by Amanda Perry
Marak growls when he encounters the fabric of my shirt. He reluctantly breaks the kiss. “This needs to go, it can’t be comfortable for you.” He takes the hem of my top and pulls it over my head in one quick move. His lust-filled eyes roam over my chest. “Since I’m here, should I explore?”
He doesn’t wait for my response. His head drops, and he captures one tight nipple between his teeth, barely biting down. My back arches, and I cry out, the sensation different than anything I’ve experienced in the past. He pulls the tight bud into his mouth, sucking hard. My core tightens, and my hips thrust up into his. “Marak!”
“Fuck, Red.” He lets my nipple go and hisses through his teeth. “You’re gonna unman me if you keep pressing into me like that.”
The admission gives me an idea. With my left hand around his neck, my right drops down to his ass, pinching hard. He jerks his hips forward into mine, and I spread my legs wider, pushing against him. “Oh, god.” The move was supposed to be a tease for him, but the sensation of his hardening length against my sensitive core is almost enough to unravel me.
“If you want to gamble like that, I’m more than happy to play.” Marak drops his lips back to mine, our kiss more heated this time. My hands roam up and down his body, grabbing and clawing in an attempt to find purchase.
One of Marak’s hands massages my naked breast, pulling and pinching the sensitive bud in the middle. The other takes hold of one of my hands, raising it above our heads and holding it prisoner. The hand on my breast travels lower until it reaches the waistband of my shorts.
His fingers dip into the front of my shorts, and he draws in a sharp breath, pulling away from our kiss. “Jesus, Taylor. You’ve been sitting two feet away from me for over half an hour with no fucking panties on?”
I giggle and nod. He growls playfully, nipping at the spot between my shoulder and neck again as he tugs my shorts down my legs. He has to let go of my other hand to get the shorts off easier, and I take advantage of the freedom, stripping him of his only article of clothing. Marak pushes himself up slightly, allowing his gaze to roam over my naked body, and I do the same to him.
Sex isn’t a subject I’m an expert on. I’d probably give myself a solid C-minus in skills and experience. My ex wasn’t exactly selfless in the bedroom. He was actually really fucking boring and only cared about getting himself off. One thing I do know, though, is Marak isn’t a little guy, and by that, I mean, his little guy isn’t little—it’s almost intimidating. The only other guy I’ve been with was apparently extremely lacking in that department.
“Fuck.” Marak’ eyes drink me in. “Even better than I imagined.”
I scoff at him, feigning offense. “You imagined me naked?”
He grins wickedly down at me, lowering his body to lay flush with mine. “You imagined me naked, too, Red. Don’t deny it.”
Damn him, he’s not wrong. The real thing is way better than anything I could have dredged up in my mind, though.
“I didn’t just imagine you naked, though,” he admits, the heat returning to his gaze.
My breath hitches as he hooks his hand behind my right knee and pulls it up, level with his shoulder, giving him full access to my center. “No?”
He shakes his head. “I imagined kissing you like this.” He kisses me deep and slow, only to pull away too soon. “I imagined, touching you like this.” His free hand cups my cheek, and his thumb runs across my bottom lip. He drops his lips to my neck, and I angle my head to give him better access.
His hand leaves my cheek, trailing leisurely down my neck. He stops to give my breasts a bit of attention before continuing his journey. He reaches the apex of my thighs, and his fingers begin a light circular rhythm in just the right spot. My back arches, and I moan long and loud.
“I imagined getting you worked up like this.” He continues the slow, torturous rhythm on my clit, working me higher and higher, but refusing to allow me to fall over the edge.
“And finally, I imagined what it would be like to slide inside of you, to fill you completely.” He moves his hand, lining his hard length up with my center and enters me with painful slowness. His free hand holds my hips down so I can’t hurry him in any way. My head drops back. Whimpers and harsh pants are the only sounds I can manage when all I really want to do is push Marak onto his back and take control of the pace, finding the release I need so badly.
When his hips touch mine, Marak drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard. “This is way better than anything in my imagination, Red.”
“Please, do something, Marak.” I’m begging, but I don’t care. If he doesn’t start moving soon, I might literally explode. “Oh, god, I need you.”
Without further prompting, Marak pulls out slowly, then slams his hips back into mine. We both cry out from the movement but thank fuck he doesn't slow down. He sets a steady rhythm, slowly pulling out before slamming back in. Every time it builds the tight ball low in my belly.
Marak drops a quick kiss to my lips, then to my jaw, and down to my neck. “You feel so fucking good.” His movements speed up, and the pressure builds until I’m sure I’ll pass out if I don’t find release.
The hand holding my leg behind my knee tightens, pulling up a bit more, changing the angle he hits when he slides himself back into me. The new angle is all I need to fall over the edge, crying out his name as I fall. Marak isn’t far behind me; two more thrusts and he stills, grunting his release and sending me into another spiral.
12
Taylor
Neither of us talk for a long time. We bask in the serenity of the moment. The only sound in the room comes from our attempts to slow our labored breathing. Marak keeps most of his weight off me but buries his head in my neck. One of my hands runs over his hair, enjoying the long softness. The other runs up and down his back in a smooth pattern.
“Hey, Red?”
My only response is a hum.
“Remember that water you offered earlier? I changed my mind about that. Go grab me one.”
The room echoes with a loud crack as my hand makes contact with his ass. Marak yelps and jumps off of me, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his sore cheek. “That fucking hurt!”
With a smirk and a shrug, I point my thumb over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “Get your own water. You have two legs, use them.”
Marak gives me a wicked smirk. “I’m good at using my body parts, Red. You should know that now.”
“Oh my god, you’re impossible.” Even as I say the words, I can’t stop the giggle from bubbling out. Marak makes things too easy. Being with him could never be boring or stressful. He has a way of turning any situation into something carefree and enjoyable. The corners of my lips turn up. He’d have a field day with innuendos if he heard my thoughts.
Marak huffs dramatically, grabs his boxers, and slips them on. "Fine, I guess I'll go venture into the kitchen for some refreshments. All alone. In a strange new house. With the potential of getting lost in the dark."
"The hall light is on, and you can literally see the fridge from here. You're a big boy, I have faith you'll make it."
As he passes me on his way to the kitchen, he wiggles his eyebrows up and down. "I am a big boy. Give me two minutes to hydrate, and I’ll remind you."
It takes effort to keep the laughter in. There's no way I'll admit to him I find his dirty mind and flirtatious jokes funny. He'll never let me hear the end of it.
While Marak rummages around in my fridge, I slip my shorts and top back on. If he has coverage, I want some, too. Unfortunate as it may be—Marak naked is a thing of beauty. Me, on the other hand, could probably use the coverage.
My body isn’t horrible, and I’m not self-conscious. My thighs are thicker than most girls. My hips and ass are rounder than average. My boobs fill a C-cup nicely. My skin is clear and clean, but a bit too light—tanning season cannot come soon enough. Then again, tanning usually turns into freckles for me. My arms are covered in them, as is the bridge of my nose. R
andom freckles decorate the rest of my skin, but nothing like my arms.
The only other mark on my body is a small tattoo I got after Grammy died. A cactus on the outside of my right ankle. It was an inside joke between us since it’s all I can manage to grow. After he thoroughly chewed me out for it, Grumpy decided to get a matching one. Hypocritical old bastard.
"You need to go grocery shopping, Red." Marak’s yelling draws my attention.
Leaning back on the couch, my eyes find his ass sticking in the air as he shoves his head into my fridge. If he believes food will magically appear in the back of the fridge, he's in for some real disappointment. He and the guys may keep their place stocked with food, but if I buy perishable foods, they perish. My trip to the store today ended with mainly Diet Coke and canned soup. If my dinner plans fail, baked potato soup will always be there for me.
Turning around and plopping down again, I open my mouth to answer him. A loud pop echoes through the quiet room, followed by glass shattering. The shards rain over me and my living room floor. Marak sprints into the room and pulls me off the couch. He drops me to the floor, covering me with his body. The couch gives us some cover from the shattered window. The popping noises continue for a few seconds, then silence. My ears ring from the deafening pops. Everything happens too fast and with Marak on top of me, I couldn't cover my ears.
It takes a few long seconds after the silence descends before Marak moves off me, pulling me down the hall in a low crawl. He takes me by the shoulders and drags me to a sitting position, then presses my back against the wall. Serious Marak is new for me. His brows draw together, his eyes hard as they scan my body. "Are you hurt?"
The only thing I can manage is a small shake of my head. Nothing hurts, but what the hell happened? Marak doesn't wait for me to ask questions. He gently puts his hands on my cheeks and forces my eyes to meet his. "Do not move from here, Taylor. I'll be right back. Do you understand?"
Again, I'm only able to muster a small nod. My poor mind takes entirely too long to finally catch up with the current situation. A quick scan of the area, and I find Marak on the other side of the living room already, crouching over his jeans. He holds a pistol in one hand and a cellphone to his ear in the other. His eyes search the room, focusing mainly on the large window. Well, the hole where the large window used to be. I lean around the corner to examine the rest of the room. Glass covers the entire couch and floor. Only sharp edges of shattered glass remain sticking out of the window frame.
Marak appears next to me again with the phone to his ear. He holds his jeans and shirt in one hand but uses the other to push lightly on my shoulder, preventing me from peering around the corner anymore. "Yeah, I have her. Just hurry up." He ends the call and frowns down at me while getting dressed. "Are you okay?"
I blink at him, unable to answer truthfully. Physically, I’m numb. My brain is having a hell of a time processing what happened. Logically, I know the popping must have been gunshots, and one of the bullets took out my window. But the reasoning behind why someone would shoot out my window takes longer to register.
The son of a bitch coming after me did this. The moment of realization hits me hard, and my body vibrates violently. It's a toss-up whether the shaking comes from anger, fear, or both. His goal may have gone from taking me to killing me. One of those crazy, If I can't have you, no one can, type things.
"The guys are on their way over." He kneels in front of me after he finishes dressing. "We'll wait here for them until they can clear the area."
“Okay.” I nod. "Yeah." Even to my own ears, my voice sounds off.
Marak must notice the uncontrollable tremors because he pulls me into his arms, holding my body tightly against his. "It's okay, Red. We won't let anything happen to you. You're safe."
The problem with his promise is he can't keep it. He doesn't know what this bastard will do to get me, either to keep or kill me. Even I don't know what he'll do. Marak can't guarantee my safety any more than Maverick, Allistar, or Syn can.
My spine abruptly straightens, my thoughts freezing on the guys. Marak pulls back, scanning my face. "What is it?"
"Will they be safe? Checking the area or whatever, I mean." If any of them get hurt because of me, I'm not sure what I would do. They're important to me, even after such a short amount of time, but they're also like family to each other. If something happened to one of them, the rest would likely want to bury me because of it.
Another notion occurs to me. What would Maverick, Allistar, and Syn think of mine and Marak’s sleepover activities? Now is not the time to consider those things, though. My focus needs to be on ensuring the guys stay safe, and no one gets hurt.
Marak nods, while his eyes rake over the room as if searching for anything out of place. "They'll be fine, Red. We're trained for this, remember?"
"How long do you have to go to school to be a SWAT...person?" The correct term eludes me.
"SWAT person?" he repeats, his eyes shining with amusement. He quickly hides his laughter when I glare at him. "It's kind of complicated. All of us were in the military before we joined SWAT. We each have our different skills. Syn is trained as a medic. I'm a sharpshooter. Maverick is our lead, and Allistar is our breacher. We all have skills that make us different and valuable to the team, but the bond we have allows us to work as one."
While I mull over Marak's answer, a loud knock comes from my back door. Like a total girl, I scream and grab onto Marak's shirt with both hands. He pulls me closer, enveloping me with his arms. "It's okay, it's the guys. You're okay, Taylor. I promise."
Of course, it's them. Crazed psychopathic fuckwads probably don't go around knocking on doors in hopes of their target answering and letting them in for a cup of coffee and some cookies. No matter how many times I remind myself, my erratic heartbeat and shiver remain.
The door handle jiggles a little bit, and I wonder why Marak doesn’t let me up to unlock it or open it himself. My unspoken questions get answered seconds later when the door swings wide open to reveal Allistar knelt on the other side with a long pick thing in his hand. He's the breacher; he picked the lock. It only took him a few seconds to do it, too. This might be a sign I need to invest in better locks.
Syn rushes into the house, nearly knocking Allistar down as he stands. Allistar shoots a glare at Syn’s back but doesn’t say anything. Syn pulls me out of Marak’s arms, squeezing me tightly in his own. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”
With everyone safely here, my nerves calm slightly. Marak would protect me--I know he would--but I don't want him to have to. I don't want any of them to put their lives on the line for me. Wrapping my arms around Syn, I hug him back hard. He's safe. They're all safe. It's fine now.
"I'm good," I assure him.
He tightens his arms. "You sure? You're shaking pretty hard. You could be in shock and not feel the pain." Without waiting for my response, he pulls back, holding me by my upper arms and scanning my body from head to toe. The way he does it at first is clinical, searching for any signs of injury. The second time, his eyes stop at my legs and slow down. He pauses for a long time when he finds my small shorts, then travels farther up my body. He finally stops on my chest, probably noticing the thin material of my white tank top. Under his intense gaze, my nipples decide to give him more of a show, hardening into little pebbles. Syn inhales sharply, then clears his throat and jerks his eyes to mine. "I think you're good."
"What the fuck happened, Marak?" Maverick's tone is hard and demanding. He wants all the details, and he wants them now.
My breathing halts, and the hard shakes return when I realize Marak might tell them about the festivities before the craziness. "Neither of us could sleep. She was being a terrible host and refusing to get me food, so I went to the kitchen to get my own damn food. While I was looking in the completely empty fridge, there were shots fired. Approximately twelve in total. One shattered the window, and I got Taylor to a safe position before retrieving my pistol and calling you. You
know the rest."
With the end of his explanation, I allow the breath in my lungs to exit in a whoosh. I’m not sure why their opinions of my hookup with Marak matter and I’m not about to think deeper about it.
Maverick continues to talk with Marak about the incident. Syn joins their conversation, asking if Marak is hurt in any way. I choose to tune them out. I experienced it; I don't need a reminder.
Allistar makes his way over to me, taking his jacket off and placing it over my shoulders. "You're shaking pretty hard, Taylor. Are you cold?"
"No, I'm fine." Even as I say the words, I pull his jacket tighter around my body and slip my arms into the sleeves. My hands don't quite make it out of the sleeves, and the bottom of the jacket hits my knees. The warmth from Allistar’s lingering body heat comforts me. As does Allistar’s scent on the jacket—like fresh rain in the spring: clean, crisp, and comforting. I bury my nose in the collar and breathe deep, relaxing further.
The four of them together bring me a sense of security, like no one can get to me. They’re my personal security.
Security. I had security. My gasp chokes me, my throat nearly closing. "The cop."
"Huh?" Syn turns around at my whisper.
Instead of responding, I spin on my heel and race through the living room to the front door. My swift action stuns them. They don’t react until I reach the door and swing it open. The guys shout after me to stop, but I ignore them and sprint through the door, across the street. The cop stationed outside my house was supposed to prevent this all from happening. He could have at least warned Marak and me about the guy or come to check on us after the shooting stopped. It’s literally his only job.
My bare feet skid to a stop on the hard pavement as I reach my destination. A strangled cry claws its way up my throat when I peer inside the car. The cop, the one who always liked to play on his phone, sits motionless in his seat. Dark red liquid streams down his temple and drips onto his shoulder. A white paper stained with spots of blood sticks to his chest.
