Tia

In Fallon’s familiar arms, I try to forget the pain of the last twenty-four hours. We talk about Giles and Fallon wraps me in his arms, whispering words of strength, giving me hope that we’ll free him.

I sleep for hours, wrapped in the security he provides, and when I wake he allows me to cry over the things I saw, over the brutality that Giles has gone through, and what he still faces.

Two days pass. I see my other husbands, but there’s so much tension between the men, and in a way, I need Fallon the most because he’s the closest to Giles, the one who understands what I’m going through best.

When I lie down with him at night, my body craves the intimacy he gives, and in the moments when he’s touching me, I can forget for one brief second that our lives aren’t complete chaos.

“I love you so damn much,” he growls in my ear.

“I need you,” I murmur, fisting my hands in his shirt, my body already humming with the need to be consumed, the need to forget... for just a moment.

Fallon drops to his knees, tugging down my pants, my panties too. His warm breath sends tingles up my spine. I thread my fingers through his hair as he begins to kiss me softly. I close my eyes, savoring the way he so intimately knows me.

“God, I need you too,” he tells me, fervent in his desire.

I fall on the edge of my bed, and he spreads my knees. His tongue runs up and down my slit, my core awakens.

I let his body and words guide me somewhere safe. Far from the dome where Giles is kept. Far from the harsh words of the Director. With Fallon, I sink into the comfort of home.

It may only be an illusion, but it’s better than falling into the utter despair of reality.

“You taste so good,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against my folds so tenderly. I reach for him, wanting to feel his strength covering my body, wanting his eyes to meet my own.

“Please,” I whimper as I move farther back on the bed, dragging him up with me, but my body trembles, not just from desire, but from all the emotions that swirl inside of me.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says tenderly.

“But... it’s not.” I take a deep steadying breath. “You should have seen where they kept him. What they did to him.”

“I know,” he whispers. “You were scared.”

“Still am. But not for me. Only for Giles.”

“Damn, I’ll kill the fucking Director.” The look in his eyes tells me he means it. “I mean it, Tia. I don’t care that he’s Salinger’s father, I’ll--”

“Fallon.” I shake my head. “I just... I need to forget... for tonight,” I whisper. “Please.”

He must understand what I mean because he drops the threat and cups my face in his hand, his chest pressed against my own.

“I love you so damn much, Tia,” he tells me again, his words more a promise than a declaration and I know he would give his life for me. The way Giles did.

The faith they have in me is so deep and wide, and when Fallon presses his cock inside my wanting body, I cling to him, desperate in my longing to not let them down.

Entering the Lottery, on their part, was a gamble. And I just don’t want the truth of who I am to make them regret giving me their hearts.

“I love you, too, Fallon,” I tell him, wrapping my legs around his body. “No matter what happens, remember that.”

He stills, looking at me with such intention my heart begins to crack.

“No, Tia, you remember what I vowed. Until death do us part.”

I nod, my heart swelling with emotion as he begins to move against me again.

I remember. But all I see is Giles in that hospital bed.

Death may be coming sooner than we are prepared for.

* * *

Early next morning Emerson knocks on my door, then pokes in his head. Our eyes meet, and I press a finger to my lips. Fallon is sleeping soundly. He nods, and motions for me to come to the hall.

Reaching for my robe, I slip it on, then cover Fallon’s body with the blanket.

“What is it?” I ask, gently closing my bedroom door. The hall is empty, and it’s so early the rest of the house is still sleeping.

“I didn’t want to bother you last night,” he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears.

He’s in nothing but a pair of sweats and his bare chest is so ripped and chiseled it’s hard to focus on his words. God, my husbands are all such powerful, amazing men. And I know that even though I don’t deserve them, I’m one lucky woman.

“I know you had a lot on your mind.” Em moves closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. “But I’m leaving this morning and I wanted to see you before I left.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Leaving where?” My mind immediately goes to the worst.

Leaving me. The family.

“I got the orders yesterday, while you were still gone. It’s a two-week mission.”

Relief washes over me. “With the Navy?”

“Right.” He nods, taking my hand in his free one, his other arms still around me. “But I have two hours until I have to go. Maybe we could have breakfast?”

I smile, drawing Emerson into a kiss. Without hesitation, his lips meet mine, our tongues rolling together, his cock growing hard against my belly.

I pull back, a grin on my face. “Actually,” I suggest. “How about breakfast in bed?”

A few minutes later we are in the kitchen filling a tray with a bowl of fresh berries and whipped cream, and cups of steaming coffee.

My body tingles with excitement. Last night with Fallon was so comforting, but it was also as intense as ever. Right now, what I really want, is to try and be present at this moment, with Emerson.

He’s leaving for two weeks, and God knows what our lives might look like in that amount of time. For all I know, my father could find me. I could be shipped back to the US.

Giles could be dead.

If this is all the time I have with Emerson, with no guarantees, I want him to remember me as an adoring wife. Because I do adore Emerson in so many ways. He is the breath of fresh air our entire family needs.

I hate that he’s leaving now, of all times. But I know he has no other choice. If he did, I know he would stay here with me.

“What’s on your mind, elskede?” he asks, patting my ass as I lift the tray and carry it up the stairs to his bedroom.

I smile over my shoulder, loving the way he makes me feel. “What’s that mean?”

“Norse for my beloved.”

My broken heart mends in a hundred ways. “You are so good to me.”

He pushes open his door for me and I set the tray on the bed. When I turn, he is right there, with open arms. “What else would I be?”

“I can’t wait to meet your mother one day and thank her for raising such an amazing man,” I tell him earnestly.

“Let’s not talk about my mother right now,” he says, with a grin.

I won’t argue with that. Em’s hands untie the belt on my robe, easing it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Damn, you are so fucking gorgeous,” he says, his eyes all over me.

I don’t feel exposed with him though, ever. When Emerson looks at me, I feel beautiful.

“But I know what can improve this work of art,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

I laugh, crossing my arms. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He reaches for the whipped cream behind us. He shakes the canister and points it at me. “Maybe a little bit here,” he says, spraying the cream on my left nipple. “And here,” he says, adding it to my right.

My shoulders shake with laughter. “If you get to add embellishments to me I have an idea of where I can add some to you.”

“Is that right?” he asks, dropping the can on the bed, and wrapping his arms around me. One hand massages my breast, his tongue licking away the whipped cream. My spine tingles with pleasure, and the erotic way he licks me makes me itch to spray that cream on the tip of his cock and swirl it around my mouth.

I bite my bottom lip as he licks my other nipple. Desire ripples through me and I feel my pussy growing wet, hot with hunger.

“Your breasts are so damn beautiful,” he tells me, as I move to push down his sweats, his hard cock springing free.

“Eager, are we?”

“Damn, it feels like forever since we made love,” he tells me, pushing back my hair and looking in my eyes. “I missed you, Tia.”

“I missed you too.”

“And now I’ll be gone. Hell, going on the ships used to be no big deal, but now I hate leaving you.”

“I’ll be here,” I tell him, immediately wishing I could take the words back.

Will I be?

He must see the flicker of worry in my eyes. “I know things with you are complicated. I may be just a farm boy, but I’m no fool. I know you have secrets.”

I swallow, suddenly scared of what he might say. Not wanting any of this to end.

He shakes his head, reaching for the can of whipped cream. “But you know what my ma always said?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about your mother?”

He grins, taking my hand and pressing it against his thick shaft.

“Well, she said there was no problem a little sugar couldn’t fix.” He pushes the canister in my other hand.

And I laugh hard, a laugh that comes from my belly and opens my heart and my eyes.

Hope. That is what Emerson makes me feel.

Because there are secrets and problems and things that won’t be solved in a day or a year or a decade.

But we are still here, living. Breathing. We have a chance. More than a chance. We have love.

And so, I drop to my knees, looking up at my sailor who is about to be shipped to the sea. I smile despite the fear that weighs so heavily on me.

Then I spray that whipped cream onto Emerson’s long cock, running my hand over his velvety shaft, over his tight balls. I lift my eyes, lower my head and taste the sweet, sugary cream.

He runs his hands through my long, bedhead of hair, and I take him more fully, knowing if he is going to be sleeping in the hull of a ship, I want him to rock to sleep with memories of me. Like this, taking care of him.

I came to this wild land not knowing how to be a wife, and in so many ways I am less qualified to be theirs than ever before. But in other ways, I am learning that being a wife begins with learning how to serve another person; how to put them above oneself.

I widen my mouth, taking all of Emerson, my lips wrapped tightly around his shaft, knowing that serving him is a joy. An honor. It’s give and take.

And now, I give. My hand is on his firm ass, drawing him closer as I suck him. I feel his veiny length harden, his hands still in my hair. He’s close, and I want him to press hard against me, want his release to slide down my throat and fill my belly. I want his salty come to fill my mouth. I want his manhood to imprint itself on my lips.

While he is gone, I want to remember Emerson for the man he is, the wife he has allowed me to become. His. The moment changes from something erotic to something deeper and real. Emerson looks in my eyes, and he feels it too.

“Elskede,” he tells me after his body is spent, and I wipe my mouth, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Our coffee is cold, and the berries forgotten. He kisses my lips softly and says, “I am yours.”

I nod. He isn’t the only one who went looking up old Norse words after our conversation in the shower a few weeks ago when I traced the lines of his tattoos. I may not be a linguist, but I want to be Emerson’s.

“And you, min skatt,” I tell him. “Are mine.”