Semper Fidelis (25 page)

He thrust again, their bodies meeting with a loud slap. They both grunted and gasped without pause. It was loud in the quiet of the room. Tucker rocked against Jamie, his hard cock and ball sac moving obscenely, still heavily coated with lube. Tucker’s long, sexy fingers wrapped around his own dick and stroked. His hand blurred as he jacked himself. Jamie glanced up. Tucker’s gaze darted from Jamie’s face, to his own hand, and back again.

Jamie watched as Tucker fisted himself. He was fascinated by the dusky purple head of Tucker’s cock as it disappeared into his hand, reappearing an instant later. Jamie groaned, the back of his throat burning. Tucker’s chest heaved, each breath harsh and labored.

“I’m gonna come,” Tucker gasped.

“Fuck yeah,” Jamie rasped. “I wanna watch you.”

Tucker’s breathing was ragged as his body clenched around Jamie’s cock. He tensed, not moving save for his rapidly stroking fist. “Oh shit,” he shouted, his entire frame shuddering violently, rocking the bed, and Jamie along with it. “Oh shit, I’m coming.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jamie said soothingly. “Let me see you come on your belly. That’s it. Come for me.”

Jamie watched pearlescent jizz splatter Tucker’s chest and belly. It decorated Tucker’s sweaty skin, pooling in the sharp cut of his abs, slipping down his sides into the bedding. Jamie never tired of seeing that.

Tucker collapsed onto the bed and Jamie pressed down into him. He kissed Tucker, sucking and licking at his tongue. Jamie’s heart hammered in his chest. He had no words for how he felt. All he could do was show Tucker. Put it all into his kiss and hope Tucker understood.

Jamie cradled Tucker’s flushed face between his palms. His cock was still buried deep in Tucker’s ass, his balls aching with the need to come. He couldn’t wait any fucking longer. Jamie slid his arms beneath Tucker’s body, holding him close. He buried his face in Tucker’s neck, head spinning with the mingled scents that overwhelmed him.

Tucker’s hands spanned his ribcage, thighs sliding over Jamie’s hips and ass. They were both too drenched in sweat for Tucker’s skin to find purchase on Jamie’s. He loved the feel of Tucker moving against him.

Jamie’s rhythm was shit, his control had gone all to hell. Electric jolts rocketed through his system, shooting down the length of his spine to ricochet through his pelvis. His climax built at the base of his spine, rolling through him, settling in his balls as they rose toward his body.

“Fuck, Tucker,” he whispered against the moist skin of Tucker’s throat.

Tucker tightened his fingers against Jaime’s ribs, wrapping his legs around Jamie’s waist to lock him in place. “Fucking come inside me, Jamie,” Tucker demanded breathlessly. “Come inside me.”

Jamie roared his release against the roughness of Tucker’s jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, barely aware of the vibrant fireworks playing across the backs of his lids. His chest heaved with each gasping breath. Jamie was helpless as his cock twitched inside Tucker’s ass, his balls emptying every last ounce of his cum.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned as the last shudder racked his body, barely able to keep himself from collapsing on top of Tucker.

Jamie flopped onto his back, limp as ragdoll. He and Tucker were both out of breath and gasping loudly. Tucker rolled slowly to his side to rummage in a drawer. He came away with a small travel pack of baby wipes. Jamie took it from him, using one of the cool cloths to clean Tucker’s chest and belly of rapidly drying cum. He swiped at his own body, where Tucker’s jizz had transferred to his skin, before setting everything on the table beside him.

Taking a deep breath, Jamie flopped facedown onto the bed. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Tucker lying beside him, the heat of his body radiating against Jamie’s skin.

“Welcome home,” Tucker whispered, curling over onto his side.

“Thank you for coming to meet me.” Jamie adjusted the pillow beneath his head.

“I’m so glad you made it back.” Sliding closer, Tucker draped his arm over Jamie’s waist.

“I made it back to you,” Jamie said languidly, his eyelids growing heavy. He didn’t have the energy to tell Tucker about the battle he had nearly lost, and what he’d realized he wanted to come home to.

Chapter Three

Jamie closed the hood on the Mustang. It purred like a kitten. A really big kitten with some nasty armament. He took down most of the tools over the work bench, re-hanging them with the most frequently used ones within easy reach of his right hand. He moved the shop broom from where Tucker had placed it, on a nail by the door to the house, to a hook beside the work bench.

On his way inside the house, Jamie hit the button to close the garage door. He snagged a bottle of beer from the fridge, trying to remember where he’d left his last one, or even if he’d finished it. Jamie made a mental note to pick up another case of beer, or have Tucker do it.

He found Tucker folding laundry in front of the television. Reaching around Tucker, Jamie grabbed a towel. He folded it and added it to the pile.

“Wanna go out and get dinner tonight?” Tucker asked lightly, not looking at Jamie.

A small twinge tightened Jamie’s gut. “Nah. If there’s nothing here to cook, we can order a pizza.”

Tucker’s cell phone rang. Jamie gritted his teeth at the sound. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead as Tucker answered.

“Hey, what’s up?” Tucker greeted.

Jamie relaxed slightly, folding another plush towel. Their bright colors and softness made him thankful he was no longer stuck with the Marine Corps’ scratchy strips of fabric they’d provided in Afghanistan.

“Oh, man, you know I love Aurora’s garlic mashed potatoes,” Tucker said with a laugh.

His anger had faded when he’d realized it wasn’t Tucker’s work calling, but now something ugly gnawed away at his insides as the conversation progressed.

“I know. We haven’t seen you guys in months.” Tucker cradled the phone against his shoulder and went back to folding. “I’d love to, but let me ask Jamie.”

Jamie sighed deeply, ignoring the pounding of his heart. He slowly shook his head.

Tucker pressed the phone to his chest. “Chris and Aurora have invited us over tonight for dinner.”

“I worked outside on the cars all day today,” Jamie answered without thinking. “I’m worn out. I’m just going to grab a couple of beers and crash in front of the TV.”

“Color me surprised,” Tucker muttered, replacing the phone to his ear. “Tonight’s not good for Jamie,” he said quickly. “Rain check?”

Jamie tuned out the remainder of the short, stilted conversation, relieved he didn’t have to face people and make small talk.

Tucker tossed his phone aside and picked up a stack of towels. He disappeared down the hallway. “Jamie!” he called sharply, moments later.

Jamie frowned at Tucker’s angry tone. He stepped into the hallway. “What?”

“Where are all the towels?” Tucker demanded angrily, gesturing at the open doors of the linen closet.

Looking at the tall, colorful stack balanced in Tucker’s hand, Jamie asked guardedly, “Aren’t those towels in your hand?”

“These are the ones I just washed,” Tucker answered tightly. “Where are the rest of them? The ones we haven’t used yet?”

Jamie pointed vaguely in the direction of their master bedroom. “Under the sink in the bathroom.” That’s where it made sense to keep them, because that’s where they used them.

“You just decided to rearrange where everything is kept, without even giving me a heads up?” Tucker’s voice was loud in the confined hallway.

Jamie winced, gritting his teeth. His spine stiffened and he curled his hands into fists. “I don’t need your fucking permission to make the towels easier to get to!” he shouted. “They’re
bath towels
,” Jamie sneered, “you use them in the
bath room
, not the fucking hallway!”

Tucker looked slapped. “And what if you need a goddamn bath towel in the
guest
bathroom, while someone is using the
master
bathroom, huh?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Rage boiled up in Jamie, scalding claws raking painfully along his insides. Jamie needed to get it out before it chewed him up. He was suddenly right in front of Tucker, snatching the stack of towels out of his grip. “If I want the fucking towels in the fucking bathroom, I’ll put ’em in the goddamn bathroom!” Jamie’s throat burned.

Behind him, the door to the guest bathroom closed. He wanted it open and the cock-sucking door was closed. Turning, Jamie kicked the door, just below the handle, sending it slamming against the wall. The thunderous crash was satisfying. Splinters flew everywhere.

Jamie tightened his grip on his M16, waiting for a hostile to come through the door with a loaded AK-47. The bathroom was clear, but Jamie was too fucking pissed off to care.

“I said put the motherfucking towels in the motherfucking bathroom, where they fucking belong!” Jamie threw every towel into the bathroom. He chucked them overhand, as he would a grenade. “I don’t want them in the hallway.” He rounded on Tucker to find him several steps away, watching Jamie warily. Jamie slammed the closet doors shut, hard enough to shake the entire house. “Maybe you’re too stupid to understand that. Need me to write it down for you?”

Tucker’s spine straightened. He planted his feet, standing with his arms akimbo. His dark eyes glittered with rage as he watched Jamie from beneath strands of hair. Tucker clenched his fists, the muscles in his forearms making his tattoos ripple.

Christ, Jamie needed to get the fuck out of here. He turned and left the hallway. Taking a beer from the fridge, he twisted off the cap. He emptied half of it, looking for his wallet and keys. Jamie drained the rest as he stepped into the garage. He drew back and heaved the bottle, enjoying the sound of glass shattering when it struck the opposite wall.

The garage door rolled open with an annoying metallic screech. Jamie slid behind the wheel of the Mustang and fired it up. The V-8 roared to life, throaty and aggressive. Slamming it into reverse, Jamie chirped the tires as he backed into the street. Jamie didn’t look for cross traffic. Everybody else needed to keep an eye out and avoid him, if they knew what was good for them.

Jamie jumped onto the east-bound freeway onramp. He stomped down on the accelerator, opening up all eight cylinders. It was a Saturday afternoon so traffic was light and Jamie pushed the car well beyond a hundred miles an hour. He slalomed between the few cars he encountered, honking at any stupid asshole who panicked and changed lanes in front of him.

Finally, he picked up Old 395 and headed north. Jamie steered through the tight curves and sharp turns with one hand, keeping the other on the gear shift. He worked the clutch and accelerator smoothly, pushing his speed, making the tires squeal around nearly every turn. Beside him, the road dropped off into a canyon. Jamie wondered what would happen if he didn’t make the next turn. How would it feel to send the Mustang racing through the guard rail and into the air? The impact was probably much like an IED blast. He didn’t think the valley was deep enough to do any real damage. He’d probably survive but scratch up his paint job, which would just defeat the purpose.

Reaching a straightaway, Jamie opened up the Mustang. The landscape around him blurred as it seemed to fly by. The racing suspension and the rear spoiler worked to push the muscle car closer to the pavement, stabilizing it at high speed.

Jamie didn’t see the cop until he passed him at an inexcusably high rate of speed. The guy hadn’t even had his radar out. He’d probably been sitting quietly, typing up paperwork. Jamie was so flagrant, no radar was necessary.

The Highway Patrol officer caught him in just a few minutes, killing any thought Jamie had of outrunning him. The cop was lucky enough to be driving a Mopar and it likely had a pursuit package. Besides, his plate had been run and recorded.

Sliding to a stop on the dirt shoulder, Jamie kicked up a huge plume of dust. He cut the engine, hit the buttons for the windows, and sat resigned with his hands in sight on the steering wheel.

The Highway Patrol officer appeared at the passenger window. “Afternoon.”

“Afternoon, sir,” Jamie replied by rote.

“Do you know why I stopped you?” It was a standard question to prompt a spontaneously admission of guilt.

“No, sir, I don’t.” They both knew it was a lie. Things would get worse if Jamie was a dick and he didn’t want to spend the night in Vista Detention.

“You were driving pretty fast,” the officer replied evenly. “It took me a minute to catch up to you. When I did, you’d already slowed down and I still clocked you at one-oh-five.”

Shit. His last fine had been steep. He was already almost uninsurable. This time, if he got a judge who wasn’t impressed by a combat-veteran-war-hero, Jamie could lose his license. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize. I got into an argument at home. I got out of there before it got worse.”

“Wrapping yourself around a tree, or running someone else off the road would make things worse.” The cop didn’t give Jamie a chance to respond. “Are there any guns, knives, or other weapons in the vehicle?”

Jamie had a moment to be grateful he’d stormed off without his KA-BAR. “No, sir.”

“Driver’s license and proof of insurance, please.”

“I have to reach into the center console for my wallet.” The first time Jamie had failed to announce his intention, he’d found himself staring down the barrel of a 9mm Glock. The resulting flashback had worked to his advantage, but Jamie preferred not to repeat the experience.

He handed over his insurance card, California’s driver’s license and military ID. Jamie sat quietly as instructed, watching the officer in his review mirror. He sighed in relief that he hadn’t been asked about alcohol.

It took a long time for the cop to return to Jamie’s window. “I’d like to let you off with just a warning, Mr. Anders, but I can’t overlook the fact that you’ve been cited for the same thing, nine times previous.”

“Captain,” Jamie said quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“Captain Anders.”

“Well,” the officer said as he wrote out the speeding ticket, “that almost makes it worse.”