by R. C. Martin
“Hey,” he grunts once my tears have begun to slow. He gives me a squeeze as he insists, “Eyes up, Mack.” When I do as he says, he grazes his knuckles along my cheeks, ridding my face of my sorrow, his dark, soulful eyes contemplative as they stare into mine. “You still want to walk the pier?”
I knit my eyebrows together, caught off guard by his question. We rode by a long pier earlier today, and I told him I wanted to go, though I’m not sure why he’s chosen now to bring it up.
“Come on,” he says, standing to his feet before I get a chance to answer him. “We need a change of view.”
I don’t argue, but instead take his hand as he helps me up. We walk in bare feet until we reach the sidewalk and then put our shoes on before heading for the bike. When we reach the pier, I’m no less confused than I was a few minutes ago, but I follow his lead, lacing my fingers with his after he grabs my hand and begins walking the length of the pier. We’re right in the middle when he stops. Taking hold of my hips, he positions me in front of the railing before caging me in from behind, his front pressed against my back.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, looking out at the water that goes far beyond what the eye can see.
“It’s endless. It’s bottomless.” My skin breaks out in goose pimples when I feel his lips just above my ear as he whispers, “Can I tell you something?” I nod, leaning back against him. “The first time I went with you to visit the kids at the hospital, the first time I saw you interact with them, I couldn’t imagine you as their doctor.” I twist my neck to look up at him, but before I can question what he’s saying, he goes on to explain, “I’ve seen some doctors in my time, Mack. None as nice as you. Watching you with those kids, I couldn’t help thinking that you being their doctor kind of felt like a waste.
“Don’t get me wrong. There are some great doctors out there. And you’re smart, babe—you can be whatever the hell you want to be. But one thing doctors don’t have, no matter how hard they try, is time. You take your time with those kids. Lance said it all. You were Sheamus’s friend. He wasn’t a sick kid to you. He wasn’t a puzzle you were trying to solve, and you’re like that with all of them.
“I hear you, babe. I hear you saying what I’ve been thinking for weeks. I’m not going to stand here and tell you not to be a doctor. It’s not my place. But I will tell you that you don’t have to be a doctor to make your living in a hospital. Look,” he tells me, tipping his chin out at the sea. I turn my head, looking over the horizon as he continues. “Stop looking at your future as if there’s only one option to do what you love. Be smarter than that. The possibilities are endless.”
This time, as my eyes begin to well up, it’s not hopelessness I feel. Rather, I’m overwhelmed with a new sense of relief that goes beyond my understanding. It’s like God Himself has whispered in my ear, telling me that I’m not weak, that I’ve been made with a tender heart that has a purpose. I grab hold of Coder’s wrists, pulling his arms around me, wishing to feel his embrace as I embrace the peace I feel in this moment—my eyes open, my mind at ease, knowing that what he said is right. I just never thought to step out of the box I put myself in.
I think about my dad, about my brother, about what amazing men they are and what great doctors they are or will be. They’ve always supported my choice to chase after this dream, never questioning me and never doubting me. I wonder what they will say when I tell them that I was aiming for the wrong goal, and that I’m not so much like them after all. I’m more like mom. I believe that comfort is its own form of medicine, and I want to be able to do both—I want to help heal the body as well as soothe the hurt that can’t be touched with prescription drugs. And I want to do it my way. No boundaries. Just love—regardless of the pain that might follow.
My spine goes rigid as a new idea occurs to me. “I can do both. I can work with medicine but still be me. Coder—I could be a nurse,” I whisper, thinking of Pamela and Stacey and all it is that they do. I don’t know why I never thought of it before. It seems so obvious now, like it’s been staring me in the face. They’re not doctors, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t just as much a part of the fight against sickness and disease. It just looks different than the fight I had always imagined. Different and yet somehow more bearable.
“You’d be a kickass nurse, babe.” Coder squeezes me tighter and then dips his head until his lips are pressed against the side of my neck. “You’d be a sexy as fuck nurse, too.”
I giggle as he kisses me, tickling my neck. Then I turn in his arms, wishing for the real thing. He lifts his head and smiles down at me, making my insides go squishy, and I thank God for him. Over and over, he’s proved to me that we were made to love one another. I’m sure of it.
“Honey?”
“What is it, babe?”
Pressing up on my tiptoes, I demand, “Mouth.”
He groans, causing an intense tingling at my core, and I suck harder. I look up at him from where I kneel, in the middle of the bed between his thighs, and he whispers a curse when our eyes lock. He brushes my hair away from my face, bringing it to one shoulder before he leans over me, his hands feeling their way down my back. The warmth of his touch reminds me of the orgasm he gave me just a few minutes ago, and my longing for him feels greater than it did before I came around his tongue. With his dick in my mouth, I feel so far from sated, it’s making me crazy.
“Fuck. Up, baby—need to be inside you.”
Offering him one more pull from my mouth, I straighten until I’m kneeling before him, anxious to do whatever he tells me to do next.
“Seven days, yeah?” he mutters, reaching for my waist.
I know exactly what he’s talking about without even having to ask. He wants to know if he can be inside of me without a condom. I started my birth control a week ago, and it’s obvious he’s been keeping track. I offer him a nod in response and he immediately starts to tug me toward him.
“Come ‘ere, baby.”
I crawl forward, following his pull until my knees are straddling his hips. He slides a hand down my side, around my backside, and then finally between my legs. My breath catches when I feel his fingers graze over my entrance, hyperaware of his every touch.
“Shit,” he grunts, tilting his head back to reach my lips.
While he kisses me, I feel it as he grabs his dick, rubbing the head through my wetness. He does it so many times, my legs begin to tremble, and I have to hold onto his shoulders to keep myself lifted on my knees. When he finally stops, positioning himself right at my opening, he grips either side of my hips. His dark eyes, half mast and heavy with desire, stare into mine as he eases me down over him. He slips inside of me with ease, and the low, husky growl that rumbles from his chest as I take him in makes my breasts ache, and my stomach clench, and my skin break out in goose pimples all at the same time.
With one hand reaching down to palm my opposite butt cheek, the other grabbing the back of my neck, he presses his chest against mine and groans, “You’re mine, Mack. No one else is allowed to have you. You’re mine. You got that, baby?”
I whimper, circling my arms around his neck before burying my fingers in his hair. I then jerk my hips forward, desperate for movement, and we both moan at the sensation it causes.
“No one else. Just you. Only you, honey. Always you.”
He smashes his lips against mine, pressing on my backside, encouraging me to thrust my hips forward. I don’t move very much, but the pleasure I feel is breathtaking. I can tell he feels the same as he plunges his tongue inside of my mouth, urging my hips to move again. Soon, I don’t need his guidance anymore, and I take over, chasing after the ecstasy that only Coder has ever given me.
I don’t know how long we stoke the fire that’s lit between us, taking our time as we allow the slow burn to grow hotter and hotter, but time is irrelevant. He feels amazing inside of me—the friction warmer and wetter than it’s ever been. His hands touch me all over, and when he dips his head to take one of my nipples into his
mouth, I arch my back, leaning against his hands that hold me as I grind my hips harder.
“Coder,” I mewl when I know I’m right on the edge, ready to topple over. I can barely breathe. I’m so worked up, all I can hear is the thumping of my racing heart and the sound of our panting. All I can feel is him. “Coder!”
“Give me you, baby,” he demands, holding my hips as I rock them with no restraint. “Give me you.”
My jaw falls open and I clasp my hands around the back of his neck, holding on with all of my might just as my orgasm crashes through me. My body locks up as my veins surge with the marvelous sensation of my release, and then Coder takes over, totally rocking my world.
Just when I feel the impact of my climax begin to ebb, I sense it coming on again. He leans back against the pillows, keeping my hips in his grasp as he begins to thrust up, going deep as he pulls me down at the same time. He drives into me fast and hard, and it’s as if he’s jump-started my orgasm, bringing it back to life. I stare into his eyes as my sex tightens around his, my voice lost—gone with my breath. I find the ability to gasp for air just as he starts to grunt through his own release. I feel it as he swells and then jerks inside of me, filling me with his seed.
“Fuck, yes. Ah, fuck—babe,” he mutters as his hips begin to slow. Lazily, he glides in and out of me a few times. Then, hugging me against him, he rolls us over until I’m on my back, all the while never breaking our intimate connection. I don’t even try fighting the smile that tugs at my lips as I look up at him. I’m too happy. Everything that brought us here temporarily forgotten as I lay wrapped in his arms, drenched in the scent of him. My stomach clenches when he smirks, shaking his head at me.
“What?” I murmur, wrapping my legs around his hips.
Leaning down slightly, he traces the tip of his nose along mine and mumbles, “Just you, babe. Only you.” He seals his words with a kiss, making them so much more than simply words. They’re a promise. They’re his promise to me. And I know, with all of my heart, he’ll fight to keep it—my man, my love, always at my back.
One Year Later…
“Go! Get out of here,” insists Pamela with a laugh.
I clutch the cardboard box in my arms, filled with a stunning bouquet of flowers, along with a birthday card from the staff, and a half a dozen handmade birthday cards from the kids. My eyes well up again as I look down at my incredible gifts and then back over at Pamela. She waves her hands, shooing me out, and I grin before offering her a nod, reluctantly making my exit. What I really want to do is go back and hug each and every one of my kiddos, but I’ve done that already, and I really should be getting home.
Stepping out into the cool spring afternoon, I hurry to my car, now anxious for the rest of my day. I’ve got an appointment in a couple of hours that I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Then, tonight, I’ll be celebrating my twenty-first birthday the Brooke way. She insisted that she be in charge of my party, given that she’s the socialite between the two of us, and I didn’t put up a fuss. I’m not sure what all she has planned for the evening, but I’m hoping it’s nothing too extravagant. Then again, I think she’s worked out her penchant for opulence on her own forthcoming celebration.
Thinking about her and Owen’s wedding, which will take place in just a couple of months, triggers my stress. I was given strict instructions not to worry about my living situation today—no apartment hunting, no scouring the internet for move-in deals—but it’s kind of hard to forget that as the end of the semester approaches, so does the end of our lease. I’ve been trying to find someplace that isn’t wildly expensive, but I haven’t had much luck. I know that my dad pays for a portion of my rent, but I don’t want to take advantage of that. Coder keeps suggesting that we get a place together, but I keep turning him down. It’s not that I don’t love him like crazy, or that I don’t think living with him would be wonderful—I just know my parents wouldn’t approve.
To say that it has taken a while for my parents to warm up to Coder would be putting it mildly. Mom and dad are gracious, welcoming, kind people; but I’ve learned that when it comes to their only daughter and youngest child, they can be incredibly overprotective. Then again, I suppose the first time they met Coder, I took them completely by surprise. When we showed up at their house last year, the week after our spring break trip to California, it was like a scene from a movie. They definitely weren’t expecting me to show up on the back of a motorcycle, and I don’t think Motorcycle Boots was the clean-cut guy they always imagined I’d bring home.
Over time, they’ve gotten the chance to know him a little bit, and they’ve accepted the fact that he’s a permanent part of my life. Above all else, they want me to be happy. It’s clear to everyone that we love each other, and he makes me beyond happy. Nevertheless, just because my parents like him doesn’t mean they want me living with him. They’re very traditional, which I wholeheartedly respect and understand, and I won’t go against their wishes so long as they are still helping to support me financially.
Coder finds it to be a bit annoying, but I’m constantly explaining that when they look at us, they only see the outside. They don’t see what we share, not really. They don’t know that our intimacy goes way deeper than just sex—but we do, and that’s enough for me for now. Living together and marriage and all that entails, it’ll happen in the right time. I don’t want it to be a matter of convenience, but a decision made in love. In the eyes of God, we’ve already chosen each other; we’ve already bound ourselves together in the most intimate way possible. We’re soul tied, whether the law sees that or not. So my stress over my apartment search is my plight—just not one I’m allowed to focus on today.
When I’ve returned home, I take my gifts to my bedroom, setting my bouquet on my nightstand, just beside the picture of Sheamus, Coder, and me. I prop all of my birthday cards on top of my dresser next, and then I throw myself across my bed. Laying on my stomach, I set about returning a bunch of calls that I received while I was at the hospital. I start with my parents and then work my way down the list. By the time I’ve spoken with my brother, Addie, Avery, and Grayson, it’s time for me to get ready to leave again. Just as I’m about ready to walk out of the front door, Brooke comes strolling through it.
“Hey, birthday girl!”
“That’s me,” I say with a smile.
“Oh! Are you headed to Generation Ink now?” I nod and she lifts her eyebrows at me in question before she asks, “Sure you don’t need me to go along to hold your hand or something?”
“I think I’ll be okay,” I assure her, hoping that I’m right.
“Good. I’ve got so much shit to do before tonight.” She holds up a shopping bag and grins at me mischievously. “Though, I have crossed off one thing from my list. You’re going to look so hot for our festivities.”
“Why am I suddenly afraid of what’s in that bag?” I ask with a laugh.
“Because you know me.” Her grin grows even more wicked as she giggles and then adds, “And I know Coder.”
Shaking my head, I hold up a hand to signal that she need not say more, and then I start to make my exit. “I don’t even want to think about it,” I declare, now sure that apartment hunting is the least of my worries today. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“See you soon. And good luck. Can’t wait to see it!”
“You and me both. See you.”
I waste not another second before I hurry to my car, my stomach tingling in giddy anticipation. I try and imagine what it is that Coder has dreamed up for me as I drive to the shop. Honestly, I really have no idea. I never thought that I would get a tattoo, but after spending so much time at the shop and seeing what the guys and Willow do there, I started to like the idea more and more. It was just a few months ago that I decided I was going to get one. When Coder asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I didn’t think twice before I told him I wanted him to ink me.
I remember the look of excitement on his face at my request. It wa
s soon followed by a shocked expression that came when he asked me what I wanted and I told him he could do whatever he thought would look good. For an entire month, he asked me every day if I was sure I hadn’t come up with something specific I wanted, or a particular place on my body that I preferred over another. Every time he asked, the answer was no. I didn’t even think about it. I had made up my mind that this was going to be his gift to me, wholly and completely.
Finally, earlier this month, he stopped asking. That’s when I started getting antsy—I knew that meant he’d thought of something.
It might sound stupid or naïve or whatever, but I want him to mark me. I want it to be something special—something that came from him. He’s my man, now and forever, and I know how passionate he is about what he does; furthermore, I know how passionate he is about me. He’s the only one I would trust to do this. My body and my heart are his. If I’m going to get a tattoo, I want it to mean something profound. In giving him the freedom to do this, it’s almost like his love letter to me. I know that whatever he does, it’ll come from his heart. That is the best gift that I could ever hope for. That is something I want to carry with me forever.
When I arrive at the shop, I find Grace behind the front counter, Rosalie cocooned against her chest in the sling that’s wrapped around her back. Rose made Axel a big brother just after the New Year, and she’s the quietest little precious bundle I’ve ever known—definitely a contrast to Savannah, who is on her way to being the spunkiest little girl in our bunch.
“Oh, is she sleeping?” I murmur, tiptoeing my way to the counter.
“No,” Grace speaks through a soft laugh. “Just staring at mama. Hmm? My pretty girl is just taking it all in, isn’t she?”
