Variations (Base Branch Series Book 9)

by Megan Mitcham

  The sounds echoed in her mind.

  She shoved the heavy duvet off her shoulders. Air whirred from the ceiling fan, cooling the damp fabric that taunted her nipples.

  “If you’d let me go to my room, I could.”

  “Sleep or lie?”

  His jab, though still playful, pricked.

  “You take up so much space in here.”

  She kicked the cover off with her good leg and sucked in deep breaths. Raw pheromones—his and her own—smacked her palate. The calming exercise backfired, ancient engine style. Kaboom.

  “I’m not even in the bed.” The low rumble carried from a wing-backed chair in the corner next to the bathroom. A sliver of light from the vanity illuminated the way his frame challenged the sturdy piece of furniture. His bare chest and low-slung jeans challenged her self-control.

  “No, but you have been.” She forced her eyes to the ceiling.

  “So?” He dragged out the word like she imagined he would have a sensual caress.

  So? So she could smell him on the sheets. So she could hear him coming in her mind. So she could see his midnight gaze and the flare of his nostrils, the etch of each ab and curve of two solid pecs. She couldn’t keep her eyes or mind off him. He was the only thing that made her feel alive, exhilarated, lust-filled, desired.

  “So I can’t sleep.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” Two could play the questions game.

  “Because there’s a beautiful woman in my bed who’s naked except for my shirt.”

  Well, that didn’t help things. Except maybe it did. A spark of anger lit in her chest, smoldering the flames of her desire.

  “You had me here completely naked not so long ago. It didn’t bother you then.”

  “Marina,” he warned.

  “Just speaking the truth.”

  “Now, you’re into truth.” He pushed to the edge of his chair and braced both hands on his knees. “Fine. It’s taken every bit of self-control I possess not to rip the covers off the bed and dive face first into your pussy.”

  “Oh, God.” Her back bowed as though he’d done just so.

  “Truth, I could make you come so many different ways, so many times, you’d forget your name for screaming mine.” He stood and stalked forward until his thighs pressed against the edge of the bed.

  She placed a hand over her heart to keep it inside her chest.

  “Truth, you’re not ready.” His fingers interlaced hers between her breasts. “If I touched you the way I want to, no, the way I need to, I’m afraid all the baggage you haven’t dealt with will scare you away from me forever.”

  He pulled her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across the tips of her fingers. “Truth, I’ve never cared about a woman before.” His whiskers had tickled her open palm before he dropped a kiss in the center. “I don’t want to lose you, Marina.”

  She didn’t understand how a man like Oliver could like her enough to want her around, much less need her. He was so together. Intelligent. Deadly. Caring. Loyal.

  “I don’t want my past to rule me.”

  Oliver scooted her to the middle of the bed and climbed in next to her. Inches separated her arm from the massive width of his chest. Bracing his hairy face with the palm of his hand, he studied her down the slope of his nose.

  Marina lost herself mapping the smattering of freckles peeping out from his beard, the fullness of his soft lips, and the way his jaw sawed back and forth when he was deep in thought.

  “It won’t, not forever.” Something dark—haunted, almost—shadowed his face.

  “Are you thinking of my past right now or yours?”

  “Clever, Bonnie.” His thumb smoothed over her jaw.

  Her eyes drifted closed so she could better commit his touch to memory. She knew, no matter his words, that after she reached her sister, she’d never see this man again. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he choose used goods?

  “What haunts you, Oliver?”

  When he remained quiet, her lids opened and found him biting his upper lip. She waited. His thumb trailed a path across her lips, down her jaw, and around the shell of her ear.

  “I live hard, not expecting to die, but also not caring too much if I do. Especially if it saves the life of another.”

  Without thought, Marina cupped his face. His loose hair threaded her fingers, while his beard kissed her palm.

  “I had an older brother.” The timbre of his words rumbled against her hand. Their meaning sliced her heart wide.

  “We were kids, playing at the beach.” His eyes closed. The small lines at the corner of his eyes creased. Marina held his hand to her heart. “Actually, I thought of my brother as a man. He’d just learned how to drive. I was the kid always trying to prove he was a man at the ripe old age of ten.”

  “My mom told us to stay out of the water. Sam listened. I didn’t.” Oliver’s eyes darkened and a breath rushed between his parted lips. “She turned around to make lunch, and I ran into the surf to my waist. I wanted him to see how big I was.”

  His lips rubbed together as though the words stung. “He waved me back with both arms. He could have told my mom, but he never wanted to get me in trouble.” He gave a harsh laugh. “If only I’d been as compassionate toward him. I smiled and splashed, provoking him. Then a wave knocked me down. It held me under and pulled me farther from shore. My lungs screamed as I fought for the surface, but I got nowhere.”

  No. A band wound itself around Marina’s chest. No.

  He burrowed into her hand. “Rip current. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was going to end me. Then Sam’s arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me. I broke the surface, gasping and drinking salt water. He shoved me toward the sandbar we’d played on that morning. I was close to it and far from shore. I expected him to be on my heels. He was a better swimmer than I was.” Oliver chuckled mirthlessly. “He was better than I was at everything. But I never saw him again.”

  Oliver clamped his jaw and worked it back and forth.

  Tears slipped down Marina’s cheeks, pooling in her clavicle. She knew the pain of losing a sibling, and she still had the hope of seeing hers again.

  “My mother buried an empty casket for her eldest son because her youngest couldn’t listen. She never blamed me because she was too busy blaming herself. I never knew how much blame was in the world until I killed my brother.” He blinked the moisture away. “I live every day, knowing it should have been me.”

  “No.” Marina breathed.

  He nodded.

  “What makes you think my past won’t haunt me forever when yours does?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Marina lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed each of his fingers as he’d done hers. She let her tongue lap the rough pad of his index finger.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t know if it was an answer to the question, acquiescence, or a request. His salty finger slipped into her mouth ever so slightly. Her lips molded to it and sucked it in to the first knuckle. She lapped it and suckled it to the tip.

  Oliver’s hand bracketed her jaw, demanding her attention. “We have to stop.”

  Her past preyed upon her, but the intensity of his gaze kept it at bay. His past preyed upon him. She wanted to give him relief, if only for a moment.

  Marina flicked her tongue across her lips. His thumb arced over the wet surface. “Or chase the ghosts away.”

  He leaned so close his nose bumped into hers.

  “Please,” she begged…again. If he turned her down this time, she might never recover.

  “God.” The growl vibrated against her lips. “Marina, you slay me.”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck. He cradled her as he had in the bath. Hunger darkened his eyes.

  Her knuckles ached from gripping the sheets. Every other time, she had gripped them to keep herself anchored, separate from the sweaty body atop her. Now, she tangled her fingers in the
m to keep her hands from roaming over Oliver’s unyielding body. One touch could scare him away. His lips hovered along with her hope, millimeters away from a mind-altering interlude and utter decimation.

  “Don’t let me scare you,” he demanded.

  “Your passion doesn’t scare me. Not experiencing it does.”

  Oliver lifted her to meet him. The wet heat of his lips sealed over hers. His fingers threaded into her hair. Gently demanding, he tilted her head back. Her mouth fell open in obedience and awe. His tongue delved inside, mingling with hers. Mint and man. She moaned into his mouth, thrilled by his taste. With each tender stroke, the world and worries drifted away until his lips did the same.

  “What about my touch? Your body has been abused. It bears the proof.”

  He eased her head to the pillow. A blush of gooseflesh followed his splayed fingers down her neck, over her clavicle, and to the center of her chest. Her breath hitched. They sidled left, grazing the underside of her breast. Shivers marched their way up the now slight mound and coaxed her nipple to an aching point. His eyes followed the progress of his adventuring digits, across the bruised flesh of her ribs to her belly button. His finger swirled there, whipping her under-appreciated clitoris into a frenzy.

  “Oliver.” His name rushed out in a sigh.

  It coasted lower still, scrawling a magic design on her concave belly and the crest of her mons.

  “You’ve been hurt everywhere.” Two fingers ran the length of her injured thigh, and then hooked the back of her knee. He pulled her leg up. When the tip of her knee formed a tiny mountain, his rough pads descended in a slow, arduous plunge.

  Marina’s pussy pulsed, sending signals like a homing beacon.

  His fingers circled her bandage, roaming the deflated curve of her cheek and slipped between her crack. Each ring rimmed closer to her throbbing sex.

  “Mmm.” Oliver’s lips rubbed together.

  She’d be lost in his desire if she weren’t swallowed whole by her own.

  “Has anyone ever taken care of you, Brave Bonnie?”

  He thought she was brave, but her insides quaked as though this was her first time, and it was. The first time anyone had ever put her care before their own. Though she couldn't believe it, the bulge pressing against her hip told her Oliver had needs, big ones. No, huge. That was what he’d said, and it seemed he hadn’t lied.

  She grabbed the end of his beard and turned his face to hers. “You have, Oliver.”

  The arch of his Adam’s apple bobbed. A growl rumbled through his beard into her fingertips. His head shook. His gaze narrowed and neared.

  “Not yet, I haven’t.”

  Arousal bathed her in honeyed warmth. Moisture trickled from her waiting pussy.

  Oliver kicked a leg over hers, straddling her hips. Her leg lowered to accommodate his breadth. His mouth descended on her neck, kissing and nipping a course to her lobe.

  “I’m going to make you feel vulnerable.” He licked the shell of her ear. “And safe.” His tongue scraped across her upper lip, and she arched and opened to catch it, but he’d already moved to her other ear. “I’m going to push you to the edge until you shake with want.” Teeth and whiskers nipped her chin. “When you come,” he breathed against her lips, “you’ll know power because it will bring me to my knees, every single time.”

  His eyes bore into her, and she believed every word, readied for it.

  “Are you prepared for that?”

  “Make love to me, Oliver.”

  He took her mouth harder, as if he’d stopped thinking of her as the weak, wounded girl and started seeing her as she wanted to be seen. Desirable. Worthy.

  Her tongue curled around his, slashed at it, suckled it, egging him on.

  His weight settled over her, pressing her into the mattress with his slab of muscle. The width of his jeans covered cock separated the top of her swollen folds. Marina arched against him, shoving her livened nipples against his chest and mons to his shaft.

  “Oh.” She moaned at the jolt it incited in all the right spots. Her hands released the covers and slid up his waistband. Dimples and the swell of an ass fully formed

  for fucking, driving, and thrusting greeted her starved touch. Higher they scoured in greedy strokes along the trench of muscles created on either side of his spine. When she hit the acreage of his shoulder, her mind spiraled. Her fingers bit into the dips and ridges made just for her grip.

  “Yes.” Oliver shivered.

  He left her mouth and kissed a path to her breasts, plumping them between his palms and raking them with his gaze.

  Marina threaded her fingers into his hair as she arched and pulled him down. Hot lips parted over one stiff nipple. Suction stole her mind. Again and again, he suckled and his tongue lashed, moving from one raw, red point to the other.

  Pressure built—a rising tide against a dam. Sparks lit small explosions throughout her body, calling to life the pleasure she’d only dreamed of and witnessed others enjoy but had never experienced. Her hips rocked wildly, thighs rubbing together in the frantic search for release.

  One of Oliver’s hands slid around her back, cupped her bottom, and tilted her pelvis. The scrape of his jeans covered erection met the tip of her needy clit.

  “Ahhh.” Her rhythm faltered, overwhelmed by the touch.

  His gaze speared her, and his mouth popped off her nipple.

  “Find your power, Marina.”

  She’d been commanded to do so many things but never something so self-serving. Her head fell back. The tide broke free, binding her so tightly under its weight and torrent.

  Moans and sighs echoed from far away.

  Then silence.

  Ecstasy licked her head to toe, and the onslaught released her. She floated free, bobbing at the surface of her own desire.

  Oliver bathed her arms and fingers with kisses. His beard tickled its way across her battered ribs.

  Her breathing revved again, anticipating the moment he spread her legs apart and buried himself deep inside her body. More than a minute passed. Still, he made no move to shuck his pants. Marina wiggled under lips that skated dangerously close to her slick folds. His fingers danced down her legs, warming and inciting as they explored. Hot and hungry, his mouth followed to the tips of her toes.

  He shoved the comforter from the bed and crouched at the foot. Every binding muscle exposed to his hips. She wanted to see everything.

  “Open your legs for me, Brave Bonnie.”

  Marina’s heart stalled.

  He canted his head, and his gaze flew to her hands, gripping the sheets. Without his warmth and coverage, the power she felt moments ago vanished.

  “I need you to do it,” she squeaked.

  A hand scraped down the leg of his jeans. He licked his lips and trained his gaze on the juncture of her thighs, on her rubbed red mons and peeking clit.

  “I want to see every fold and every bit of your sweet flesh. I want to kiss your cunt and taste your cum on my tongue.” He adjusted his cock. “If you want that too, you’ll spread your legs and invite me in.” His teeth snagged his lower lip. “Vulnerable, remember.”

  She exhaled the breath that had solidified in her throat. Her fingers relaxed on the sheets. A frantic search for confidence turned up little, but the smolder in Oliver’s gaze reinforced it with liquid desire.

  Marina pulled her knees to her chest and then let them fall open, giving him a show of everything she possessed.

  “Fucking slayed.” A hand scrubbed his face, while the words rumbled. He prowled forward, never taking his gaze from her exposed pussy.

  Her body hummed under his watchful stare. Anticipation ratcheted with each passing second, each nearing inch.

  Wide shoulders dropped between her legs.

  “Oh, God,” she hiccupped. She’d expected him to drop trou and plow, but this…

  Oliver stilled. He pinned her with a knowing stare. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Omissions,
I can handle. Lies, no.”

  Her head shook. No, this was going sideways. She was ruining everything.

  “Nothing is wrong. You’re right where I want you to be.” She cringed a little at the combo of overexposure and real talk. “It’s just not what I expected. No one’s ever…”

  “Eaten your sweet pussy?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks and the body part he so boldly named. “No.”

  “Licked it?” He did the melt her panties—had she been wearing any—with his lip bite thing.

  “No,” she moaned.

  “Kissed it?” His brow hitched.

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  “Dumbest fucks in the world.” His hot blue gaze dropped to her sex.

  Marina arched to watch the first contact, but he only hovered. He drew a long, deliberate breath a tongue’s length from her aching entrance.

  “The sweetest, most dangerous scent. Maybe they were the smart ones. You can make a man forget himself, Marina.”

  She didn’t know how. Plenty of men had been between her legs, and not one had forgotten about himself. His groan and second whiff made her hope that one day it would be true.

  A wide flat slip of wet, hot tongue from her throbbing entrance across her tingling clit made her forget herself, her hang-ups at least. No way could she miss the thundering pulse nor the delight curling her toes. He placed leisurely kisses over her outer lips, studying each bare fold with predatory intent.

  The kisses grew bolder with suction and teeth. His tongue slipped between her folds in the most erotic kiss.

  “Oliver. Oh, God.” She keened and clawed the sheets.

  He made love to her pussy as he had her mouth, battling and nipping at her clit instead of her tongue. Her already damp sex dripped with want. Oliver lapped it up with a growl. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her to his face.

  “You taste like heaven.”

  The points and tendrils of his beard tickled her bottom, while his mustache abraded her labia. His focus intensified and honed on her sensitive clit. He rolled it and his tongue lashed it in equal measure.

  One hand crawled up her uninjured side and massaged her breast. His thumb and forefinger squeezed the tender nub and rolled it in time with her clit.