CHAPTER

13

Marianne licked her lips, feeling quite pleased with herself. She was the one down on her knees, but if she had to guess, she’d say that Brad was the one who was ready to fall over and worship her. That was the true fantasy. The power switch, the feeling of ultimate supremacy. This unbelievably strong man, consumed by her, at her mercy, and willingly giving up the moment to her own hands.

She wasn’t exactly into power play or anything like that. But every so often, a fantasy was nice to indulge in.

“Now that,” she said with a smile as she stood, “was a nice training session. Do you need me to stretch you out now?”

“I need you to go grab a condom and get your sweet ass back here,” he growled. “I’d do it, but my legs seem to have stopped working. You can give me an exam when I’m through with you.”

She grinned, hustled to her room and came back with the handful of condoms. When she tossed them on her coffee table, they scattered. A few fell to the floor. He raised a brow.

“How many times do you intend on using me tonight?”

“As many as I can.” She made him lift his ass and she pulled his shorts off his legs to give her better access. Then she pulled her own pants down. Straddling him, she kissed him again. Hard this time. No slow seduction, just a tough, primal meeting of two people whose sexual needs matched each other’s.

“The second you’re recovered, I want you inside me,” she whispered. He groaned, and she knew then he was a man who wanted some dirty talk. She wasn’t exactly a pro at it, but she wasn’t squeamish, either. “I’m wet for you,” she tried, gauging his response.

His cock twitched against her thigh. On the right track.

Kissing her way to his ear, she murmured, “I need you thrusting inside me. So hard, you can’t stop or slow down, even if you’re going to beat me to the next climax. I need you helpless with wanting me. Unable to see straight.”

Two fingers speared inside her, surprising her into a quick gasp. She hadn’t felt his arm move. But now she did. His fingers worked her inside, his thumb massaging her clit until she was moments away from her own orgasm.

Then he pulled back and reached around her for one of the condoms. Quick work to don one, and he gripped her hips to lift her up and settle her back down over his erection. They both sighed with pleasure when she was fully around him.

She started to move, but he held her still.

“Just . . . sit with me. For a minute, just sit with me.”

The peaceful request was another surprise. He lifted her shirt up, but not over her head like she’d assumed. Just enough to bare her breasts. He palmed her back and urged her into him until her nipple fed into his mouth. He sucked, nipped and played lazily, like they weren’t actually already having sex. As if they had an entire day free to do nothing but play with each other.

And they did, sort of, didn’t they? Neither of them had work in the morning, and nobody had a curfew. They could take as much time as they wanted with each other.

Brad nuzzled his way to her other breast and worked the tip until she was panting and trying desperately to move her hips. But he held her firm. If anything, it felt as though his cock was still swelling inside her, with no friction at all.

“I could spend hours on these babies.” He cupped them both, brought them together like she was wearing a push up bra, and kissed the warm flesh. “You probably know you’ve got a great rack, right?”

She snorted out a laugh. “I’ve never thought of it quite like that, but if you say so.” His hands kneaded her breasts, and then finally—finally—his hips thrust gently against hers. “Thank you, God.”

He chuckled and held her tight to him, kissing her as their lower bodies worked together. She threw in a hip swivel every so often to mix things up, and he held her down a few times to keep her from moving too fast. He wanted it to last, he said. Make it last.

And maybe she hadn’t been the one in power after all. When she thought she’d gained playful dominance, he’d turned the tables on her and controlled things, even from the bottom. He manipulated the pace to keep them both wanting, panting, desperate for more. The man’s self-control was legendary.

But like a shaken bottle of soda, there came a point where her orgasm wasn’t going to hold off any longer. “Brad, I can’t . . . I can’t stop it.”

Her shaky tone must have registered because he let her fly. Let her work the pace she needed in order to pull the cork and let her climax free. Head back, hands clutching his shoulders, she surrendered to the orgasm she’d been waiting for.

He suckled one nipple while he came again, prompted, she knew, by her own finish.

As she slumped against him, her breathing still irregular, she knew whatever they had had long since moved past being about sex.

*   *   *

BRAD watched as Marianne slept. She wasn’t what he’d call a sleeping beauty. He grinned at that. Come to think of it, she was more like a sleeping disaster. Her ice blonde hair was draped half over her eyes, her face bore creases from the pillow and she was drooling, just a little.

The fact he found it endearing more than horrifying was a good sign shit had truly changed for him.

And speaking of that change . . . they needed to talk.

He caught a glimpse of the clock on her nightstand. It was still not quite six in the morning. She’d probably murder him for doing it, but he craved her enough to take the risk.

And his craving wasn’t just for her sweet body.

“Marianne,” he whispered, hoping to slowly drag her out of sleep. “Come on, sweetheart, time to talk.”

She mumbled something and turned away from him.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He pulled on her shoulder until she was flat on her back. “Open up those beautiful eyes for me.”

He bent down to nibble at her neck, and she swatted him in the face. “What the hell?” Rearing back, he realized she was still unconscious to the world. He grumbled about uncooperative women, then made her sit up. “Up and at ’em, sweets. We need to chat.”

“Die.”

The word came out like gravel run through a coffee grinder. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no can do. I’m pretty sure even your stellar training skills can’t bring a guy back from the dead. Just chat with me a bit.”

Eyes still glued shut, she slapped at his hands, which were pulling the sheet away. “Die,” she said more firmly. “It’s not even light out, and it’s our day off. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“How can you tell it’s not light out when you won’t open your eyes?”

“There’s no light bleeding through my eyelids. I need more sleep.”

Smoothing down one side of her messy hair, he dodged another elbow. “We can talk and go right back to bed.”

“How about we skip the talk and you take a long walk off a short bridge?” She kicked at him and tried to lie back down, but he caught her and kept her upright.

“Nope, not happening, Naps McGee. Come here.” He made space for her in the crook of his arm, and she snuggled there like a contented kitten.

“You’re an ass,” she said on a sigh.

“Probably. But give the ass a minute before you kick him out, would you? I want to talk about how we’re handling things outside of the bedroom.”

“I thought we made my couch very proud.” A tiny smile kicked up the corner of her lips. He kissed the corner. She’d yet to open her eyes.

“No doubt there. But I meant more generally, how we’re handling this in public. As in, what are we disclosing to people?”

She tensed up, and he hated to lose that loose, warm, snuggling Marianne. But in an instant, the no-nonsense athletic trainer Marianne took her place. She eased out of his hold and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands before blinking them open. It was sort of like watching a mole emerge from being underground for three weeks or something.

“Okay.” She blinked rapidly, then focused on the clock. “You’re a dead man when this is over.”

“Understood.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, looking disgusted when they caught on the snarls. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she muttered, but kept thinking. “Okay. I guess the real question is, what is there to disclose?”

She said it in a businesslike tone, as if she were asking him for expense reports from last quarter. He knew that wasn’t how she viewed them and their situation, but it was still a tad unnerving how she was able to shift back and forth between the lover and the trainer so quickly. “Well, we’re having sex.”

“We are.” She looked at the two dented pillows behind them. “Good sex.”

“No arguments here. But,” he said firmly, and took hold of one of her hands, kissing the palm, “I’d like more than that.”

She watched her hand as her fingers curled slowly over the area he’d kissed. “So would I.”

“Two for two there. Sounds like we’ve got something to disclose. I’m not sure who your supervisor is, but I would assume you have one.”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Sounds familiar.” He thought back to his chain of command at his home base and smiled. “There’s never a lack of leadership in the military, is there?”

“Brad, it . . .” She sighed and rubbed her hands over her arms. “It worries me. I’ve got plans for after this. I’m really trying to lead into a career with a professional team. How’s it going to look that I’m known for sleeping with the athletes I’m working with?”

“You’re not sleeping with me, you’re dating me. We’re a thing. And unless there are others—which you said there weren’t—”

“There aren’t,” she agreed quickly.

“Then I’m a one-off. I’m your special snowflake.” He grinned when she groaned, grabbed her pillow and hit him with it. “And besides, if we’re dating, then that means you’re not exactly available to be hanging all over pro athletes, doesn’t it?”

“Women cheat.”

“Not my woman,” he said firmly, and she groaned all over again. “Sorry. Had to.”

“You can just ‘had to’ right out of here.”

“No way. You said we could sleep in.”

“And you woke me up. You broke the Day Off rules. On purpose. To talk about serious stuff, no less. You don’t break the Day Off rules unless someone’s life is at stake.”

“Day Off rules . . .” he said slowly, a question in his voice.

She held up a fist, started ticking off numbers with her fingers. “One, you don’t set an alarm or get out of bed until your body has caught up on as much sleep as it can stomach. Two, you spend as much time being as slothful as you physically can be. Three, you don’t cook elaborate meals. PB and J are your best buddies on your day off. There are more, but you get the idea. You woke me up. You broke the rule.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He eased her back, and her eyes drifted closed again, as if she were a doll whose eyelids were designed to close when flat on its back. “Just lie down, and dream of admitting to others you are sleeping with a god.”

She pinched his stomach, and he yelped. But then she settled back against him and sighed with contentment.

He knew the feeling. With a kiss to the top of her head, he let himself drift again. Now that they’d taken care of the whole “disclosure” portion of their relationship, they could move forward.

Because with Marianne Cook, forward was exactly where he wanted to go.

*   *   *

MARIANNE tossed the knife in the sink and smiled at her PB and J. Her one regret was that Brad had left and wouldn’t be sharing her sloth-like lunch with her. He’d had errands to run, as well as wanting to check on Tibbs and make sure he was feeling okay after his additional workout the night before. He promised to come back later, though, this time with a pile of laundry.

Just like a little domestic couple. Doing laundry on a Sunday evening while watching a movie or TV. The thought should have made her gag, but it only made her grin wider.

For now, she had two choices. Eat her lunch of a sandwich and a bag of chips at the coffee table while she watched some of her DVR’d shows, or take it back to her bedroom and surf Facebook and Pinterest while she ate.

Pinterest won. She loved finding inspirational quotes and pictures. When she had her own training room again—a permanent space—she wanted it decked out in quotes for the athletes to read through while they iced or got their massages or just hung out, talking.

She had just set the plate down on the comforter when she heard her front door open. Since she’d locked it after Brad, she knew the only other person possible was . . .

“Marianne! Your car was in the parking lot.”

“Be there in a sec, Mom.” She grabbed the lunch and headed back out. Looked like she’d be eating on the couch after all. Her mother was standing in the living room, waiting. When she saw Marianne enter, her eyes widened.

“Oh, my Lord. What in the world have you done to yourself?”

She glanced down at her sweatpants and tank and shrugged. “Woke up?” She sat on one end of the couch, legs curled under her, and took a bite of her sandwich.

“It’s noon, sweetheart. You just woke up?”

“Day off.” Marianne took a big bite of her sandwich and grinned around the flopping crust. Her mother winced.

“You look a bit . . . rough, sweetheart.” Her mother sat more delicately on the opposite end of the couch. “There are adorable Marines all over this apartment complex, you know.”

“And none of them are looking in my window, so no problem.” No way in hell was she going to mention she’d just had an adorable Marine in her bed not three hours ago, and he hadn’t minded her being “rough” at all.

In fact, he might have liked her even more when she was rough.

“Marianne, what’s that smile for?”

“Hmm?” She glanced up from her plate to find her mother staring at her. “What?”

“Nothing. I came by to . . .” Mary trailed off, and she glanced down under the coffee table.

A moment too late, Marianne realized what her mother was reaching for. “No, don’t. I’ll get it . . . later,” she finished as her mother pulled two condom packets from under the table and held them with two fingers.

“Do I . . .” Her mother cleared her throat and set them on the empty table. In the middle, as if they were a freaking home decor item. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

Her mother stared at them for a moment. “Will you be embarrassed if I say I’m glad you’re having some fun?”

“Yes,” Marianne said immediately. Shut it down, shut it down. Abort. Abort. “Yes, I absolutely will.”

Mary shot her a disbelieving look. “You know that won’t stop me. So, who is he?”

Marianne rolled her eyes and settled back against the armrest.

“Have we met him before? Old friend from high school?”

In response, she smiled blandly and took a large bite of her sandwich. Couldn’t answer with her mouth full, could she? No. That would be rude.

“He’s not a Marine,” her mother mused, using one finger to spin one shiny foil packet like it was a freaking top. “You were never really into that type. Maybe—”

“Please, God, strike me now.”

“Fine, fine.” Her mother huffed. “Just thought we could have a nice conversation.”

“Could it not involve those?” Marianne asked, and pointed at the table.

“If you insist. Though I must commend you on your safety.”

“Okay!” Marianne popped up and snatched the condoms, crumpling them in her fist. Her neck burned. “How about I shower, and we can go do whatever it is you came over here to drag me out for?”

“Shop. I wanted to know if you wanted to run down to Wilmington to shop.” Her mother stood and glanced around the room. Marianne could all but see the wheels churning in Mary’s head. Her mother was trying to place where they’d had sex for them to need condoms under the coffee table. The sooner she shuttled Mary out of her apartment, the better.

“Sounds great. I love shopping. Shopping is good. Shopping, shopping, shopping!”

Mary eyed her curiously. “Are you sick?”

“Nope. I’m just excited to spend time with you, you know, shopping.” Honestly, she hated shopping. It wasn’t fun, she never found something that fit her short frame without being tailored, and she’d rather spend her money on other things. But at this point, anything to get her mother out of the porn palace.

“I’ll just wait at the table. Can I get a glass of water?” Her mother was still watching her, as if concerned for her welfare.

“Sure. Great. I’ll just . . .” Marianne’s eye caught on one more wrapped condom on the floor, and she snatched it up too. “I’ll . . .” Damn, another. And another. She sucked at life. “I’ll be back.” There was no way she was playing Find The Condoms on the floor of her apartment while her mother watched. Resigned, she tossed the lot of them in the fruit bowl next to the apples and left her plate in the sink before rushing to the bathroom.

“Is he at least cute?” her mother called out as she reached the bathroom door.

“Cute? No,” she said after a second’s hesitation. “He’s sex in shorts.”

Her mother’s airy laugh followed her through the closed door.