by Jolie Day
They had promised no feelings.
But it sure felt like there was something there for him, too. It sure felt like he might say the words at any moment. But maybe she was just hoping a little hard.
Every night, around nine PM, Marc would make a show of saying goodbye at the door. He was expecting Jack to come while he was ‘away’.
He would stroke her cheek and kiss her and tell her, in a slightly raised voice, that he’d see her tomorrow. She would kiss him back and just nod, stroking the scruff that had taken a permanent place on his cheeks. Sometimes, she would hug him a little longer than necessary. Sometimes, his kisses would be a little softer. Every time, she would be paralyzed with fear the second he was out of sight and she was alone in her house, which always felt so much bigger without Marc Kelly’s presence. She would lock every lock on her door and close the curtains on the sliding glass doors, waiting until she heard the familiar rhythm of their knock—the one they’d come up with together—and she could run to meet him, throwing herself into his arms.
Every night, the second they touched, it was like electricity ran through their veins. Every kiss was hotter than it had been earlier that same day. Every brush of skin burned her. Every moan was magnified until it was deafening, until there was nobody else in the world besides them. Every orgasm made her feel like she was ascending into heaven. Every time their eyes locked, she felt safer than she ever had before.
She was in love with Marc Kelly and she could swear he knew it, too.
Chapter Six
A week went by and there was no sign of Jack.
Joe called back to inform them that Marc’s Harley would be ready soon and asked if she’d received any more trouble from ‘slimy’ individuals. Lauren said no, but it felt like a lie. She was missing work and watching every step she took because she was terrified of her ex-husband showing up behind her. She worried every time she lost sight of Emma on the beach, even for just a second. She felt a shiver run down her spine when she left the bedroom in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water, sure that Jack would be right there when she turned around and she wouldn’t even have time to scream.
The only person that made her feel safe was Marc. The only thing that calmed her was being in the circle of his arms. The only comfort she had was that he was right by her side through all of this. He was her rock and she had no idea what she would do if she was doing this on her own. She probably would have given up a long time ago.
She tried to hide this fear as the days went on. She tried to believe that Jack wasn’t really going to show up. That the person Joe had talked to was just a fluke; a way to get information. If nobody in town gave her up, then maybe she was still safe. After all, it was a small town and people were often distrustful of strangers who came around asking questions about one of their own. It was hard—trusting those she’d only known a few years—but Lauren could think of nothing else to lift her spirits.
Nothing but sex and Marc Kelly.
She had accepted the fact that she was in love with him. She had accepted the fact that she felt alive only when he was the one holding her. She had accepted that, soon, he would out of her life forever. Nothing but obligation. Nothing but a debt owed. Nothing but lust.
But it was enough. It was more than enough.
Because every night he laid her down on the bed and pushed himself between her thighs. Every night, he kissed her lips and whispered her name and whispered dirty things in her ears. Every night, he alternated between pounding into her with every ounce of strength he possessed and moving in her so slowly and gently that she could almost allow herself to believe that what they were doing could be called ‘making love,’ that he felt everything she felt and that he would never be gone from her life. Each time, she felt that coil tighten deep in her belly and then break, sending shudders of carnal pleasure through her entire body, leaving her too exhausted to move.
But still she lay awake, waiting for the tell-tale creak of her floorboards or the turn of her doorknob. She waited for Jack’s appearance in her life; for death or freedom. She was prepared for both, with Marc now at her side.
But another week went by and there was still no sign of him. Marc continued to stay with her. Joe called to let them know that his bike had been fixed and that he could come get it whenever, but Lauren asked Joe to take care of it for a while.
“Are you okay, Doc?” Joe asked. “That punk didn’t run off, did he? He owes me money.”
Lauren couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “No,” she said. “Marc is still here, Joe. Don’t worry. We’re just…we’re busy with something right now. We’ll be by as soon as possible to get the bike, okay?”
She didn’t wait for his response, clicking ‘End Call’ as she collapsed back on the couch, pressing herself into Marc’s side as they watched television. They rarely did anything that normal these days. It was nice.
Domestic, her mind supplied. That’s what it was. Almost like they were an old married couple. Like they were normal.
But nothing about their situation was normal. Lauren feared nothing ever would be.
When another week passed, Lauren considered going back to work. She asked herself, if Jack were planning something, wouldn’t he have done it already? She didn’t feel completely safe without Marc around, but she’d gotten several calls from Shondra and her patients, asking when she planned to return. Her co-workers were starting to get worried and she felt the need to show them that she was okay. It was Marc that convinced her to stay home.
“It’ll be any day now,” he whispered into her ear as they lay in bed, their bodies cooling from the activities they’d gotten up to just ten minutes earlier. “I can feel it.”
Lauren had shivered and pressed herself more firmly against him, delighting in the bulk of Marc’s arms as they wrapped around her waist. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice so low he almost couldn’t hear her. They were face to face in the dark, their noses brushing. His hair was tangled with hers on the pillow they shared. Their limbs intertwined.
“I’m positive,” he husked back. “Be patient.”
She snorted at that. Patience. As if she wanted Jack to come back. As if she wanted her life to be in danger for the second time. As if she wanted to remember everything that he did to her; everything that she tried so hard to rid herself of. Everything that she vowed she’d never have to go through again. As if she wanted any of it.
All she honestly wanted right now was to stay in this bed, in this moment, where she could be wrapped up in Marc’s embrace, centimeters away from his lips, her leg hooked around his, safe from the world. She didn’t want to have to deal with Jack. She didn’t want to go back to work, where her patients were kind and caring, friendly people, but whose lives were never in the type of danger she was actually trained to save them from.
It was an empty existence, she realized. The one she’d been living. Where she hadn’t stepped foot into an operating room in years. Where she hadn’t held a scalpel or cracked a chest or even so much as thrown a single stitch. She hadn’t been doing what she loved to do, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it was the ‘saving lives’ part of it she loved, not the surgery. That was phoney and she knew it. She had always known it. But, until now, she’d just been pretending; trying to make the best out of a bad situation.
That part of her life was over, she decided. As soon as all this was over, she was going back to New York. Or maybe she’d find another city; another place where she could practice surgery the way she had trained so hard for. The way she had fallen in love with so many years ago. And Marc could come back with her or he could go elsewhere. She couldn’t honestly say that she wouldn’t care which he chose, but she was not going to be the kind of woman who gave ultimatums to a man.
No matter how much she loved him.
She could get along without Marc. She was sure of it. She could convince herself of it.
Lauren looked over at the man who now shared her bed, his
eyes closed in slumber—or so it seemed. His heartbeat wasn’t steady enough for him to actually be sleeping. She could feel it against her own chest. But, for whatever reason, he pretended to sleep. He had her wrapped up in his arms and his lips so close that she could kiss him and she was certain that he would kiss her back. It was like he was pretending, too. Like he was trying to stay in this moment for as long as he could make it last.
The longer she stared at him, the less confident she became. She was certain that she could get along without Marc Kelly—100% positive.
But that didn’t mean that she wanted to.
*****
It was two days later when Lauren noticed a change.
She’d woken up to find herself alone in her bed, as always, and walked out to find Marc in the kitchen, cooking eggs and bacon at the stove. He looked over his shoulder as she came toward him and gave her a half-smile. “Breakfast?” he asked.
Lauren nodded and sat down in front of a still-steaming cup of coffee. There was a paper folded on the table and she picked it up, going through the day’s news. Emma was already sprawled out under the table. There was some sand in her fur, which meant that Marc had probably already let her run along the beach for a few minutes that morning while he watched from the deck. He did that most mornings, keeping his eye on the house through the glass door. Usually, the sound of his whistle was enough to wake her up.
“You slept in,” he said, placing two eggs, over-easy, and three slices of bacon down in front of her. “It’s almost eight.” She’d gotten used to rising at six or seven and that didn’t seem to change, despite the fact that she no longer had to for work. “Good dreams?”
Lauren wanted to tell him no. She wanted to tell him that she’d had nightmares all night. That he dreams were filled with Jack. With his eyes, his smile, his hands…
Lauren wanted to tell Marc that she’d woken up at four AM, exhausted beyond compare, but that his face next to hers had been the thing that calmed her down. That the fact that she had slipped out of his embrace sometime during the night had somehow given her nightmares. That all she’d wanted to do was wake him up and make love to him until the sun rose and then fell again, over the horizon.
Instead, she just nodded and gave him a smile that she hoped didn’t look forced, putting heat into her eyes and voice. “Very good dreams,” she purred and Marc’s eyebrows rose, surprised.
“Is that so?” he asked, grinning, as he placed a second plate—his own—onto the table, but ignored it, instead reaching for her.
As every time before, Lauren went willingly, allowing Marc to lift her from underneath her thighs and carry her to the nearest wall. Her back slammed into it and Lauren gasped, letting out a deep, guttural moan as Marc attached his lips to her throat. He grinded into her, allowing her to feel his hardness through the barrier of his jeans. They wore little else. Marc tended to go through the day without a shirt on and Lauren preferred to walk around in the morning with nothing but his shirt on her body.
He growled against her ear as he pressed his hand to her heat, feeling just how soaked she was for him. He nibbled on her earlobe and she moaned, her hands tugging at his hair as her legs tightened around him, her hips undulating against his. “Please,” Lauren gasped. “More!”
Marc chuckled deeper as he pressed kisses to her jaw, moving down her body, inch by inch, until he reached the spot where she’d buttoned his shirt onto her body. It was only a few—three or four—but Marc’s eyes narrowed at the sight, his eyes flitting back to hers.
“You trying to hide from me?” he asked, in mock anger.
“N-no,” Lauren gasped as she continued to move against his hardness. “Never!”
“Damn right,” Marc growled, removing his hand from between her legs so quick that Lauren whimpered before she could stop herself, her hips rising to follow the direction of his fingers. She watched as he brought his hand up to his own lips, biting her lip as she saw her own juices running down his wrist. Marc made sure that she was watching him as he brought his fingers into his mouth, one at a time, licking the moisture off, his tongue poking out with each digit. Lauren watched, hungrily, her eyes practically glossing over with lust as she felt her own mouth go dry. She swallowed, thickly, leaning forward, as if to take his fingers into her own mouth, but Marc pulled them away and she emitted a whine.
Before she could complain too much, Marc reached behind her, grasping her hair in his fist as he slanted his lips firmly over hers, rubbing his entire body over the length of hers, pressing her more firmly into the wall. Lauren gasped against his mouth and nibbled at his lips, playfully. She breathed heavily as she felt him release from the confines of his jeans (she still had no idea how he was able to do that while holding her up against the wall at the same time, but she wasn’t complaining) and press insistently into her core. He didn’t enter her, though. Not yet.
Not until she begged.
“Please!” Lauren sobbed. “Please, Marc!”
“Please what?” he growled in response. “What do you want me to do to you, Lauren?” He removed his hand from her hair and stroked down her body until the top button of her shirt was held between his thumb and forefinger. With little more than a tug, all four buttons ripped off of the shirt and she gasped.
“Oh God!” Lauren exclaimed as her breasts were bared to his hungry gaze. “Please,” she whispered again.
“Please what?” Marc growled. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to take care of myself.” He lowered his hand, the back of his knuckles brushing against her clit, bypassing her pleasure as he gripped himself and began to stroke his own shaft, letting out a soft moan of ecstasy.
“No, don’t!” Lauren gasped. “Please, don’t.” She reached for his wrist, pulling it away from his length as she stared him right in the eye, replacing his fingers against her center. “Please,” she said, again, “please…make love to me.”
Everything seemed to stop for a long moment. The world stopped spinning. There were no noises or movements or air for them to breathe. There was absolutely nothing between them. Nothing but this…thing that existed between them, now. That may have existed since the first moment she laid eyes on him. And vice versa. But neither of them had ever put any words to it until now.
“Make love to me,” Lauren repeated, boldly, feeling her throat clog with emotion as her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Marc. Make love to me. Make love to me. Make love to—”
He cut her off with his mouth over hers, finally entering her as he covered the entirety of her body with his own, his arms binding around her waist and pulling her away from the wall. Lauren could feel every step he took, around her, inside her. She could feel the emotion in his kisses as he kept his mouth pressed firmly to hers. She could feel the reverence in his touch as he ran his hands up and down her back, squeezing her thighs, touching her where they were joined. She whimpered at the feeling of him going deeper inside her than she swore he’d ever been before. She dug her nails into his shoulders as he laid her down on the bed—their bed—and pulled his hips back, before slamming into her again and staying put for a long moment, allowing them both to feel the way she still stretched around him. They let out twin groans as they held each other through their pleasure.
For a long moment, Lauren rejoiced in this connection that they had. She’d felt him inside her before—so many times before—but it had never been like this. There had never been anything but passion, but fire in their embrace. She’d never felt…love. And he had yet to voice it, but she knew, just from having him inside her, that he felt the same way as she did. That this thing between them was more than just sex. More than just lust that would disappear when he left. If he left.
She was certain that he wouldn’t dare leave her now.
Maybe it was that positivity that had her screaming out his name within seconds of him beginning to pound into her again, his fingers linking with hers above her head, her legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locked at the small of his ba
ck as she rode out the waves of pleasure. Marc pressed his lips to her jaw and she could swear that he was whispering words of love and promise in her ear, but she couldn’t make them out past the ringing and creak of the bed beneath their sweaty bodies.
When he finally came inside of her, bringing Lauren over the edge with him, Marc called out her name, pressing his hips firmly against hers, his hands squeezing hers tightly. He pumped once, then twice, then three times, before he collapsed atop her, covering her body like a heavy blanket that she never wanted to take off. Lauren pressed a kiss to his temple as he rested his face in the crook of her neck, finally allowing himself a moment of just feeling and nothing else. No pretenses or masks.
It was just Marc.
When he rolled off of her, several moments later, she turned with him, their fingers still tangled together between them. Marc didn’t avoid her gaze like he usually did. He didn’t attempt to turn her around or tuck her against his chest or close his eyes and pretend to sleep. He didn’t turn away or get out of bed or divert his gaze to some other part of her body. He kept his gaze fixed on Lauren’s, trying to communicate with his eyes what he couldn’t yet say with his lips.
He cupped her cheek after a couple of seconds and leaned forward, kissing her lips firmly. When he pulled back, he whispered her name and Lauren’s eyes popped open.
“I’ll never hurt you,” he promised, his voice low and honesty in his blue eyes. “Never.”
A gentle smile spread across Lauren’s lips. “I know,” she said, with a small nod. And she did know, with every fiber of her being.
*****
For the rest of the day, Lauren felt better. She felt as if she were floating on a cloud.
Every time she and Marc brushed shoulders or bumped hips or shared a look across the room, she felt her face heat up and she could swear there was a glimmer of something reflected back in his impossibly blue eyes.
