Taking Liv to bed was just as exciting this time around as it was the first time.
And despite rule number two, he expected it to be awkward. Uncomfortable, at the very least. Bedtime rituals might seem mundane for most married couples, but for this married couple, it was a milestone. The start of something special.
Scratch that—the continuation of something special. And this time around, he was determined not to fuck it up.
After they’d agreed on the three basic ground rules, there was little conversation beyond the superficial, and certainly nothing venturing into forbidden territory. It was easy and natural, and felt so normal Ash had to pinch himself. He’d probably said more words tonight than he had in the last week. And his face hurt, too. That’s what happens when you never smile, Carrie would tell him. Once you started doing it again, your weakened facial muscles reminded you of what a moody asshole you’ve been.
A full moon hung over Mission Bay when he finally stood and held out a hand, leading her to the master bedroom. Showing no hesitation, she clutched his fingers and followed, her eyes soft with sleep and something else. Something his mission didn’t call for yet. This was a familiar sequence of events for them. Whenever he could spare time from The Unit, they would hole up in their private little love nest, shutting out the world. Talking, laughing, recharging. And making love nonstop.
The only thing hanging over their heads then was the tick of the clock. His clock.
The only thing hanging over their heads now was the sin of the past. His sin.
“You don’t want to…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured toward the king-size bed, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink.
Considering she’d fucked him six ways from Sunday in this room, it was adorable to see her inner prude come out to play.
“Yeah, I want to. More than you know. And we will, eventually.”
“I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes, rifling through a suitcase. “Your mission objectives, blah, blah, blah. Complete and total bullshit.”
A shiny red bra caught his eye first, then a pair of black sheer panties. A pink flash of what looked like garters hit the stack next, then another bra—this one matching the black panties—tossed over top. The mound of underwear grew as she emptied the bag.
Jesus Christ, she was trying to kill him. Or make him come in his pants.
Scooping them up, her arms full of sexy, tiny scraps of lingerie, she stopped to glare before opening the top drawer of the dresser. “Your mission sucks.”
If she was surprised to see her side of the dresser still empty, it didn’t show. Those drawers had been waiting four brutal years for her clothes to come back.
“Oh, how the tides have turned.” Grinning, he headed for the shower while she finished unpacking. “Told you you liked me.”
“It’s your body I like,” she called after him, mumbling, “tease.”
Ash wasn’t stupid. He drew his fair share of female attention, and prior to Liv, capitalized on it whenever the urge hit, a dominant alpha-male gene embedded into his DNA. But only his wife could satisfy him now. Sexually, most definitely, but intellectually as well. She had this kick ass and chew bubble gum attitude that aroused him as much as her world-class tits. Hearing her say she wanted a divorce was like a knife to the heart.
He’d panicked. And Asher Coleson didn’t panic.
Calm and methodical, two steps ahead of the enemy, mindful of how every move would unfold. Dominoes. Before the first one dropped, he knew where the last one would land. And he knew, just fucking knew, that Liv would come back to him. They might be checking into a nursing home when it happened, but he knew it would.
And with one word, she’d kicked his dominoes midfall, sending him reeling.
Divorce.
She should’ve strung him up by his balls, put a bullet through his brain, and gotten it over with—a far more humane way to end his suffering than making him relinquish his one last tie to her. But his elite military training had honed skills few others had, and they came as naturally as breathing. Keen observation was one.
And Liv had a tell. A subtle sign that she was interested. Aroused.
She preened.
Yeah, she’d truss him up by the nut sack right now if he mentioned that juicy tidbit, but the lady preened like a peacock. A pat to her hair. A swipe to smooth her skirt. A quick pucker to plump her lips. Another pat to her hair.
It was a classic case of sexual attraction, no matter how you sliced it, and it inspired a brilliant idea. He’d gotten her to marry him after keeping her in his bed for several days. Maybe he could keep her from divorcing him by doing it again.
But first, he had to tear down her walls.
His head was under a spray of cold water when a wave of air hit his soap-covered body. Liv stared at him, the shower door open and her arms full of bathing paraphernalia. Why it took so many different bottles, tubes, and sponges to take a shower, he’d never know.
“I see you’ve really let yourself go,” she said sarcastically, assessing his body as she set her bath gear on the built-in seat. “Save me some hot water.”
“Not a problem.”
The door closed and he groaned, jacking the faucet to the right, needing a final blast of icy water to kill his erection or he’d be back in here later, jacking something else.
The cold water did him a solid, and he passed the shower off to her with a towel covering his barely tempered cock. After ensuring the condo was locked up for the night, he slipped between the sheets and stacked his hands behind his head, questioning the viability of his mission. His dick said abort. His brain said stay the course.
Walking out of the bathroom wearing white cotton short shorts covered in red hearts and a red tank top, Liv rubbed lotion into her hands before slipping her hideous wedding ring back on. If there was a bra under that tight tank, he’d be a Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Her brows shot up when she finally looked at him. “Oh, hell no.”
“What?”
“You’re naked, that’s what. And thanks to your stupid mission, that’s not gonna work for me. There better be a barrier between that bed sheet and your, uh… equipment,” she finished lamely.
He lifted the white sheet covering him from the waist down, proving he’d slipped on a pair of boxer briefs. The cotton was doing a terrible job keeping him restrained. “For my protection, not yours. My, uh… equipment has been acting up all night.”
Flipping the light switch, the bedroom went dark and she stood there, wearing nothing but moonlight and an adorable pair of pajamas. Her favorite sleepwear, he knew, but only when he was out of town. When he was home, clothing was mutually vetoed. Sexy underwear was awesome, and bonus points for crotchless, but when it came to Liv, lingerie was like a midrare steak served with rosemary sprigs jutting out of it—a pretty embellishment, but unnecessary.
Nothing could drive him wilder, or make him harder, than the sight of his wife as she was now. Long blonde hair in a messy bun, unruly strands trailing down, framing her makeup free face. Creamy smooth skin reminiscent of a hot summer day at the beach, a rich blend of coconut, vanilla, and warm woman.
“Okay, it’s getting all weird up in here.”
He lifted the sheet on her side of the bed. “Get in. I give a good cuddle.”
Hesitating, she settled in delicately, facing away, the covers undisturbed. Grunting his displeasure, he gripped her narrow waist and yanked her back against him, not letting opportunity pass. Their bodies spooned together, he wrapped his arms around her so securely there wasn’t a millimeter of space between them. The Unit wasn’t between them. The vineyard wasn’t between them. The aftermath of tragedy wasn’t between them.
A four-year chasm evaporated and the broken pieces inside him slammed together, jaggedly sealed and gaping, but clinging to the promise of redemption.
“Ash?” Her whisper was tentative.
Heart sinking, he was afraid she’d changed her mind, backing out of the deal. “Yeah?”
“I can’t breathe like this.”
Fuck. She was going to leave him. Again. “Is that a metaphor?”
Her laugh was a garbled choke. “No, I can’t breathe. Like for real, I can’t take a deep breath. You’re holding me too tight.”
He eased up slightly. “Better?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her fingertips traced circles on his arm, the touch hypnotizing.
Closing his eyes, he absorbed her, inhaling her shampoo. Mango. No, pineapple. It smelled like the breeze on inland Maui, their honeymoon destination and go-to getaway when he took leave. Maybe he’d book them a flight and head over for a few weeks, let nostalgia and the aloha spirit aid his cause. Things were quiet at Scorpio. He’d lightened the schedule, not taking any high-risk operations with Sam’s baby coming soon. Instead, he’d loaded the calendar with routine protection details and local assignments. All adrenaline junkies, the guys were bitching about the boredom, but Ash wasn’t letting Sam outside the city limits. He’d restrain the former Army Ranger, if necessary. Ali would need him. If he wasn’t there, it’d be a cumbersome burden he’d carry for life.
Liv folded her hand into his reassuringly. “I’m not gonna leave.”
“Mind reader, huh?”
“You have me in a textbook full-body chokehold. It’s pretty clear you think I’m a flight risk.” Jutting her sweet ass, she pushed him to his back and rolled, tucking herself against him, legs tangling. “I do not intend to flee, your honor. I swear on a stack of Bibles. You can unlock the shackles.”
He chuckled. “There’s nothing honorable about what’s happening a foot from your knee. That thing has a mind of its own.”
Dragging a hand down his bare chest, she reached for his erection, but he stopped her before she made contact. Mumbling her irritation, she obeyed his request.
Christ, he should be anointed to some kind of sainthood. St. Dipshit, maybe. Or St. Dumbass. That suited him. St. Dumbass, the patron saint of men who cockblocked themselves. He’d need a long, billowy robe to hide his raging hard-on.
“Do you ever wonder about it?” she asked haltingly. “Do you ever imagine how our life would’ve been? If everything had gone as planned?”
Her questions shocked him. “All the time.”
Placing a brief, prohibited kiss on his chest, which didn’t help his boner situation, she sighed. “Me, too.”
The hush of night surrounded them, and she was quiet so long, he thought she’d drifted to sleep. Her sweet, southern lilt, barely a whisper, broke the silence. “What do you see?”
Her hopeful voice was tinged with sadness. It broke his heart.
Rubbing her back in slow circles, the motion soothed them both. “I see a messy house in the suburbs. There’s a pool in the backyard and a shiny silver SUV in the garage. Right next to my Jeep.”
“I thought we loved this place.”
She’d asked, so he gave it to her straight. “No choice. We sold the condo a few years back because there’s no lawn and no third bedroom. We need an extra now because there’s blue toys mixed in with pink.”
Her breath caught on a sudden inhale, but she didn’t speak, the harsh silence bringing grim reality. And because of that, he kept talking.
“You put a dozen useless pillows on the bed because it makes you happy. My beauty sleep is delayed by five minutes while I toss them on the floor and you read me the riot act because the dog lays on them all night. I do all the grocery shopping and answer the door on Halloween because you hate both equally. You microwave your steak after I grill it because you know I can’t bear to cook a steak past bloody, and for you, well done isn’t done enough. I replace the batteries in the smoke detector every month because you burn scented candles without proper supervision, along with the occasional dinner. And you do all the laundry so I don’t wear the same dirty clothes for a month straight and remind me when I need to shave so I’m not mistaken for the Unabomber.”
“We have a dog?”
“Of course. Also, the neighbors think you’re a sex addict because you can’t keep your hands off me, even during holiday block parties. Plus, you’re a screamer.”
She laughed, the sound music to his ears. “That’s the burbs for you. Open windows and nosy neighbors. You know that bitch Sheila who lives across the street and only wears sports bras and yoga pants? She is so jealous of me.”
“You mean the chick with fake tits and a camel toe? No wonder she’s always asking me to check her oil.”
“But you never do, because I’m the only woman on earth who can make you rock hard, and because you value your balls. And,” she added pointedly, “both of those reasons are also why you eat your slightly charred dinner every night with a smile.”
“Right on all counts, darlin’.”
“Then we bathe the rowdy owners of those blue and pink toys, and you put them to bed while I drink a whole bottle of Riesling, raid my secret stash of chocolate, and obsess over my non-existent thigh gap.”
“What’s a thigh gap?”
“Because you have no idea what a thigh gap is, nor the knowledge that after pink toys and blue ones, too, I no longer have one, I reward you. I make good on my promise to blow you for cleaning up blue toy’s vomit after a nasty bug hits our outrageously expensive daycare.”
“Liv?”
“Yeah?”
“In all my visions of our future, I’ll be the first to admit, you were blowing me a lot. A lot,” he repeated with emphasis. “And at times, it did get messy. The sexy kind of messy. But I was never once cleaning up puke.”
“Oh, there’s more than just puke, soldier. In my visions, you get out the garden hose, set the sprayer to flood, and make a backyard water game out of what you’ve cleverly coined, a shit shower. This all occurs while I’m at work, of course, but luckily, blue toy is a tattletale. I then bribe the neighbors with cases of free wine so they don’t call CPS.”
He groaned at the visual, though the shit shower idea had potential. “Maybe moving to suburbia was a bad idea.”
“Hey, you’re the one that added blue toys on top of the pink.” Her body stiffened when she realized what she’d said, a heavy silence settling over them. At a loss, he was almost relieved to hear her stricken whisper. “I don’t wanna play this game anymore.”
Rolling to face her, he rested his head on her pillow. Gray light from the full moon slanted across the room, reflecting in her tear-filled eyes. She closed them, hiding the evidence, and when they opened a second later, a smile greeted him.
She cupped his bristled cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He ignored the crack in his voice.
“For wanting the same future I once wanted. For dreaming the same dream I once did. You would’ve made me so happy, Ash. We would’ve had a long, lovely life.”
“Jesus, Liv.” Despite skin-to-skin contact, the divide between them opened up again, the past pressing heavily. “We can still have that dream.”
“No.” Her smile was sad. “We can’t.”
“I still want that dream, damn it.” There was anger in the vehement plea. And fierce desperation. “I’m gonna fight you for it.”
“No.” Her mouth covered his in a panic, the quick kiss cutting off any comeback. She drew back long enough to add, “I’m not strong enough to go through that again.”
Then she gripped his face, sealing her lips over his in a hot, hurried kiss, full of passion and desperation. The taste of her, so acutely absent from his life, set his body on fire. The teasing glide of her tongue went from tentative to certain as they dueled for control, the wanton way she dominated the action so erotic, so powerful, he was under her spell in five seconds flat.
Aborting the mission and stamping it a complete fail was a real possibility. If she took that mouth downward and gave his eager cock the same thorough tongue lashing, it was a certainty. But sex wasn’t happening tonight. The purpose of his mission was a happy ending that went well beyond blowing his load on night number one. Although, he might need medical attention for an erection lasting longer than a doctor deemed healthy.
“No,” she whispered again, throwing her head back, rocking her core against his thigh.
“Yes,” he insisted, his mouth finally free to counter her denial. “Toys, pillows, puke. And love.” Boldly stating it the final answer, he inhaled the summery scent clinging to her skin, kissing along the column of her neck. When he sucked that sensitive spot that always made her hum, she shuddered, performing on command.
“No.” Gasping the denial, she clutched his forearm, pushing his hand down the front of her body, under the sheet. “No to all of it.”
Licking along her plump bottom lip, he groaned, touching the hot skin of her flat belly. “Yes.”
Frantic, she fumbled with the tie on her shorts, and once the fabric gave way, he shoved his hand past the waistband. Feather soft, free of panties and bare but for a small, trimmed triangle, he obeyed her silent order. Dipping his fingers into her sopping heat, a lightning bolt shot straight to his cock and he almost came right then.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Panting, she clawed at his shoulders, hips arching into his touch.
Her nails bit skin as he caressed her slippery folds, circling her clit before sliding a finger inside her gripping sheath. Groaning against her mouth, he smiled in sheer appreciation.
Hot. Wet. Tight. His dirtiest fantasy in the flesh.
A hundred years apart couldn’t change that.
Willing his erection to stand down, he added another finger and massaged her inner walls, knowing her body as well as his own. The angle, the depth, the pressure she liked.
Yes, yes, yes. Spurred on by her repeated chants, there was no stopping now. Whether she was agreeing to the dream, or to him making her come harder than she had in four years, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Not lacking confidence, both were a done deal in his mind.
“Now.” Whimpering, she gasped her demand against his mouth, hips bucking. “Now, Ash.”
Swiping his thumb across her clit, he rubbed tiny circles over the target, whispering encouragement. She clamped down, convulsing powerfully against his fingers, the rising volume of her moans in sync with each internal pulse as she gifted him a stunningly beautiful climax.
Cupping her possessively long after her whimpers faded and she drifted into a satisfied sleep, he slid his hand free, careful not to wake her but keeping her tucked close.
“Yes,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “No matter what it takes, yes.”
Yes to the future. Yes to the dream. Yes to the power of penance.