Cole rolled over and pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m asking you one last time, and then I’ll drop it forever. Do you want to reconsider Trent’s offer and have an open marriage?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m positive.”
He rolled off, and we fell asleep within minutes. An hour or so later, I woke up, a little disoriented. I turned my head and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw Cole lying on his side with his deep blue eyes wide open and patiently waiting for me to come to life.
“What’s the matter, Cole?”
Cole smiled and pulled me on top of him. I braced myself on my elbows, afraid that my full weight on his abdomen would be too much. “What?”
“Just checking to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”
“It almost feels like that, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve waited so long,” he admitted.
“It’s good to have you back.”
“Can we seal the deal?” Cole asked a little tentatively.
“I thought we already had.”
“I want you inside me, Sloan.”
“I don’t want to put any extra weight on you.”
“Come from behind.”
Gently, I rolled him over and kissed my way down his gorgeous back. His skin felt like pure silk, but there was nothing soft about the sinewy muscles that flexed under my touch. Cole’s underlying strength had been buried for a while, but it surged to life when we needed it the most, and it had carried us through our hellish experience. Emotion swamped me and my throat clogged with words that seemed so inadequate. Cole had been my salvation long before I’d discovered the benefits of meditation and BDSM. It was love that had joined us initially, and it was this same love that had guided us back, restoring my faith in a union I’d been wholly invested in from the moment I first laid eyes on him. In four weeks Cole had managed to give back the love and trust he’d thrown away so casually, and I sincerely believed we’d make it this time.
I spread him apart and buried my tongue in the delicious furl that clenched in anticipation. I didn’t linger, but I wanted to hear him beg before I plunged into his depths.
“Please,” he moaned as if reading my mind. “Hurry.”
I grabbed the lube and hesitated when he flinched after I pushed through his tight muscles. “Too much?”
“No, just a minor adjustment. My body seems to have forgotten how to do this.”
“Haven’t you let anyone top you since we broke up?”
“No,” he whispered.
“Why not?”
He didn’t respond for a while. Eventually I heard him whisper, “You’re the only one who ever belonged there.”
I leaned into him, pressing my face against his neck, and this time I couldn’t stop the tears. They fell in a warm torrent, soaking his skin and clogging my nose. He reached up and caressed my neck, waiting out the storm. When I could finally speak without sounding like a sixteen-year-old girl, I said, “Let me take you home, Shogun.”
“Okay….”
Epilogue
5 years later….
SEPTEMBER WAS a busy month for the Driscoll-Fujiwara household. Hustling the boys in and out of department stores to get them ready for the upcoming school year was always a chore, but one Cole and I did together. It had become a tradition and marked the end of summer. Long and lazy days spent at our second home in Montauk were a distant memory, swept aside by the cooler drafts barreling down the concrete corridors of New York City. We were rushing this year because we’d promised the boys one last picnic before packing up the shorts and flip-flops.
Soon, leaves would be turning spectacular shades of russet and gold, littering the grounds of Central Park like colorful confetti, but for now, they remained a brilliant green. Body’s longish ears flopped back and forth as he trotted alongside Cole, keeping pace with his master as he jogged down the dirt path toward the baseball field. He was the Seeing Eye dog who had replaced Freddie shortly after our return from Japan. Cole had retired his intrepid hound after the harrowing experience in Kyoto so he could spend his remaining years being pampered. We’d purposely picked a different breed for his successor to avoid comparisons, and the chocolate Lab had proved he was more than able to meet Cole’s high expectations. When Freddie passed away peacefully two years ago, no one had moped around more than Body. It had been a rough time for everyone, but we got through it like we did everything else: as a unit.
When we arrived at the baseball diamond, Trent and his latest submissive, Jared, were already there. They’d flown into town a couple of days ago, stopping off to visit before heading to his latest posting somewhere in the Middle East. I didn’t bother asking where since I never got a straight answer. He was always on some mysterious mission.
He’d been promoted to colonel recently, the latest confirmation that he and the Army were the right fit. Trent greeted Cole and the boys effusively, but he opened his arms when I got close enough, and I allowed the warm embrace for old time’s sake. He smelled like shaving cream and toothpaste and a slight whiff of the Marlboros he hadn’t been able to discard completely. His addiction to the damn sticks continued to be a sore subject between us, and he did his best not to smell like an ashtray whenever I was around. I’d become as rabidly antismoking as Cole for many reasons, primarily the children and the dangers of secondhand smoke, but also because I wanted to stay healthy enough to see them grow to adulthood. Trent, however, was a hopeless case. His meteoric rise in the last five years probably had a lot to do with his need for the vile addiction, and since his main squeeze was a smoker, it didn’t really matter. I nodded a greeting at Jared, who managed a tight smile in return. He still viewed me as a rival, even though everyone had assured him that the romantic connection between Trent and me had ended years ago. I was so happy to see Trent I ignored his prickly sub for the moment.
“God, it’s good to see you!” I exclaimed.
“Back atcha, babe.” He held me away for a second to have a good look at me. “You look great,” he observed. “Tanned, rested, and well fucked.”
I glanced around quickly to make sure the kids were out of earshot. I saw they were occupied with Cole, and grinned sheepishly. This was always a little weird, him knowing I’d been having sex with Cole and enjoying it.
“We just got back from Montauk.”
“Was it fun?”
“We met up with Cole’s sisters and their kids. It was chaotic with eight children under ten, especially when five of them are female, but a good time was had by all.”
“Someone else had a boy finally?”
“Yes, and they treat Sammy like he has a halo and wings.”
“Takes some of the pressure off the kids and Cole, doesn’t it?”
“They’re not as spoiled, thank God. I was a bit worried our boys would turn into little monsters, what with Eileen’s overindulgence, but they’re pretty well-grounded. Cole is very much a disciplinarian.”
“And you’re the sweet dada who can never say no, right?”
“Someone’s got to be the good cop.”
“Sounds like a hoot,” he said.
Niki and Keni came over to say hello, and Trent got down on his haunches and handed them a box. “Got you guys a present.”
“Thank you,” they chimed, ripping off the wrapping paper. They yelped in surprise when they held the pair of green Nessies.
“What do you think?” Trent asked.
“You know there’s no such thing as a Loch Ness monster, Uncle Trent.”
“Says who?”
“We saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel about legends, and they said no one has ever proved that Nessie exists.”
Keni made his pronouncement in the same serious tone Cole would adopt occasionally, and Niki bobbed his head, backing up his brother’s statement. Our children were way too smart for seven-year-olds, but did I expect anything else? Cole’s genes predominated, thank Christ, and keeping up with their inquisitive minds was challengi
ng.
“Legends are loosely based on fact,” Trent replied in the same serious tone. “There must have been someone who’d seen a big green slimy thing four or five hundred years ago and decided it was a sea monster.”
“I’ll have to google that,” Keni said and took off with his brother.
Trent looked at me in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I shrugged. “Never a dull moment with those two; their IQs are off the charts. When were you in Scotland?”
“We were there in June.”
“To play golf?”
“Among other things,” he said mischievously.
“Spill.”
“There’s a new club I had to explore.”
“What kind of club?” I asked, but I knew the answer.
“The kind with the big wooden crosses that share the same name as the golf course.”
Always eager to enhance our bedroom activities, I asked, “Did you learn any new tricks?”
He raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Do you need some help in that area?”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep my man sexually satisfied,” I added defensively. “Don’t read more into the question.”
Trent laughed. “You’re so easy sometimes.”
“That’s not what Max says.”
“How is the old fart?”
“Not bad for a man in his midfifties. He can still get it up, from what I’ve been told by the evil queens at the studio, although he did end up in the ER once with a boner lasting over six hours.”
Trent gave me a sidelong stare. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”
“I know, right? Who would do that to themselves?”
“Does he have a new sub he’s trying to impress?”
“He’s got a revolving door, Trent, and each one is younger than the next.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“I don’t mean schoolboy-young, just in their late twenties young.”
“He should try to find someone more mature.”
“Unfortunately, said someone has turned him down repeatedly.”
“He’s still trying to get into your pants?” Trent asked in disbelief.
I rolled my eyes. “Every chance he gets. It’s the whole unrequited love angle. I’m sure if he were to finally get me into bed, he’d be terribly disappointed.”
Trent glared. “Let’s not put your theory to a test.”
“Hell no, but I wish he’d stop trying. Now that I’m in charge of his studio, he thinks I should be willing to put out occasionally to show my gratitude.”
“Please remind him that you’re the one doing him the favor, and if Cole doesn’t gut him, I’ll strangle the weasel at my first opportunity.”
“He knows.”
“Tell him again!”
“I will!”
“What’s the problem?” Cole asked, finally extricating himself from the boys’ clutches. They’d latched on to Jared and had convinced him to set up an impromptu batting area.
“That bastard Max,” Trent said harshly. “He thinks he has rights to Sloan in perpetuity for giving him his first break.”
“I told him off the other day,” Cole said calmly.
That was news to me. “You did?” I would never consider Max as anything more than my mentor and new business partner, but Cole was inherently possessive, and anytime he got a whiff of someone poaching, he’d lose it. Trent was the only other person he could tolerate, and even then, his antennae were up whenever my ex was in town.
Despite the occasional flare-ups, Cole accepted my friendship with Trent so long as boundaries were set and maintained. Sex was never an option, but advice and camaraderie were welcome. We both realized it was healthier to allow other people into our circle, since, as Trent had pointed out during our memorable breakup, no one person could satisfy all our needs. Isolation hadn’t worked for us in the past, so we opened the doors of our home and let the world in.
Bryce Fletcher was a frequent visitor, and the same green-eyed monster that plagued Cole occasionally would taunt me whenever I’d see them with their heads together, but I pulled up my big-boy pants and forced myself to get over it. Cole would never risk our marriage over an old flame.
“What did you say to Max?” Trent asked Cole.
“I’d force Sloan to quit if Max didn’t leave him alone.”
“He never said a word to me,” I admitted. “Not a word.”
“I may have followed up my threat with a slight twist of his old-man balls.”
Trent snorted with glee. “I knew you had it in you, Cole.”
I shook my head and flung an arm over Cole’s shoulder. “You’re such a ninja sometimes.”
Cole smiled and scooted closer. “No self-respecting shogun would allow that kind of disrespectful behavior, old friend notwithstanding.”
Trent grinned and handed Cole a box. “I was going to give this to Sloan, but I think you deserve to handle it first after hearing about your latest exploit.”
“What is it?”
Trent bent toward Cole and whispered, “I bought Sloan a new cock ring.”
“You went through security with it?”
“I told them it was a key chain.”
“And they took you for your word?”
Trent scoffed. “I’m the most trustworthy guy on the planet.”
“Right.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your pretty blue eyes wouldn’t get you squat without your military ID.”
“You don’t think I can carry off a seduction without my rank?”
“Who were you planning to seduce?”
“It’s a hypothetical question in answer to your challenge.”
The ache in my groin was getting very uncomfortable as I listened to them banter. “Keep talking dirty, and I’ll have to drag my husband into the bushes to take care of business.”
“Can I watch?” Trent asked.
“Absolutely not,” Cole said. “Grab your Jared and find your own spot.”
“One of these days you’ll cave, Cole.”
“Don’t hold your breath, General.”
MICKIE B. ASHLING is the pseudonym of a multifaceted woman who is a product of her upbringing in multiple cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West. A little bit of this and a lot of that have brought a unique touch to her literary voice she could never learn from textbooks.
By the time Mickie discovered her talent for writing, real life got in the way, and the business of raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing—and the inevitable emptying nest—dreams of becoming a published writer were resurrected and she’s never looked back.
She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.
Mickie currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: mickieashling.com
Blog: mickiebashling.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mickie.ashling
Twitter: @MickieAshling
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cutting Cords
© 2016 Mickie B. Ashling.
Cover Art
©
2016 Alexandria Corza.
http://www.ajcorza.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63477-560-1
Published May 2016
v. 1.0
Cutting Cords previously published by Dreamspinner Press, November 2009. Cover Art by Mara McKennen. Vessel previously published by Dreamspinner Press, October 2011. Cover Art by Anne Cain, [email protected]. Cover Design by Mara McKennen. Cleave previously published by Dreamspinner Press, November 2012. Cover Art by Anne Cain, [email protected]. Cover Design by Mara McKennen. Cutting Out previously published by Dreamspinner Press, October 2014. Cover Art by Anne Cain, [email protected].
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Blurb
Cutting Cords by Mickie B. Ashling includes
Cutting Cords
Vessel
Cleave
Cutting Out
About the Author
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Cutting Cords Page 84
