Set In Stone

by Rachel Robinson

  Another heavy tear moves down my face. With his pointer finger, he wipes it away. Cocking his head to the side, he examines me from head to toe, eyes narrowed, mind working overtime.

  “I want to remember you just like this. Exactly like this—with the sun shining down on you. Your lips pouting, your hips taunting, your eyes begging, your mind trying to make amends with your heart. ” He smiles again, his eyes a touch glassy.

  “You’re being so morbid that I can hardly stand it. You don’t have to remember me like this, because you’re coming home to this,” I explain, motioning toward my body and face, choking on my own words.

  He quirks a manly brow. “I do have to remember you like this so I can jack off late at night and annoy Maverick.”

  I laugh through my tears. He knows how to turn a conversation around quickly, his humor making everything a little lighter. It’s why I’m drawn to humorous people. Or maybe it’s because I lack a side of humor myself. The need for humor is a weakness I never realized I had until my first best friend blazed a trail into my life.

  “That is so disgusting, but I’m not going to veto the idea.” When my lips melt with his, residing there is the passion he’s speaking of. There is love blistering so bright that I know for a fact no one can ever extinguish it. Try as I might, this fire and love that we share will never die.

  Until, well, it simply does.

  Morganna

  Present

  He parks his truck in front my house and honks the horn to alert me to his presence. Such a chivalrous prince, that Steven Warner. We haven’t spoken since he came home from his training trip in Arizona—since his drunken phone call that he no doubt is embarrassed about. I grab my gym bag and head out the front door, taking care to lock both of the new deadbolts. I hear Gunner whine from the other side of the door and I’m reassured knowing he’ll be right there when I return.

  The car that trailed me for a couple days isn’t that big of a deal. Spies are everywhere in Virginia Beach. You’d be surprised by how frequently they pop up in normal places. The grocery store clerk, the bartender, the hot blonde who poses as a frog hog just to gain information about the guys. Specifically, spies looking for any information about SEALs are everywhere. They’re harmless for the most part. I know that’s what it has to be. When Stone died, my photo was plastered everywhere. It’s someone who wants information, or a piece of Stone. Perhaps they’re just curious. They don’t want to harm me in anyway. Or, that’s what I’ve told myself over and over as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep at night. The honest truth is that I don’t feel safe.

  I pull the handle of the passenger door of Steven’s truck and climb inside. His scent hits me like a freight train. It’s all man and so mouth wateringly hot that I can’t help a faint sigh. I’ve missed the buffoon—everything about him.

  I turn to him and find his eyes already wandering over my body. He’s not wearing a smile and his jaw works. “Nice to see you still breathing,” he says.

  Setting my bag on the floor, I ignore his jab. I’ve wanted to tell him about everything. About the car, about the hooded man my cameras caught creeping in my garden, about how sometimes Gunner barks at the window when I don’t see anything, but that would mean relinquishing power. I can’t. That’s not me.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” I cross my legs. The black spandex workout shorts ride up, showing him exactly what he’s missed.

  His eyes dart down to the high hem. “You make a man fucking crazy.” Steven closes his eyes and strokes the stubble on his chin. Opening his eyes and sighing heavily, he merely shakes his head and starts driving toward the boxing gym.

  “You can’t pretend I haven’t always been this person,” I admit, after we’re out of my driveway. He should know better than to try to take control of things. “You did miss me, didn’t you?” I ask, realizing he hasn’t said anything remotely flirty since I graced his presence. This workout outfit took entirely too much planning for him to act indifferent.

  His gaze flicks to me and then back to the road. “Morganna Sterns needs reassurance, does she? That’s a novel idea. Give me a second to wrap my mind around that one.” His biceps bulge and release as he grips the steering wheel in an attempt to control something. God knows he’s not controlling me right now.

  I grab his arm. “Of course I don’t need reassurance. I’m trying, Steven. I want things to be okay between us. If I remember correctly, you’re the one who has apologizing to do.”

  “After you sent me a teenaged text message expressing your true feelings I’ve decided that you needed to do some talking before I beg your queenly forgiveness. Lay it out for me, because I’m not taking any less than one hundred percent anymore. I’ve tried, good God, I’ve tried. I can’t pretend it’s good enough anymore.”

  His words drip with jealousy and anger. I admit the text was a bad move. He knows I love him. I’ve always loved him. Growing up, I love you was a normal phrase in everyday conversation. How can you not love a man that balances you so well as a best friend…and now as a potential match? It did mean something more when I texted him, but he shouldn’t look at it any differently.

  “I shouldn’t have sent that. I needed you to know that I care about you and about us,” I explain. “You were asking, drunkenly mind you, things of me that I couldn’t give you. What this queen is saying now in person is that I love you, Steven. I care about you.”

  His face stays indifferent, cold, as we pull into a front-row parking spot. He walks around to open my door for me, but that’s the only acknowledgement of my words that he’s offering. Or maybe at his angriest he still feels the need to be a gentleman. I can’t read Steven when he’s volatile. I’m not sure anyone can and it makes me uneasy.

  “No one is here,” he growls, pulling the huge set of keys out of his pocket. That’s not unusual. Steven likes to work out at odd hours and the old man that runs the joint is his friend. “I figured teaching without any interruptions would be best.” I watch the muscles bunch his t-shirt across his back as he works the heavy lock open.

  I nod. He’s not asking. I take my bag into the solitary locker room, setting it atop a bench on the opposite side of Steven. He strips his shirt off over his head. His smooth, chiseled chest looks dewy, as if he’s already worked out. Standing to face him, I pull the bottom hem of my stretchy workout tank over my own head, making sure to meet his eyes the second the fabric clears my view. My sports bra and tiny shorts are a main attraction as his gaze darts to both places. He’s sizing me up, wondering what I’m doing. Little does he know, I have no idea what he’s playing at. I’ll fight his mood by confusing him even more.

  Turning, I give him a view of my backside as I pull my long hair into a ponytail. He grunts as I peer over my shoulder to find him leaning back against the lockers, his hands behind his back, fiery gaze locked on my ass. With one foot on the bench, I lean over to tie my already double-knotted sneaker.

  He punches a locker, or at least I assume he does from the noise reverberating the empty space. “Infuriating. Fucking infuriating,” he yells, backing away from me, while gazing at me like I’m escaped zoo wildlife. Dangerous wildlife. Shaking his head, he grabs his gloves off the end of the bench and vanishes from view. “Hurry up!” His voice echoes as he exits.

  My first thought is Why does he need his boxing gloves if he’s teaching me how to hit? The second thing is that Steven is actually the tiger, with complete control of the situation. He’s oozing a dominance that I can’t ignore, that I’m not sure I want to ignore it. The nice guy who played by my rules is gone and I can’t say I’m not happy about it. Biting my lip, I think about his massive body looming over me, how his smile seems to have disappeared.

  Grabbing my much smaller gloves, I decide I won’t let his act affect me. When I enter the dimly lit gym I find him next to the large ring pounding the ever-loving life out of a human shaped punching bag. His hands fly, his left hand just as lethal as his right as he hammers back and forth, seemingly without need
ing oxygen. He grunts and groans as sweat sluices the crevices of his back muscles. The frog tattoo shakes with the force of his pounding. Steven has no idea I’m watching. His thwacks are so loud and punishing, I doubt he’d notice me if I was standing in front of him. The one-minded determined focus makes my entire body tingle with desire. I want that arduous venom turned on me. Stepping quietly, I approach the ring, hoping not to disturb him.

  When I get close enough to smell his sweat I swallow, my throat working. Lust blasts me from every angle. I wasn’t prepared for Steven in this form today or the automatic physical reaction my body is having to him. The bag swings wildly as he picks up his pace. His legs planted firmly on the ground start to rise as the ferocity of his blows become rougher.

  “Don’t just stand there enjoying the fucking show, get in the ring and warm up,” Steven barks out, his voice labored and rough. My eyes widen at his back, at his tone.

  “Fuck you, Steven!” I yell out, making sure to speak louder than his loudest punch. I almost never curse, but he’s coaxing another side of me out to play…and fight.

  He hits the bag one more time and I think it might have broken. He spins on me, breathing hard, cocky smile appearing through his pants. “Fucking is as fucking does, Ma’am,” he says, stalking up to me, his abs flaring with each breath he takes.

  It takes effort to force my gaze elsewhere and I climb into the ring, with his fantastically cruel, handsome face emblazoned on the back of my eyelids. If he’s playing at pissing me off, he’s done a right fine job. I’ll slam the grin right off his face. He slides into the ring, standing, feet wide, in the corner directly across from me. He reminds me of a beast. An angry, scorned beast, and I’m not the cowering princess he’s hoping for. Half of the lights aren’t turned on, so part of his massive body is cascaded in shadow. Warming up, I bounce from one foot to the other, whacking the air with my gloves in a less skillful way.

  He interrupts. “Speed, surprise, violence of action,” Steven breathes out, his gaze locked on my face. “That’s what will save your life in any situation.” I hear his words, but I don’t let them sink in. He steps forward, into the light. I catch my breath at his masculine, perfect magnificence. I can see his hands bunching inside his gloves by his sides. The black shorts that hug his thick legs are soaked; his hair is just as wet and standing in spiky points.

  “You can be such a dick sometimes. What do you want from me?”

  He takes another step toward me, his shadow spreading across the ring like a fog. “I want you to pay attention. I need you to be safe while I’m gone. No matter the cost. Hit me.” He pulls off his gloves, unlacing them with his teeth, and lets them drop to the floor, and then extends both hands in front of him, palms facing forward.

  Gathering the wits I have left, I narrow my eyes and approach him. He’s not scary anymore, just utterly mouthwatering, and I will take him up on his offer. My small stature is eye level with his chest. I pull my right hand back and swing at him. He catches my hand easily.

  “I said speed,” he growls, minty breath hitting my face and entering my blood stream, traveling directly between my legs. Quickly, I swing with my other, weaker arm and he catches that, too.

  I growl out in frustration. Both sexually and physically. He releases my hands, and I take a step back and actually process what he’s said. Speed. Surprise. Violence of action. If he actually wants to give me a lesson I need to heed it.

  Surprise, I think. I can do that. “Kiss me,” I order. He shakes his head no, the predatory smile appearing. “Will you kiss me?” I rephrase. The smile drops and curiosity lights his face. He cocks his head to the side. “I’m asking you to kiss me right now however you want to kiss me. Your way.”

  A droplet of sweat slides from his tousled brown hair, down his face and falls off his top lip. I lick my lips, because that’s where his gaze is locked.

  “Will you?” I tilt my head to the side, hoping my coy act is affecting him as much as it’s affecting me. I want his hot mouth on mine. Cautiously, I take a step forward, his eyes roam my body for any tell. He should know better by now.

  “I said hit me,” he finally replies.

  I take another step. And then another, until the heat from his body fires against every inch of my bare skin. I look up to him and force my lips into a pout. “And I asked if you want to kiss me.”

  Steven quirks one brow, but his answer is written on his face, his eyes soften for the first time today. A large bead of sweat rolls over a pec and I watch it fall all the way down to the waistband of his shorts. Removing my gloves, I trace the droplet’s line of travel with my finger and draw the same finger into my mouth.

  Flicking my gaze back up to his, I recognize his desire. He leans down and I can almost feel his kiss, his passion, but I can’t imbibe just yet. Drawing my right hand back I fire it up, solidly connecting it to the side of his face. I step away because I’m wary of his reaction.

  “Speed, surprise, and violence of action was it?” I ask, smiling. He brings a hand up to cradle his red face. I grin even wider, blowing on the tip of one of my hands and then the other. It was a square hit, a powerful one that he can’t deny.

  His gaze turns icy. “You obviously don’t need my help there,” he says. Watching him watching me, I kick my gloves to the side and run a hand through my ponytail.

  “Exactly where do I need your help, Steven?” I ask, pulling my bottom lip in between my teeth. He will take the bait in three, two, one…

  He pounces, his hot body picking me up effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist, but his tight grip doesn’t relent. I hold him around his neck and wait until he gives me a clue about what’s next. I want to give in—to give this to him however he wants it. Not just because he thinks he needs it, because I do need it.

  His chest rises and falls at almost the same pace as when he was destroying the punching bag. His fierce gaze dances between my mouth and my breasts. Quickly he kisses me, his tongue taking my mouth prisoner. I slide down his slippery chest, but he readjusts me to the perfect position where our lips are at the same height.

  “Speed,” he whispers against my mouth as his teeth pull at my lips, creating a pleasurable pain. I want to tell him exactly what to do, but I refrain, letting him guide us down to the mat below us. He takes off my bra, pulling it over my head and then my tiny shorts that are soaked with his sweat and my own wetness. He throws them out of the ring.

  “Stand up,” he says kneeling before me and then rising to his feet, casting a shadow on my body. I comply, kicking off my shoes and socks without taking my eyes off his body. “Now turn around,” Steven growls.

  Taking in a deep, turned-on breath, I turn and see our reflection in the mirror that spans an entire wall. Steven looms behind. He approaches quickly and I wince, but he leans down gently and presses his sweaty lips against the top of my shoulder while he tugs the hair tie out of my hair. I lean my head to the side and watch in the mirror as he kisses the side of my neck. I inhale his scent greedily.

  “Whatever you want, Steven. Whatever you want. I want you. I want you to have all of me,” I say. One of his huge arms wraps around the front of my slight body and his fingers slip into my wetness, stroking me firmly. I press back against him to feel his erection against my backside. It’s hard and huge and throbbing in protest. The unladylike words that I want to say shock even myself. His fingers work me skillfully, unmercifully. A moan slips as the sounds of my wetness fill the air.

  “I’ll give you what you want. Trust me,” he says, gaze fixed on our silhouettes in the mirror. “Hands and knees, M.” His wet lips at my ear make me shiver. With his hands on me, I’m basically putty. I do trust him. I’ve always trusted him. I comply, getting down on my hands and knees, arching my back so his fingers have better access.

  “Don’t fucking move. I’ll be right back,” Steven says. I watch in the mirror as he leaves, swinging out of the ring like a skilled boxer, and returns moments later without shoes or socks and a condom dan
gling out of his mouth. He really does look like a tiger right now.

  I swing my hair over the other shoulder and smile at him in the mirror. He smiles back, but it’s not the friendly smile I’ve seen my entire life. This is something more calculating and sexy. This is a man taking what he wants.

  “This is the quietest you’ve ever been since the day I’ve met you Morga-liscous.” He steps out of his shorts and leaves them in the corner of the ring. His cock is at full attention, pulsating with every word. Steven stands behind me looking at my small frame, ready for his taking. I spread my legs further to give him a better view. He knows my silence is for him—my obedience in his conquest.

  Tipping his head to the side and narrowing his eyes like he’s appraising me, he brings one hand up to rip the package in his mouth. The condom is rolled down his massive shaft the next second. My legs quake in anticipation. I never realized how much I need this. I crave him badly, my insides knotting and twisting in realization. He kneels behind me, slapping the side of my backside with an open palm. My skin shakes for seconds after, the erotic sight forces me to lean back, hoping to connect with him.

  He smacks the other side, the evil smile lighting up his face like a kid on Christmas morning. Shaking his head slowly, he says, “I’m going to fuck your brains out, Morganna.” And I hope he does.

  I bite my lip and lean forward. His fingers dip into my wetness and I feel his other hand caress the side of my hip, and then his finger slips up, to the forbidden, no-access entrance. My eyes widen and I automatically flinch.

  “I said trust me. Do you trust me?” Steven asks, but he doesn’t remove his finger.

  “Yes,” I say, my voice creaking with disuse. An affliction I’m not used to. Using my own wetness, he presses the finger deeper inside me. I moan, because despite what I thought it would feel like, it feels better.