by Sarah Skye
I’m honored to hold space for him.
When we approach a muddy stretch of the path, he stops and scratches his head. “Do you want me to carry you?”
I just laugh at him and muck onward. But I do squeal as the mud seeps into my shoes.
When we get to a rock scramble, Marco scales the boulders like Spider Man while I contemplate the best path. Seriously, it’s like he walked up the face of a rock. “How did you do that?” I call up to him.
He grins down at me. “I climb.”
“Of course you do,” I say and then laugh—because he’s said it at the exact same time.
“Well, any pro tips?” I ask as I try to dig my toe into a crevice.
Marco points. “Take that path to the left. That’s my pro tip.”
I scowl, having just noticed it. “That’s not going to work. How can I let you one-up me like that?”
He laughs, but that turns to a hum as I begin to gingerly pick a path up the rocks. “Morgan, seriously. No one-up, I do this a lot. This isn’t a competition.”
“The hell it isn’t,” I grunt, and then squeal as my toes slip halfway up. “Shit!”
“Dammit,” he barks. “Go back down and take the path!”
But I’m too stubborn for all that. I claw my fingers around the tip of a rock and pull hard, biceps straining before I can secure my dangling foot. Marco is dead silent as I struggle the remaining few feet up, but as soon as my hand touches the path, he grabs my wrist and hauls me the rest of the way. He pulls so hard that I fly forward, and he falls back into the mud with me on top of him. His back and my hands make a squelching sound when we land.
“Ewww,” he groans, and then we’re both laughing helplessly, right there in the mud. “Dammit, woman, did I not say to trust me?”
“I did. I trusted you’d save me if I needed it.”
For that, he grabs my ponytail with a muddy hand and pulls. We both laugh again.
By the time we’re back at the lodge, we’re tired, hot, and caked in dried mud almost from head to foot. But we’re also grinning at each other like crazy. More than one guest in the lobby looks at us with alarmed concern, but we just laugh it off. Marco whisks me upstairs and wastes no time leading us to the shower, where he peels me out of my hiking gear first. He turns on the shower and disappears for a moment, only to return with a towel around his waist while I’m watching mud run down the drain.
“It’s like I got a spa treatment for free,” I say when he steps into the spray with me.
He laughs. “Cool, but you’re getting one tomorrow anyway. I booked you for the afternoon.”
My brows shoot up. “For-for a spa? Really?”
He shrugs and begins to shampoo my hair. “This is supposed to be about unwinding. Figured you should be pampered. Besides, if you murder me tonight, you’ll probably be exhausted from hiding my body. I imagine I won’t be light.”
I giggle but also shake my head. “What am I getting done?”
“Mmm, I don’t know. Massage and whatever else you want. You can choose.”
“How much will it cost? I hadn’t planned on—”
He tugs the wet strands in his hands. “Hush. My treat.”
I think about protesting, but what’s the point? He said to trust him, and besides. Do I really want to spend this magical weekend stressed? I do not. So instead I sigh and press my ass into his hips.
“That’s very kind of you,” I murmur. “But right now, I bet we have some time to unwind in a different way.”
He growls as his cock begins to stir. “You said you trust me. Trust me here, too please. We’re not going to ‘unwind’ until later.”
“Why?” I whine.
He slides a soapy hand along my backside. “Are you questioning?”
I am because I love this game. Just like I love it when I pout again and he slaps my ass, hard. And I love it even more when my moan makes him draw a deep, shaky breath and slip from that growly voice to whisper, “God, you are amazing.”
But we are not, apparently, going further right now. Once he’s cleaned us both, we dress in robes and shuffle out to the bed. The afternoon is getting on, but it’s still a few hours before dark. I look around while he yawns and stretches out on the bed.
“Where’s our stuff?”
“Sent it out for cleaning of course,” he answers.
“Of course you did.”
He grins. “Naptime?”
So I crawl onto the bed and put my head on his shoulder.
I’m not sure how long I sleep, but the light is definitely dimmer when I open my eyes. Marco is still breathing rhythmically. I watch him sleep for a moment, and then roll out, grab my journal and tarot cards from my bag, and head out to the terrace.
Before I can finish shuffling, a kiss lands on the top of my head. “Whatcha doing?” he asks with sleep still in his voice.
I tense a little. “Um, I was going to read my cards.”
Marco drops into the seat beside me. His brows knit. “Like tarot cards?” I nod. “I’ve never actually seen any.”
“Don’t tell me they’re stupid.”
Dark eyes blink in confusion. “Why would I?”
Because I’m projecting old assumptions onto you. I shake my head to come back to the present, back to the reality where Marco is not the man I used to know. Then, I keep shuffling and shrug. “A lot of people make fun of them. I find them helpful for clarifying my thoughts.”
“Will you read for me? I could definitely use clarity.” He laughs gently.
“Um, sure. Okay.”
I hand him the deck and instruct him to shuffle, then cut it. “So draw three cards. The first for your past, the second for your present, and then for your future.”
He obliges, and then frowns over what he sees, waiting for me to explain.
“Your past: ten of swords. A painful ordeal, a difficult ending to a situation. You may have played the victim, but no matter what, this was hard and it hurt.”
Marco’s brow twitches. “That’s an understatement. The victim thing, too. It’s fair, I’ve done that. ‘It’s not my fault, it’s yours’—basically both of my parents’ MO forever. I know I played that game too.”
“Well, but the point is this is your past. And as a ten, that ordeal is marked as over. If you learn from it. With everything in life, the universe doesn’t let you move forward until you’ve learned a lesson. So if that’s a lesson learned, it’s over. If it’s not, it’ll likely come back again.”
“Noted. What’s my present?”
The heat creeps into my cheeks no matter how neutral I try to sound. “Um, that’s two of cups. It represents a new partnership or romance.”
His lips curl. “You’re kidding.”
“Cards don’t lie,” I mutter.
“And my future?”
I point. “King of Cups. This king has mastered his heart. It means you learn to accept your feelings without letting them control you.”
“That’s my future, huh.” He scratches his jaw, eyes trained on the cards.
“If you continue on the path you’re on. If you work on it.”
His gaze is dark but playful when he pins it on me. “What I want to work on right now, Morgan Paulsen, is you. Get on the bed.”
“Two of cups,” I mumble while I shuck the robe and scurry to the bed.
He laughs as his strong arms wrap around me from behind. “Damn straight. What’s our word?”
“Butter.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I really do.”
“Good.”
Marco pushes me gently to my hands and knees on the bed and whispers kisses and little teasing tickles all over me. The whole time I’m made to stay in that position, even though my thighs tremble and I ache to touch him too. Instead of reaching for him, I close my eyes and give in to the sweet torture even more. When he glides his tongue between my legs, though, I can’t help but cry out.
“More, more, please,” I beg, more than a little t
errified that my plea will make him stop.
“I love it when you tell me what you want,” he growls.
“Even when you don’t give it to me, like in the shower?”
That tongue stops. Marco guides me to sit up on my knees and turns my chin till I’m facing him. He strokes my cheek. “I told you before, I’ll give you everything I have. Why don’t you trust it?”
That fire dims from his expression. “Is it me?”
A lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. “No. It’s me. I don’t trust anyone but me in the end, Marco.”
I grab my robe and throw it over my shoulders, then curl into a protective ball with my knees to my chest. Marco sits on the bed beside me, waiting.
Finally, I wet my lips and say, “Gram was there for me. No one else. Not my mother, not my father, no one. Mom couldn’t help her addiction, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter she wasn’t around. My father didn’t want to be around. I have a half-brother I’ve never met thanks to my dad’s selfish disregard for everyone but himself.
“But now Gram needs me, and that’s okay. I can be there for her. But my whole damn life, from family to relationships, I’ve always known to count on myself. Everyone else can do what they want. I’ll still be fine.”
That soft touch glides along my cheek again before he pulls me close, surrounding me with his scent and his arms and his sense of protection that I want so damn badly to lean into. That I do lean into, as far as my heart will allow it.
“I’m a wreck, Morgan. But I swear, I’m doing things differently now. I don’t want you to be irresponsible, but I hope you trust that I mean it. I’ll give you anything you need that I possibly can.”
My fists curl around his biceps. Because, suddenly, I have a feeling like I’m falling.
Or maybe flying.
Either way, that feeling comes with a heart-exploding rush of warm and fuzzy feelings that I hadn’t anticipated. But once they’re there, I know with clarity that they’ve been building for a while.
I have totally fallen for this man.
And because I have, and because this is our weekend, I look up at him through watery eyes. “I trust you, Marco.”
He smiles down at me. “Good. Now, get on your knees, baby.”
And that’s exactly what I do.
23
MARCO
It doesn’t take long for that uncertainty to melt from Morgan’s beautiful blue eyes. When she shifts back to her hands and knees, I catch that familiar look of desire again.
And something else. Something brighter, more intense. I don’t know what it is—but I know what I hope it is.
Something shifts. It’s like all of my organs have done a somersault before sliding back to their rightful place. Everything inside of me is different. I feel each breath, each heartbeat more intensely. All because of her.
I swallow back the sensation that threatens to knock me on my ass and focus on the moment. My skin is on fire, and I’m hard as a rock again just seconds after we had that talk, when she told me what was on her mind. When she told me she trusted me.
And now there’s no more holding back. I want to give her everything.
I lean down to kiss her and smile as our tongues fight for control.
“Morgan.” I lock eyes with her, catching my breath. “Tell me again. Do you trust me to give you everything you want?”
I already know the answer. I see it in her eyes.
But when she lets out a breathy, “yes,” goosebumps fly across my skin. Fuck. She’s practically trembling with want, with need. So am I.
I shift so that I’m where I was before, crouched behind her, my face right at her perfect ass. And then I pick up where I left off. I kiss her clit from behind, trying my best to hold her steady with my hand on her hip as she squirms.
“Do you know how good you taste? How good you feel on my tongue?” I growl against her skin.
A yelped “fuck!” is all I get in response. I let out a shaky breath and groan. Christ, this woman. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, so fucking brilliant and badass.
And she’s here with me.
I work my tongue faster until her legs are so shaky I’m certain she’s going to collapse. But she doesn’t. I feel her body tighten against my face and hands. Her breaths turn to pants as she whines my name. And then she explodes on my tongue.
I slide my arm under her waist to support her as she trembles and shouts. When she finishes, I ease her on her back to lay flat on the bed. And then I push up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Glittery, dazed eyes gaze up at me. Her chest heaves. There it is again, that something more that I hope matches the something more coursing through me right now.
“You look drunk,” I say.
She booms out a laugh. “If it’s possible to be drunk on an orgasm, then that’s definitely what I am right now.” She tugs a hand through her disheveled hair. “Holy shit. That was… fuck.”
I lean down and swipe my pants from the floor and retrieve a condom. Then I slide it on and line up with her, but she leans up and wraps her hand around my wrist.
“Wait.”
I still instantly and look at her. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
The grin that tugs at her plump lips sends a wave of relief through me. “Yeah, I’m perfect. I just… I love how dirty you talk when we’re together.”
The corner of my mouth hooks up. “Yeah?”
She nods. “Don’t hold back. I wanna hear your worst. It gets me so fucking hot.”
I’m hard as steel as I slide into her. She moans, I groan, and we both pause to take a breath. My head spins. It’s insane just how in sync our bodies are, how right it feels to be inside of her.
I slow-thrust into her. My mouth waters as the movement causes her breasts to bounce hypnotically. I lean down and take her nipple between my lips, teasing hard with my tongue.
“Christ, these tits.” I lightly scrape my teeth along the impossibly soft skin on the underside of her boob and speak against her skin. “So fucking perfect. You know that, don’t you? I could feast on these melt-in-your-mouth tits all day long. And your pussy.”
She tangles a hand through my hair, pulling me back to her nipple as she groans. I switch to her other breast and she gets so loud, I’m positive whoever is sharing a wall with us can hear.
And then I pull away and lightly wrap my hands around each of her wrists, pinning them on either side of her head. I shift to deepen the angle between us. When her eyes roll to the back of her head, a jolt of pleasure rockets through my dick. I slowly inhale to give myself an extra second, so I don’t blow it all and ruin the moment, then lean down so we’re practically nose to nose. Her sea-blue irises are now just a faint ring around the ink-black of her pupils.
“I want your eyes open when you come on my cock, understand?” My voice is as rough as gravel on concrete. But it’s the only way I can speak. Every muscle in my body is straining, holding on like hell so that she gets her orgasm first. I need to watch her, feel her unravel, to make sure she gets every bit of pleasure she deserves.
She starts to nod, but when I pick up speed, she presses her eyes shut. Her jaw drops as she starts to speak, but whatever she means to say gets lost in her moan. Her head starts to roll back once more.
“Marco…”
I release my hold on one of her wrists and gently grip her chin to look at me.
When she opens her eyes, her expression shifts from dazed to desperate.
“I’m so, so close,” she cries.
I bite my lip, relieved. I’m on the edge too.
“Say you want to come on my cock. Say it.”
She starts to smile. “I want to come on your cock.”
My legs and arms go weak at the growl in her voice. Fuck. Less than a minute max before I blow. I flex my thighs and my forearms before I straighten up, brace my arms under her hips, and thrust as fast as I can.
“T
ouch your clit while I fuck you,” I pant.
I can only look at those gorgeous fingers work on herself for a few seconds. It’s too fucking hot. If I watch any longer, I’ll burst. So instead I focus off to the side of her shoulder and pray that I make it. Not a second too soon, Morgan’s pitchy screams pierce my ears. Her legs flail so hard, she nearly kicks me. When she starts to ease back, I stay steady, digging my fingers into her hips as I come.
And then I collapse on top of her.
“Holy…”
“Fuck.”
I laugh into her neck, relishing the rumble of her giggle as it echoes against the walls. She wraps her arms and legs around me, and we stay like that, pressed into each other, our bodies slick with sweat and sex, for a solid minute.
I lightly kiss her arm. After a while, her arms and legs fall away so I can slip out, climb off the bed, and head to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. When I crawl back in bed, I immediately cuddle her into me. She rests her head on my chest, and I have to close my eyes and swallow. Sex has never been like this for me. Not only physically mind-blowing, but never have I felt so safe, so in tune with any other person.
“That was…”
I run my hands through Morgan’s silky hair, wondering what more she’ll say. But she doesn’t. Soon all I hear is the soft sound of her breathing as she sleeps. My eyelids start to go heavy too. I press a kiss to the top of her head, close my eyes, and fall asleep right along with my girl.
“You really think we can eat all this?”
I narrow my gaze across the table Morgan and I are sharing at the lodge restaurant, then do a scan of the cluttered table. There’s bruschetta, garlic mashed potatoes, Cornish game hen, seared halibut, sauteed asparagus, creamed spinach, bacon-wrapped dates, corn chowder, and artichoke dip.
