by Mary Calmes
I tried to buck forward, the motion involuntary, his skin on mine made me ravenous for more.
“Grab the lube,” he whispered against the curve of my ear before nibbling on the lobe. “Reach back and slick my cock for me.”
It was hard to do with how tight he was holding me, but I managed, and the feel of his long, silky length sliding though my slippery fist coupled with the issued order was even more arousing than I thought it would be.
“Stop,” he rumbled softly as he pressed a finger inside me.
“Ian,” I husked, pushing back against him, wanting more.
“Feel okay?”
“Oh, yes.”
He added another finger, pushing in, dragging out, circling slowly, maddeningly, scissoring and caressing, opening me up, relaxing the muscles with limitless patience.
“Fuck me already,” I demanded brokenly, my voice full of gravel.
“Don’t rush me. I’m loving this.”
“Why? Just get—”
“Your body is so beautiful and responsive and…. God, look at you.”
I shivered as he rubbed my prostate. “Ian,” I drawled out his name. “Don’t you want to be buried inside of me?”
His sharp exhale made me smile as the answer was obvious.
“I’m ready. Have me.”
As he took hold of his cock, his hand bumped me before he pushed gently between my cheeks and didn’t stop until he was pressed against my entrance. “I’m gonna go slow.”
Arching my back, lifting my ass, I nearly swallowed my tongue when he kissed the side of my neck before pushing inside the tight ring of muscle.
I had forgotten what it was like, it had been so long, the twinge of pain, the pressure and stretch before the feeling of fullness. There was no way to hold back the guttural moan of heat.
“M?” he asked sharply, his worry evident.
“I want you—could you listen?”
“Yes,” he answered as he drove into me, hard, fast, balls against my ass, as deep as he could go in that one powerful thrust.
I had nothing to grab and I needed it, had to have it, to be braced so he could hammer into me. It was utterly necessary.
“Fuck, you feel so good.”
I thought I’d want to lie on our sides together, have him slowly undulate against me and pump in and out in a languid rhythm. But what I wanted was for him to hold me down and put marks on me and fuck me until I screamed his name.
“Ian, please.”
“Tell me,” he said raggedly, his voice thick with passion.
“On my knees.”
He shifted positions with me, following as I rolled to my stomach and lifted. He moved inside me, his cock brushing over the spot that made me jolt under him and tighten around his length. I let my head slip down between my shoulders, trembling, feeling my balls tighten as he pounded into me, one hand tight on my hip, the other on the back of my neck.
I wanted to grab my cock, but I had to lock my arms and curl my fingers into the blanket. If I held tight, I wouldn’t give when he pistoned inside, and that was what I wanted, to feel his cock fill me and then pull out again and again. I wanted to be used hard.
“I have wanted you like this for so goddamn long,” he groaned, pummeling me, giving me the fucking I craved, shoving his cock in to the hilt until I screamed his name and came thick and hot, nothing left of me in that moment except my desire for him.
He came, and I felt him ejaculate before he collapsed across my back, hand on my chin to turn my head enough so he could kiss me.
“It’s stupid—” He kissed me. “—to say right now—” Another. “—but M, I—” He sucked on my tongue, my lips. “I love you. You’re all I want. All I’ll ever want.”
I smiled against his lips.
“I’m so fuckin’ lucky and I want you to know I know. I’ll never take this for granted, never take us for granted. I swear to God.”
“I love you too,” I promised. “But you know that already.”
“Yeah, I do,” he sighed, twitching as my muscles contracted around him, the suction too tight for him to ease free.
“You should pull out,” I said, even though I wasn’t really ready for that yet.
“In a second,” he informed me, his voice soft, like a caress, before he kissed me again. “I like where I am.”
And God, so did I.
AFTER THE blanket got wadded up and thrown in the washer, we took a quick shower together and finally ate dinner, only about six hours late. The steaks were good, as were the accompanying asparagus tips and salad. Since he’d cooked, I did the dishes as he cleared the table and dried. As he moved around me to put things away, I noted the whistling.
“You’re going to be impossible to live with.”
The waggle of eyebrows told me he was, just in case I had missed the smirk or the swaggering walk across the kitchen. He leaned in and kissed me, all heat and dominance, pressing me back into the counter, flipping the dish towel over his shoulder so he could take my face in his hands. He slowed then, his kisses becoming long and deep, and I lost track of anything but his wicked tongue, his teeth on my lips, and his soft, urgent noises. When his knee spread my thighs and his hand slipped up under my T-shirt to my nipple, rubbing, pinching, I almost came right there. Apparently in all the months we’d been having sex, he’d been watching and listening and now knew exactly the things that turned my key, big time. When he leaned back, just enough to speak, we were both panting.
“I enjoyed what we did,” he murmured, “and I want to do it again, whenever I want, whenever I need, whenever you do.”
“Uh-huh,” I agreed, more kissing and stroking taking precedence over words at the moment. My hunger for him had not been sated; he’d be under me as soon as I got him to bed.
“And if we both want something at the same time, then we should be able to talk about it or—”
I chuckled. “I don’t see us fighting to top.”
“Yeah, but what if we do?”
He was worried, not wanting his new craving to interfere with our dynamic.
“Could you see that happening?”
He thought a moment. “I… no.”
“How come?”
“Well, because mostly I like it how it’s been… I need it how it’s been.”
“So, you see,” I confirmed. “We’re okay, baby, I swear.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing’s changed?”
“No.”
He cleared his throat. “Then can we leave the rest of this cleaning for tomorrow and just go to bed?”
I had the urge to laugh, a big sound bubbling up out of my throat, not because anything was funny, but because of how happy I was. “Yeah, we can do that.”
His sigh was long as he turned for the stairs. “You know, sometimes I’m so happy I worry that I’m gonna wake up.”
“I know the feeling,” I agreed as I followed behind him.
“But then,” he said, rounding to face me. “I see you and I recognize this is my real life.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”
“From the beginning, yeah, I was.” He exhaled sharply. “Thank you for loving me.”
Fucking Ian, only he could stop my heart. “It’s my pleasure.”
He cleared his throat. “Would it also be your pleasure to marry me?”
“Yes, of course it would,” I said without thinking. I wanted it so bad. “Crap, what I meant was—”
“No,” he sighed, the smile lighting his whole face. “I finally got an honest answer that was all you and none of your worry about what I thought.”
“But—”
“I just want to talk about it, all right? I want you to know that the place I was at before, where I could never see me wearing a ring, isn’t where I am now.”
“How come?” I asked softly, trying to keep the thunderous excitement out of my voice. I didn’t want to spook him.
“Because now I realiz
e that being a marshal or being a solider isn’t my whole life—those two things aren’t all that I am.” His voice was thick with emotion, low and husky. “You’re in there too; you’re actually the most important part because I carry you with me wherever I go.”
Jesus. His words annihilated me and made me putty in his hands. “Gimme kiss,” was all I could manage to say.
His cocky grin was there as he leaned in and kissed me tenderly, sweetly, ending with the whispered, “I love you,” in my ear.
“Okay,” I said, shivering with happiness. “So we’ll talk about getting married.”
“We’ll talk about when, not if anymore.”
“When,” I repeated, unable to keep in the smile of pure joy. “Okay.”
His chuckle was warm. “All right, come on, gimpy,” he said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “This time, can I carry you up?”
“No, but you can help me and hold my hand and let me have you when we get up there.”
That smile of his made those gorgeous warm eyes of his crinkle in half. “Give me your hand.”
His was warm in mine when I squeezed tight.
Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones has a reputation for being calm and collected under fire. These traits serve him well with his hotshot partner, Ian Doyle, the kind of guy who can start a fight in an empty room. In the past three years of their life-and-death job, they’ve gone from strangers to professional coworkers to devoted teammates and best friends. Miro’s cultivated blind faith in the man who has his back… faith and something more.
As a marshal and a soldier, Ian’s expected to lead. But the power and control that brings Ian success and fulfillment in the field isn’t working anywhere else. Ian’s always resisted all kinds of tied down, but having no home—and no one to come home to—is slowly eating him up inside. Over time, Ian has grudgingly accepted that going anywhere without his partner simply doesn’t work. Now Miro just has to convince him that getting tangled up in heartstrings isn’t being tied down at all.
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About the Author
MARY CALMES lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
A Matter of Time Series from MARY CALMES
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Also by MARY CALMES
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Also by MARY CALMES
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Change of Heart Series from MARY CALMES
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A Change of Heart Novel
Jin Church is back where he started, alone, wandering, and uncertain of his path. It’s not by choice but by circumstance, as he remembers he’s a werepanther… but not much else. He knows one thing for sure—he needs to find the beautiful blond man who haunts his dreams.
Logan Church is trapped in a living hell. His mate is missing, his tribe is falling apart, and he’s estranged from the son he loves with all his heart. His world is unraveling without his mate by his side, and he has no one to blame but himself.
If Jin can regain his memory and Logan can overcome the threats to his leadership, then perhaps they can resume their lives. The question is: Is that what they want? Back to the same house, the same tribe, the same troubles? They can choose from various roads leading to their future… or they can forge their own path.
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