The Officer Says "I Do" (17 page)

“I’m not mad. Just, where did you find it? I thought it was lost.”

“It was in the laundry basket one day.” Skye crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “I was cold with the AC on so high, but I didn’t want to turn it down, since you’re always so warm when you get home. And it smelled like you…” Her voice trailed off as if she just realized what she’d said. Then she shrugged. “I wear it to bed a lot. I get cold at night.”

The sweatshirt was like a brand. His mark. His woman. Whatever tentative hold he’d had on his urges, his cravings collapsed faster than an untrained platoon of privates. He took the three steps across the room and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her into his body. She grunted but didn’t resist.

And when he lowered his lips to hers, she rose up to meet him.

***

Finally.

Tim made the move. And Skye wasn’t going to let him back out now. She reached up to meet his dipping head, their mouths coming together in a clash of passion and need. His lips were warm on hers, moving with hunger more than skill.

As if he couldn’t get enough soon enough. As if she were a lifeline.

“Tim. Tim.”

“Don’t say no.” He spoke against her ear, his breath hot on her skin while he kissed a path down her cheek, her jaw, her neck. “Not now. Don’t tell us no.”

Us. Not him. Us. If she’d had any intention of saying no before then—and she hadn’t—all resistance would have melted away with that one word.

“Tim, I—oh!”

Any sweet speech she had was cut short by her husband stepping back, shoving his shoulder in her stomach and standing. One arm locked over her knees to keep her in place, he walked toward the stairs.

“What… are you… doing?” She could barely catch her breath from the shock, let alone speak in full sentences.

“Not giving you a chance to say no,” he replied as he started up the steps. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to just hijack your wife and carry her upstairs fireman style to be ravished.

Oh, ravished. That was a brand of “normal” she could get used to.

“I wa—hmm.” She almost told him she had no intention of saying no, but why spoil the fun for them both? Letting Tim have the chance to “change her mind” might be even more pleasurable than the main attraction.

Maybe some token resistance to show he’s not her boss.

“Tim, this boorish behavior is really—”

Swat!

“Hey!” She reached back to rub her butt.

“That’s what wives who talk back when their husbands are hauling them to the bedroom get.” Tim’s voice was completely natural. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

He nudged open the door with his foot and swung her down to bounce on the bed. Skye leveled herself up on her elbows and watched as he opened the shades. Silvery light illuminated the bedroom, outlining shadows and highlighting Tim’s tall frame, his wide shoulders, narrow waist—

Skye stopped short of licking her lips. But it was a near thing.

“I wanted to see you,” he explained, crawling on the bed over her body. “I haven’t been able to see you nearly as much as I wanted to.” He slid his hands under the bottom of the sweatshirt, pushing up. His calluses rasped against the skin of her stomach. With each inch he uncovered, he pressed a kiss to her skin.

“I plan to rectify that problem right now.” His breath warmed her, chased away the chill in the air. “Every last patch of skin, I want to know.”

“You’ve already seen me.”

“Again. I want to know again.”

Skye shifted so he could push the sweatshirt over her head. Her lace bra was no match for the air conditioning. Beneath the see-through material, her nipples hardened, tightened to peaks.

Tim slid one hand under her back and used his fingers to sightlessly flick her clasp open.

“Nice moves,” she said as he drew the bra off her shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said and latched onto her breast.

Skye cried out in surprise, in pleasure, in relief. His mouth was insistent, pulling and testing her flesh, not giving in when she mewled or moaned.

He wasn’t a gentle lover. Hasty. Needy. But always in control. He switched breasts, the cool air coursing over the abandoned nipple still wet from his tongue. She shivered against the cold.

Then he worked his way down her stomach, circled his tongue in her navel. He sat up long enough to pull down her leggings, stripping her panties with them. But if she would have felt embarrassment at being so rapidly stripped, she didn’t have time to realize it. No, he was too fast, too insistent for her to gather any coherent thoughts. Shouldering her legs apart, his mouth found her warm, wet center.

Skye arched into his questing tongue, wanting the quick pulse, the flash release. But he avoided the one aching, essential spot. Teased around it with quick flicks and long strokes of his tongue.

“Bastard,” she muttered and let her nails bury into his shoulders. Louder, she moaned. “Tim.”

Hearing the unspoken plea, he trapped her nub between his teeth and sucked.

The climax threw her back. Skye dug her heels into the mattress, pulsed in unconscious rhythm as he dragged her through the storm, never relenting.

“Stop,” she gasped when the sensation was too much. “Stop, Tim.”

He launched himself over her body, and she clawed at his shirt until he helped her remove it entirely. His chest was like marble, smooth and hard. Unyielding. But where stone was cool to the touch, his skin burned as she ran her palms down the muscles to find the waistband of his shorts.

“Off. Off.” She panted, fumbling with the elastic. Her arms were too short. She couldn’t reach down far enough to push them down.

Suddenly her arms were pinned by her head, one large hand holding her wrists captive.

“There’s only one boss here,” he reminded her with a punishing nip to her bottom lip.

Skye opened her mouth to argue, but he took the opportunity to kiss her. Arguing suddenly was the last thing on her mind as his lips moved over hers, as he whispered words that would make her blush in the morning.

One knee wedged between her thighs pried them apart. Then the blunt head of his penis pushed between her slick folds. When had he had the chance to remove his shorts? Ah, when he was kissing her stupid, that’s when. He pushed, inched in with aggravating control.

“Arg!” She was going to lose her mind before he was halfway in. Bucking up did nothing, as he countered every maneuver.

“I’m not moving until you hand over the reins,” he said, his voice fierce. “Skye. Trust me.”

Fighting was fun. A battle to grab for the edge. But those two words—trust me—hung in the air between them.

Just
this
once
, she promised herself and surrendered.

“There we go,” he breathed, and he pushed until he was fully seated inside. Her body sighed with pleasure, pulsed around his cock. The low glow of a fire started in her belly.

Then he rocked out and back in; the long glide had her gasping and reaching for more. More friction, more depth, more Tim.

“You’ll get more, sweetheart,” he murmured into the hollow below her ear.

Oh for the love… Had she said that out loud?

Tim thrust faster, harder, deeper, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. Flames flicked along her nerves, blazing through her veins.

“Tim. Oh, God. Tim, I’m… I’m…”

“I know, baby. I’m with you. Let go.”

The burn, the fire was too intense to shut down. There was nothing she could do to hold back the inferno.

So she jumped into the flames.

Her body tightened, fluttered, flexed around Tim as she cried out with the ultimate release. The satisfying sizzle and burn engulfed her, and for a moment she was deaf and blind, drifting in a dark pool of satisfaction and lush fulfillment.

Tim’s own groan brought her back to the present. He nuzzled into her neck; his plunging rhythm became erratic. Then his body stiffened, thrust to the hilt, and he collapsed over her, surrendering to the same pleasure-tinged blaze as she had.

And
to
think
I
purposefully
said
no
to
sex… I’m an idiot.

It was the last thought before she drifted to sleep.

Skye woke to needle-sharp pain in her arms, a heavy weight over her legs, and a blinding light in her eyes.

The last was the easiest to identify. The blinds were open, letting unadulterated morning light pour in much earlier than she would ever dare wake up on her own. The weight, she quickly discovered, was her husband’s thigh thrown over her own legs. His head was pillowed by her breast, an arm draped possessively over her stomach.

And the source of her pain was his hand, still pinning her own arms above her head in an awkward, unnatural position, resulting in her limbs falling asleep.

She shifted enough to pull both wrists out of his lax grasp and lower them, only to double over in pain as the blood rushed back. A low groan escaped from deep in her chest. Tim was up in an instant, crouched low on the bed. Naked as a jaybird. Battle ready and fierce, prepared to fight whatever enemy dared to sneak into his sanctuary.

Too bad the enemy was a burning, tingly feeling from hell and completely resistant to combat. The entire thing would have been hilarious if the pain wasn’t overriding her brainpower.

She rolled to one side and curled up in a ball. How could something so simple hurt so badly?

“Hey, Skye. Baby, what’s wrong?” Large, gentle hands rolled her to her back. His concerned face appeared around her shoulder, desperate to solve her problems. He was so handsome, even with the crease over one cheek from the pillow. If she hadn’t been in pain, she could have appreciated the sight of her rumpled husband more.

“My arms hurt. Fell asleep. Blood rushing. Hurts.”

“Okay, all right. Shh,” he murmured. Softly, he massaged one arm while she stayed curled on her side, starting at the shoulder and working his way down to her wrist, then back up again. The burning started to subside, and her body relaxed marginally. He rolled her onto her stomach and repeated the gesture with her other arm. The massage continued down her back and she melted into the bed as tension seeped out of her body.

“Feel better?”

“Mmm hmm,” she sighed into the pillow. She didn’t want to talk. Just focus on the magic those big strong hands were working over the knots from her weeks at the restaurant bending over tables, the stress, the worry…

He chuckled but didn’t stop the massage. Lower his hands searched for tense muscles to knead, reaching her ass. The shock had her tensing again, but his effortless ministrations made it easy to unwind once more as he continued to work down her legs.

He pressed on the arches of her feet with his thumbs and the heavens opened up. She could see the light of the pearly gates. This had to be what heaven felt like. Some out-of-body, weightless experience, floating on puffy clouds of happiness and contentment.

Maybe marriage didn’t have to be so hard after all.

“Are you okay? From last night, I mean?”

His hesitant question brought her back to earth. How could he even be worried? Did he miss the multiple orgasms? She turned her head to one side so he could hear the answer clearly instead of mumbling into the pillow. “I’m fine. Better than fine, really. Great. Last night was…” She didn’t think she could sum it up in one word.

“Yeah.” He paused. “Uh, I forgot to use something last night. But I checked out clean during my pre-deployment physical, and I haven’t been with anyone but you since.”

“I’m fine too.” She thought about it for a moment, then added, “I’m on the pill. We’re good.”

She heard his sigh of relief. Always the responsible one, she mused. Thinking of everything, even if it was just a tad too late. But she had to smile into the soft cotton of the pillow. Just another thing to write down on the Things Married People Should Already Know list. The damn thing was growing rapidly.

Tim’s hands worked their way back up slowly, making sure no muscle or tendon went untended. As he rubbed her down, Skye thought back to last night. What had sparked the out-of-the-blue passionate response from her husband? He had been so adamant about holding off, on keeping clear of physical anything. What was the difference last night?

Her outfit at the dinner.

Nothing else out of the ordinary had happened.

When she’d come down the stairs in her outfit, he’d given her a toe-curling kiss. And he’d thanked her for wearing what she did, for playing the part. Was that what made the difference? Playing the expected role in their marriage, the type of wife he’d wanted?

Or was she selling herself short?

Maybe. She’d have to think about it some more.

“Do you work afternoon or evening today?”

“Afternoon,” she answered. “But not until eleven.”

He crawled down next to her, then wrapped one strong arm around her and pulled until her back was against his chest. “So you have the morning free.”

“I do.” She wiggled her behind a little and felt the obvious morning wood he was sporting. “What did you have in mind to pass the time?” she asked slyly.

“Checkers.” He stroked his fingertips down one arm, leaving goose bumps behind. His palm came to rest on her breast, kneading gently. “I always love a rousing game of checkers in the morning.”

“Rousing?” She turned in his arms to face him and reached down with one hand. Circling the thick flesh, she stroked. The satiny skin was blazing hot beneath her palm and hard as iron. “Hmm. Seems pretty roused already. I better go have a closer look.”

She waited for the commanding tone, the orders, the push-pull of fighting for who had control. Instead, he gave her a devilish smile and fell to his back with passive ease. “I think that’s a great plan.”

“Just when you think you’ve got them figured out,” she muttered. He chuckled and she bit his rib.

“Ow!” Tim tugged her hair until she looked up into his stern face. “Play nice.”

There was that familiar old bossy nature. And for some reason, she’d wanted it. That either made her the most pathetic feminist on the planet, or she was just becoming used to her husband’s domineering ways and seeing them for what they were.

His way of showing he cared.

The idea floored her, and she took the gentle approach. Feathering kisses over his abdomen, she took silent pleasure in the way his muscles quivered with each light brush. To be more of a tease, she quickly yanked her hair-tie out and let her wavy tresses fall in a curtain around her. The locks brushed his stomach and thighs when she moved, tickling and provoking a harsh breath from him.

Not so stoic after all. She smiled against his hip and planted a sweet kiss before turning her attention to his cock lying against his lower stomach, twitching with anticipation.

Working her way carefully around the aroused flesh, she tormented him with licks and nips, coming close but never touching his erection. At one point his fingers curled around her skull, putting slight pressure to guide her to him. But she pulled back and he let go.

Smart man.

She rewarded his decision with a long lap up the underside of his shaft, ending with the tip flicking to taste the drop of pearly liquid at the head. Skye looked up to see Tim’s jaw clenched. His fists covered his eyes as if he was using every ounce of restraint to not look or touch.

There was such power in being a woman sometimes.

She wrapped one hand around his erection. Her other she used for balance. And breathing deeply, she took him in a centimeter at a time.

The salty taste caught on her tongue, and she swirled around until Tim moaned. The sound was a deep rumble in his chest, vibrating through his body.

Gliding down and back up again, Skye chose a rhythm she wanted. One that kept him twitching. One that would draw out the pleasure until it bordered on pain.

“You’re killing me,” he complained.

She pulled away, breaking the suction with a pop. “I can always just go downstairs and start some breakfast,” she said and started to shift.

One heavy leg clamped around her calves, making it impossible to move. “Don’t you dare,” he said, giving her the evil eye.

“Poor Tim. So sad.” She scratched her nails up and down his stomach, watching him relax until his head dropped back onto the pillow. “How do I make it better?”

When she took him in her mouth again, she picked up the speed, using her fist for additional friction. His hips pumped, as if he couldn’t hold back if his country depended on it. And she didn’t want him to. Holding back was the last thing she wanted from her husband. In bed or out. But for now, she’d start with this.

“Skye, I’m close. Come here.” His hands gripped under her elbows, but she ignored them. Not this time. This time she wanted to finish.

“Skye. Christ. Skye!” Tim’s arms dropped, his back arched, and he grunted as the climax took him over. When he fell back, silent and still, she gave one last lick—just because she could—before releasing him. She crawled toward the headboard.

Tim was still as stone, one forearm draped over his eyes. All signs of life gone but for the rise and fall of his chest. He looked vulnerable, the position leaving him open and defenseless. It was an oddly endearing thought. But then, she thought, he was always so strong. So in control. Showing his emotional soft underbelly for even a moment was a triumph for both of them.

Of course nobody would mistake the vulnerability for weakness. No, not with arms so thick she couldn’t wrap two hands around. Or the cut muscles of his chest, the ladder of abs working down to his rock hard thighs.

No wimps for the Marines, she thought and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

She looked back, seeing he hadn’t moved. “Just wondered something.”

A moment of silence, and then, “Are you going to share?”

“Hmm. Sure.” Of course she wasn’t. She could only picture the look of horror on Tim’s face as she explained the beauty of his vulnerability. The image made her laugh again. So she improvised. “I was curious if you were ticklish.” And with that, she poked him in the ribs repeatedly until he grunted and rolled around to pin her beneath him. His strength vibrated from every muscle.

Yes, vulnerability was a beautiful thing. But her husband sure as hell was no pushover.

***

Tim took the offered beer and sat back in the recliner, making sure his feet were propped up at just the right angle to aid in optimum beer and snack consumption and game-watching.

Dwayne plopped into the opposite recliner, going through the same motions until he was settled, then turned his eyes to the television.

“How goes married life?” Dwayne asked.

“Great.” When Dwayne raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. “It is. Look at this. I’m at a friend’s house on a Sunday afternoon watching football and she’s not even ragging on me for it.”

“I thought you said she was at work,” Dwayne chimed in.

“I thought you would be deployed by now.”

“Any day now. Or so they tell me. Any fucking day.” Dwayne saluted him with his beer. “Lame distraction, by the way.”

“Fine. Yes, she’s at work. But she’s still not ragging, is she?” Tim pointed out.

They watched in silence until a commercial.

“How was the thing at Colonel Blackwater’s house?”

Tim sighed. “Uneventful, luckily.”

“Was there a concern?” Dwayne asked. “And with who—you or Skye?”

“Skye, mostly. The way the Colonel’s wife tore into her outfit at the barbeque, I was sure she’d wear something even more… hippieish. Just to spite.” Part of him—the insane part, clearly—had even been looking forward to it. “But instead she hauled ass the other direction and wore something that looked completely…” Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Not her. It wasn’t her at all. It was conservative and boring. Some black skirt and a blue shirt. No funky jewelry, no patterns. Nothing. The model of conservative.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dwayne drawled.

“What are you talking about?”

Dwayne sat up and pushed the leg rest in. Then he leaned forward, rolling the beer bottle between his palms. “Oh, I’m just thinking back to all the women you’ve dated. How they were all nice, simple, dressed like that. Conservative all around. Safe. Basically, the female version of you.”

“What? No.” Tim shuffled through his mental file cabinet of old girlfriends. How did they dress to go on a date? How did they look at home? How did they act?

Damn. Dwayne was right. “Well, okay. You have a point. But that’s what normal women dress like. Act like. It’s a responsible mode of clothing. Those women were usually coming from work or something,” he justified. “Banks or attorney offices. Of course they’d dress and act conservatively.”

“And yet, instead of being pleased with how Skye looked—and I can imagine she looked pretty damn fine in the outfit because she’s a beautiful woman—you’re bitching about how it didn’t look right on her,” Dwayne pointed out smugly. The bastard.

“It did look nice. She looked great. It just wasn’t what I’m used to from her.” Tim took a sip of beer to wash the dusty feeling from his throat. “Besides, I doubt she’ll dress like that much anyway. I could tell she was uncomfortable, and she switched outfits as soon as we got home.”

An outfit that turned him from an average, semi-sex-starved husband into a full-blown lusting animal with almost no finesse. God, he’d practically attacked her and dragged her back to the bedroom, Neanderthal style. All that was missing was pulling her by the hair to his cave.

She
didn’t seem to mind.

Didn’t matter. Next time he’d show at least a tiny bit of skill. Show her he was at least one step up from a hormonal teen fumbling in the backseat of his father’s Jeep.

“Basically what it sounds like is she was being practical. Assessing the situation and making adjustments to her normal routine as necessary.” Dwayne killed the bottle and sat the empty one down on the coffee table between them. “It’s logical. Can’t complain there.”

No, he couldn’t. The fact that Skye understood how important staying on the CO’s good side was to his career pleased him. She was putting in the effort. That more than the outfit itself was what hit him the hardest. When she said she wanted to give the marriage everything she had, she hadn’t been kidding.

Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.