a person could do for another person. Help them forget...

  She sat up in bed, stretching like a cat in the sun to relieve the tension in her limbs, and then stood up just as silently as a feline, and stepped across the room to where Terry stood brooding, attempting not to frighten him as she put a hand on his shoulder, but knowing that she likely would anyway.

  Sure enough, he started, his eyes wide, then shut, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

  “God, babe... I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was... But I could tell you were gone from beside me, and it shook me awake. What's the matter?”

  He smiled at her, thinking as always how disproportionately lucky he was compared to the rest of the world. Hell, a person should have to pay taxes on such an unfair monopoly of luck. But he didn't want to talk right now. Not even to the woman he loved, who could make just about anything better. Not to anyone at all.

  “It's... It's just... One of my things... Personal, I guess... It's nothing you should worry yourself over.”

  She frowned at him, having expected this response, used to it as she was, but still never seeming quite ready for it when it came.

  “You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said softly, and placed the palm of a hand on his chest, letting her fingers sway along the planes of his body, her touch an almost immediate sedative. “And that I would do anything in the world to make it better...”

  “I know,” he said, with a smile so intense that the act itself warmed up his soul. But then he averted his eyes from her, trading her image for that of the ever tantalizing full moon. “It's... It's just... One of those things... I, um... I think it's something that I have to figure out on my own.”

  Again, she had expected this, and she knew it was her cue to let it drop. “I understand,” she said, only ever partially true, but the only thing left to be said once that particular wall was reached. And then she added, “But... But maybe I can help you forget for a while...”

  He smiled even more widely this time, returning to her cherubic face, and letting the return of her visage tear hi
m away from his angst. “I'm quite certain you could...”

  “Would you like me to?” she asked softly.

  “I think I might like that,” was his response. And he leaned down to her, and the two of them pressed their lips together. Her taste was precisely the medicine he needed, sweet and delectable, a nectar without parallel or comparison, the one and only thing he thought could be strong enough to save him from this interminable night.

  Their lips melted together, dissolving into a precious alloy that was more valuable than any material substance in existence. He put his hands on her waist, pulling her heated body into him, and savoring the warmth of her as the two of them kissed. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing herself to become lost in his embrace, which the two of them promptly did.

  Their tongues danced and slid and lapped one another up, swirling and licking and tasting, devouring one another as a means of shooing away the darkness, a feat they accomplished with a startling success. Victoria whimpered, and to Terry it was like the sweetest symphony of sound ever to grace his ears. It caused him to pull her even deeper into himself, to burn with need for the creature from whom such glorious noises emanated, to adopt in himself an ounce of whatever it was that made a woman a woman, if such a thing so wonderful could possibly become adopted.

  They pulled away from one another after some considerable amount of time, breathing heavily, their heads light, and any thoughts of Preston, for the time being, vanished from Terry's mind. Once more Victoria ran her fingers through the lines and curves of Terry's body, feeling out his firm contours, and pressing the palm of her hand flat against his chest. She let it slide down, down, down along his body, until at last arriving at his groin, and here Terry braced himself.