“Fuck. Mark. Please.” Begging. That was new. And wonderful.
Adjusting their positions again, he dragged Isaiah more to the edge of the counter, lined up their bodies, and slowly pressed in. The initial muscle resistance was a bit unexpected, but Mark was patient, waiting, and then Isaiah did something, some undulation of his spine, and things got easier.
“Oh my God. God. Fuck.” Isaiah’s head tipped back and he grabbed Mark’s shoulders. He started rocking, trying to take more, but Mark wasn’t having any of that, stopping him with a hand on his thigh.
“Let me,” Mark growled. “I’m going to take care of you.”
And he was. Going to give Isaiah everything he needed. He thrust carefully at first, slow motions, testing angles. Isaiah was tight as fuck and hot. And slick. Sensations Mark’s dick apparently liked a lot as his body kept clamoring for more, to go faster, thrust harder. But he wanted to keep this all about Isaiah, about wringing as much pleasure as possible out of Isaiah’s body.
“That. Right there.” Isaiah groaned as Mark went deeper. “God. Mark.”
“That’s it. Say my name.” Mark wasn’t sure why that worked for him. It just did. Knowing he was the one responsible for making Isaiah feel this good simply drove him crazy.
“Harder, Mark. Come on.” Isaiah wormed a hand between them, grabbing his cock.
“Don’t come yet,” Mark warned.
“Won’t. Oh God.” Isaiah’s face squished up with pleasure as he started stroking. “Too good. Fuck.”
“How does it feel? Tell me.” He wanted to know everything.
“So good. Feel so close to you. Love feeling you in me.”
“Yes.” Mark loved that, knowing that Isaiah felt the same closeness and connection as him. Dipping his head, he sought Isaiah’s mouth. And then he was the one moaning because this was so amazing. Isaiah tasted like hunger and desperation and need, need that only Mark could meet. And fuck, that was heady stuff.
Mark’s arms and thighs burned from holding the position but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Isaiah, his kiss, his tight embrace, his broken moans and gasps.
“Please. Please.”
“Gonna come for me?”
“Yes. Mark. Please.” Isaiah’s hand on his back shook.
“God, I love it when you beg.” Mark sped up his thrusts, instincts taking over now. “Want to make you come now. Get yourself there.”
“Harder. Hold me tighter.” Isaiah’s heels dug into Mark’s ass.
“Anything.” Anything. Mark would have given him anything in that moment. “Come for me. Wanna see you go.”
“Yes. Fuck.”
“Tell me. Tell me when you’re close,” Mark ordered.
“Now. Now.”
Mark growled, some new possessive part of him unfurling, making his hips slam forward faster, deeper, harder, Isaiah’s moans urging him on. Isaiah’s come splashed warm between them, and his body tightened around Mark’s cock, a new, unexpected level of friction. I did that. I made him come. One thrust. Another. And then Mark was coming too, body sagging against Isaiah’s. His breath came in harsh gasps, brain wiped clean like after a long, hard run, adrenaline surging. But behind the exhaustion and hormones was a sense of triumph and contentment, the same closeness that came whenever they shared this, a joy almost that took the rest of his breath away with its intensity.
“Oh. My. God. Fuck stars. I saw galaxies.” Isaiah rested his head on Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t drop me.”
“I’ve got you.” Mark gently untangled their bodies, moving Isaiah more fully onto the counter so that he could release his legs.
“What about you?” Isaiah touched his face, fingers gentle on Mark’s jaw. “You okay?”
“Stupendous. Feels like I just ran a 20k.” Mark kissed him lightly. “And stop worrying. Trust me.”
“I am. I just never want you to feel like we have to do that. Like I expect it.”
“I know.” Another kiss, this one longer. What he really loved about Isaiah was that it didn’t feel like they’d suddenly crossed some invisible threshold to a new level, one where they’d do this all the time. Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn’t. They were still on this level, the one where they were building something together. Something real. Something that scared Mark. Trusting Isaiah when it came to sex was easy. Trusting him with his heart and his future was a whole different matter.
Chapter Eighteen
A brutal morning sun beat down on Isaiah’s neck and back as he worked on placing succulents for Lydia and Jane. Their yard was almost done, ready for basic maintenance now, with the Katz project due to start later in the week. He was busy, and it felt great, especially with Mark putting in such long hours on the base. Work was a great distraction, one he was grateful for.
Buzz. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His father’s name flashed on the screen. Fuck. This was not the sort of distraction he needed. His father’s infrequent calls were never good news.
Still, he picked up, moving into the shade to take the call. “Hey, Dad. What country are you in today?”
“Belgium. I’m at a conference.” His father sounded relaxed, like he’d had a few drinks with dinner, and it did have to be close to bedtime in Europe. “How are you?”
“Fine. Hanging in there.” He was good at small talk with his dad, many years of practice not sharing the important stuff.
“Good. Good.” As he’d expected, his dad didn’t press for details. He doubted he could name any of Isaiah’s friends or even his favorite foods. And that thought made him feel weary. And old. But his father was continuing, “And how are the aunts? Holding up?”
“Yeah. I took the kids out to see them the other day. Aunt Cecily’s down, but that’s to be expected, right?”
“Of course. This was a tremendous tragedy for everyone. And that’s actually why I’m calling. Cecily is worried—a premonition she called it—about your case for the children. She’s afraid the other family will get custody, make it so she can’t visit.”
Isaiah was worried too, more about what the court would think than any action from Mark’s family, but he didn’t dare share that. While his father had no issues with Isaiah’s being gay, he would not be in favor of him being in a...whatever Mark wanted to call what they had going. His father had never been a big fan of Mark’s family to begin with. Too rich. Too snobby. Too much socialite stuff. If it wasn’t his research or stuffy academic functions, his father simply wasn’t very interested.
“That won’t happen,” he said firmly. “I’ll get the guardianship.”
“I hope so. Cecily’s counting on it. And just how are you planning on providing for the kids? Cecily said something about you doing yard work.”
“I kind of started a landscaping company,” Isaiah admitted, bracing for his father’s groan, which came right away.
“Isaiah. I did not work every day from when I was fourteen until now so you could do yard work. I did not send you to the best schools, pay for your degrees. Plural. You are one thesis away from a master’s. Finish it, son.”
“It just wasn’t for me.” This was an old, tired argument.
“Then take a job using one of your other degrees. I’m emailing you a list of suitable openings at the university. I know these children inherited a considerable sum, but the court is not going to want to hear about yard work. Get gainful employment. Build a solid reputation. Get a house with a yard, if you must.”
“I really like designing gardens. I love working outside.” He looked around him at Lydia and Jane’s transformed backyard. He’d done all this. The sense of satisfaction was more than he’d ever gotten from passing a class. But his dad wasn’t going to see that. This was probably why his father hadn’t put up a fuss when Isaiah came out—he had so many other things to complain about where Isaiah was concerned, so many disappointments.
“It’s time for you to grow up. The whole family is counting on you.” His father’s voice was stern. And like Isaiah didn’t know that, didn’t know how badly Aunt Cecily needed contact with the kids to keep her going.
“Maybe this is me growing up.” God, why couldn’t anyone be proud of him? Happy for him?
Mark is. That thought grounded him. Mark had praised his job with the grounds at the house, had looked at his pictures of plans for Lydia and Jane, had even had suggestions for his website. Mark believed in him. That was something.
In the days since their bathroom conversation, things had been less tense. Mark needed time. It was understandable even if Isaiah hated it. They had moved awfully fast, and they were both still reeling from Cal and Danielle’s deaths. Mark needed space to grieve, to figure out who he was, what he wanted from his future. So Isaiah was trying to give him that room, even as in other ways they felt closer than ever, Mark sleeping upstairs most nights.
“A grownup would put the children first. His reputation. His future security. All that.”
“I am doing that by building this company.” I think. I hope.
“On that, we’ll just have to disagree. I’ll be home in a few weeks. We’ll revisit this then.” Isaiah’s father sounded disgusted, nothing new there. “Just don’t let Cecily down, son.”
“I won’t.” Isaiah ended the call before they could argue more. Besides, he needed to hurry if he was going to make it to the school on time. His father was never going to understand what a juggling act Isaiah had going with the kids and the business—his father had never been a hands-on parent, never been there for school pickup or bedtime routines, leaving all that to Aunt Cecily. But Isaiah wasn’t going to be that way. He wanted to build this business because it would give him the flexibility he needed to be the kind of person the kids needed.
He liked getting the girls from school, liked hearing their chatter in the car, liked doing their lunch and nap time routine.
But his resolve was tested when he got the mail after getting the kids settled. A big, official-looking envelope from the local court system with his name on it. Oh fuck.
He opened it with shaking hands. The court investigator was setting a meeting date and time. So much for months and months of waiting time. There was a list of everything he needed to bring with him. Including proof of income and proof of residency. They wanted a plan for where the children would live and where they would go to school. All the things he’d been punting on, thinking he had more time.
And now he didn’t. He went over his finances, reviewing his bank statements, trying to guess what the court would think of his meager income. The business was growing, but cash flow was an issue. And he had his inheritance from his mother, but he’d been dipping into that fairly regularly that spring. It wouldn’t last forever.
But it would be enough to get them a place. Small. Nothing like this, of course, but maybe not terribly far into the burbs. He wanted to be able to keep his Coronado clients, wanted Mark to be able to visit. Hell. Would Mark want to visit? Would all this disappear once he sold this place? And he really needed to know Mark’s plans in that regard. How long did he have?
It was time for him and Mark to have a serious talk—past time. Isaiah had been delaying, falling back on old behavior patterns of avoidance and not wanting to plan. But now he had to. He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to prove his father wrong—he was an adult. He could come up with a plan. And through it all, he tried to rehearse his conversation with Mark.
But dinner came and went without Mark, and it was late when Mark finally knocked on his door.
“You up?” Mark’s hair was damp like he’d showered at base.
“Yeah. Just working on the plan for the Katz garden.” He needed that contract to be a big one, needed them to tell their friends.
“Cool. Bet it will be fabulous.” Mark gave him a crooked smile as he stripped down to his boxer briefs. He flopped onto the bed, letting out a groan. “Fuck. Tell me something good. Something funny?”
Isaiah didn’t have much—his head was still a jumble of worries about finances and the meeting with the court investigator—but the strain on Mark’s face made him want to try. “Zoe refused dinner because she didn’t want to eat dogs. No amount of explanation convinced her that the chicken hot dogs have zero dogs in them.”
Mark let out a tired laugh. “Good to have principles. Bet she goes vegetarian by ten.”
Will you still be around then? That was what Isaiah really wanted to know. But Mark seemed utterly wrung out, not the time to prod him about how he felt about their relationship. “Liam pulled up on the ottoman for the first time. I got funny pictures of him doing the baby boogie. Walking won’t be too much longer.”
“Wish I’d seen it.” Stretching, Mark put a hand over his eyes. Isaiah could take a hint and flipped off the bedside lamp.
“Bad day?” he asked. They really did need to talk about plans, but it was hard to broach the topic when Mark was so obviously hurting.
“Awful,” Mark confirmed. “But you don’t need to hear about that... Tell me about how Lydia’s garden turned out. Got pics on your tablet?”
“It looks amazing. I’ll show you in a bit.” Isaiah tugged him closer, which was a bit like moving a slab of granite. But he tried, cuddling Mark from behind. “It can wait though. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not just here for the cute kid stories—I want to hear about your stuff today. Even when it’s shitty.”
“Two bad injuries and four more guys rang out. One was the guy I told you about, the one who wanted to be a medic. I thought for sure he’d make it.” Mark sighed.
“Don’t blame yourself.” He kissed Mark’s neck. “I know you’re giving this your all. Nothing you can do more. You told me yourself that a huge percentage of guys never make it.”
“Yeah. But fuck. I think he saw the injuries today and got scared. Don’t blame him. It was a complete SNAFU.”
“What happened?”
“We were doing surface passage with the boats—taking them out past the sand berm that protects the base. One swim pair had to climb up the berm to survey the compound. But there was a fuckup—huge wave came in, swept them out along with a couple of the boats.” Isaiah could hear the terror in Mark’s voice. SEALs had died during training before—this was real, scary shit.
“Did...did they...” Isaiah couldn’t even give voice to the question.
“It was a close thing. I had do CPR when we got one guy out. Multiple rounds. Fuck.” Mark shuddered. “I did not want to lose him. Never worked so hard with a resuscitation in my life. We got him back, got him stable, but he’s in the hospital now. We’ll know more tomorrow what his prognosis is.”
“Oh man.” Isaiah held him as tight as he could. “And the other guy?”
“Concussion. Dislocated shoulder. Got tossed around pretty good and inhaled half the ocean, but he’ll make it. Thank fuck. I couldn’t have done two resuscitations before the ambulances got to us. Took everything I had and then some. Fuck.”
“You did good.” Isaiah rubbed his tight shoulders. He could totally picture Mark in full-on Wizard mode, running the resuscitation, every muscle straining as he did CPR. And fuck but Isaiah did not want to think about the converse situation, one where Mark was the hurt one. “You did everything you could. I know you. You worked hard. You gave the guy a fighting chance. The doctors and the hospital will do the rest.”
“Yeah. I just... I keep going over it in my head. Over and over. What we could have done differently.”
“Don’t torture yourself.” Holding him close, Isaiah tried to make him believe the words. “It happened. You did what you could. No one would want you driving yourself crazy with guilt.”
“Yeah. I get that. It’s just hard to let go.” Mark rearranged them so that he was the one spooning Isaiah, burying his face in Isaiah’s hair. “Thanks fo
r listening.”
“Anytime,” Isaiah said and meant it. “Whatever I can do help.”
“This. This helps. Knowing you’re here. Getting to come home to you. I’m so fucking lucky.” Mark shuddered again.
And no way could Isaiah bring up the house details right now. Not with Mark so vulnerable. Not when Mark said he needed to come home to Isaiah. Said he was lucky. How could Isaiah push him to make a decision about the house right then? He needed Isaiah. What Isaiah needed could wait. He’d just work on his plans on his own until Mark was more able to have the hard conversations.
* * *
“Okay. That’s good news.” Mark breathed a sigh of relief into his phone as the nurse at the hospital gave him the latest update on the candidate who’d nearly drowned, Swenson. Because of course it had been Swenson, the one who’d pushed through so many minor injuries, tried so hard to stay in. And now he was looking at a medical discharge from BUD/S. He’d have a chance to try again with the next class, if he resumed his strength. If he wanted to. Hell, the guy was lucky just to have brain function back. Who was to say he’d want to give it another go?
Fuck. Fuck. Every time he thought about how things had gone all FUBAR, he wanted to hurl. They’d almost lost Swenson. And it would have been on Mark. Oh, Isaiah and everyone else could say it wasn’t his fault. But he was the instructor. Keeping his recruits safe was job number one.
“Is he doing better?” Isaiah asked as Mark hung up the call. Mark had a very rare forty-eight hours off, his last rest before the Hell Week push. He’d accompanied Isaiah to the big home and garden superstore out in National City on the mainland in part to help him load up the SUV and in part to spend time together, something they’d been really short on lately.
“Yeah. Vital signs are good. It’ll take some time, though.” Mark didn’t really want to talk about Swenson in the middle of the store, about how afraid he’d been that they were about to lose him. Those things were hard enough to talk about in the dead of night, holding Isaiah close as a buffer against the emotions that threatened to swamp him. Leaving Isaiah with Liam, who was happily riding in the orange truck cart, he strolled over to a display of plants. They were some sort of flowering cacti, the sort of low-water plants Isaiah was drawn to in his designs. “Would these look good in the raised beds out front at the house?”
Squared Away Page 17
