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Why in hell had Truxton touched her? Not once since Tynisha had left him at the altar had she made an attempt to contact him. So why had he abandoned his post to run his big, dumb ass outside to scoop her luscious body up and into his arms? Because his dick had started daydreaming about pussy for lunch and this was his one chance to hold her again.
“Tynisha. Be still,” he snapped. If she brushed her juicy ass against his cock again, he might just cream his damn pants. How the fuck would that go over for a second, first impression.
Ty gave him a questioning look. “That fool just threw me down. And now, you’re yelling at me?”
Other than a smudge of her shorts, she looked okay, but he had to be sure.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. Since Ty’s unplanned departure, he hadn’t buried his cock in anything other than his five-fingered Peggy le Palm. Having his arms filled with warm woman was a test he might just fail.
Yeah, whipped as vanilla cake batter with rainbow sprinkles and proud of it, fuck you every much. Maybe he’d never had her love, but he’d commanded her body. But now, having her this close had him tearing at the invisible leash. His cock was dangerously close to breaking free.
“Why is your face all twisted up? You hurt?”
Hell yeah. Truxton’s dry dick was wailing the blues louder that B.B. King. He knew she would keep digging if allowed. She needed a distraction. An argument.
“My dick has a headache. Now, stop with the questions.”
Based on the wide eyes, and the “no he just didn’t expression, he assumed her pain was manageable and her attitude was on the rise.
Well, some gravel clung to her left knee, an angry red abrasion visible. Hell, hot metal had ripped through her leg and she’d battled Satan and the federal government to remain on active duty. A tumble from a bike wouldn’t break her, but damn, he wanted to be here for her.
“Ah...dick headaches. You know...I’ve suffering with these cunt cramps.”
He refused to laughed. They should be talking about more serious shit. Sex was an easy side road around their issues. But damn, his heart soared that she could still match his wit.
“Keep talking. You’ll be butt naked and working my cock till your pansy ass, screaming ass, boyfriend pedals his pastel-wearing ass back here.” In truth, Truxton wouldn’t let her go for heaven or hell.
And what do you know... that brought a smile to her face.
“Your crazy is showing,” she smirked, those delectable lips curling into a pouty mouth. Damn, he remembered the feel of them downing his cock.
“He ran off and left you,” Truxton hissed. “So, it’s you in my arms or I find your boyfriend and whip his ass?” He’d probably do both.
She gazed up at him, eyes narrowed.
“Your...arms,” she stated. “And, he isn’t my boyfriend.”
Don’t take the bait. He could think of a dozen reasons to ignore the statement. Make sure she’s okay, and then initiate an adult conversation about their relationship. Yes, they had a connection that her leaving him at the altar did not severe. Be the good guy.
Fuck that.
Good guys ended up alone eating Hungry Man frozen dinners and spending the weekends watching Magnum PI with their mamas. He wanted answers, but a wreaking ball of fear kept kicking him in the balls.
“What the fuck are you doing with him?” Not as adult as he had hoped for, but hey-shit happens.
Ty bristled at his tone, her brows dropping low. “Trying to get a glimpse of your hostile ass.” She shoved at his chest. Of course, he didn’t budge. “Put me down.”
“No. And the others?” Truxton demanded, watching the warmest brown eyes he’d ever seen, darken to a sexy dark chocolate. What if everything he felt was based on a fantasy he’d created in his head? Lots of GIs talked about the girl back home waiting on them to stay sane.
When charred earth, sore feet, and screams in the night awaited each day, the dream of a woman holding a man in her heart could help a soldier to fight until it was time to go home.
“Cover,” she admitted.
So, she’d been waiting for him too. “You fuck any of them?”
“No,” she said immediately, maintaining eye contact.
Truxton released a sigh of relief. The only riding happening between her and them began and ended on a triangle seat.
He gave a stiff nod. “So you still prefer my kind of rough.”
The only thing remotely polished in Truxton’s life had four rims and steering wheel. Having grown up the oldest in a lower middle-class Southern family where both parents worked, it had been his responsibility to care for his sisters.
Cajoling Paige and Adrienne to stay where he could see them, start their homework, if not finish it, eat, and clean up without tears or burning down their three-bedroom house had been a forty-hour work week. The feeding part turned out to be a lot easier than keeping two fast-growing young women safe. In those days, high-paying blue-collar labor had started its decline. Sons of America’s manufacturers had easy conservation, limited futures, and a keen eye for a fresh face.
“As much as you love my kind of nasty when you’re balls deep inside me,” she whispered.
He released an audible groan.
The military had been his ticket out of a bleak destiny. The woman in his arms was supposed to be his reward for honoring his parents, protecting his sisters, and serving his country. He guessed two out of three could be considered a good deal. “And after we fuck?”
Ty grumbled, her furrow slicing through the space between her brows. She never cared for anyone, even her fiancé, taking it upon themselves to infer what she might do.
Before she carved out her pound of ham meat, his bobbing cock reminded him to climb one mountain at a time. “Forget I asked. There’s a couch in my office. I’m going to need a lot of pussy if we’re going to fight all damn day.”
“Damn, Truxton,” she shook her head. “Rough is an understatement.”
“What? I was serious about my dick needing immediate attention. You will fix this,” he rumbled, looking down as if they both could see his pulsing rod. She was in his arms, and there she would stay.
“You don’t have to bark at me, Truxton. I remember the couch, and we don’t need a fight to fix things between us, right?” her voice softened before trailing off.
Why did she have to say it like that all breathy at the end? The couch had been a leftover from his days in the Army. The dents he and Ty had placed in that piece of furniture. The rhythmic thud as her hips bucked, the fluid bounce of tits as he slammed into her tight slit qualified the La-Z-Boy with the sturdy frame for an Olympic medal.
“Right,” he echoed. What the hell? So she was good with things proceeding as planned or was this some fucked up memory lane stroll that ended with them apart... again.
“We had some good times after all the bumping and pumping,” she gave him a wry grin.
“Great times in and out bed,” he agreed.
A part of him wondered if once she left him, she’d forgotten about the late night swims, the early morning walks, the lunchtime blowjobs. His eyes momentarily focused on her face before making a b-line to her mouth. He stared at the plump flesh, the blood rushing to the bulbous head that couldn’t seem to forget how it felt to have her slick heat gripping his shaft. Momentarily blinded by the image of him thrusting between her spread thighs, Truxton loss the ability to form coherent sentences. Definitely whipped.
Clasping both arms around his neck, she reared up. “They were for me, soldier.”
With her mouth close to his ear, Truxton swallowed the rising need to take her. And it would be so easy to lower her plump ass onto his cock. He could fuck her, claim her, at least for the next hour—or two.
“Trux, you okay?”
Immediately he angled his head, turning in the direction of her voice. For the briefest of seconds, her lips brushed against his skin. And there it was, the hint of peppermint on her breath. The sweet hotness, so like the woman herself, fanned out on his cheek luring him back to a place he had no right to visit. How many times had that scent pushed him over the edge, driving him to crash his lips to hers? He wondered how she’d respond if he licked that little dip in her lower lip? The gentle slope had cradled his cock when he plowed into her mouth, ripping those delicious gasps from her throat.
“I thought you’d forgotten everything.”
“I can never forget you.”
She raised her hand to touch him. Truxton wanted her hands on him, had dreamt about his cock surging into her tight wetness. In his fantasy, she dug her nails into his back, cried out his name as pleasure tore through her, and fell into an exhausted sleep in his arms. Reality was a bitch. No version of this urban fantasy would he fool himself into believing they would fuck, and then skipping hand-in-hand to the altar.
“Look,” he said, his voice thick with lust and confusion, “I’ll clean up your leg. If nothing’s sprained, strained, or broken, you stay naked till I’m done with you.”
“Interesting choice of words, Truxton.”
Yeah, because she knew he would never be done with her.
“Be quiet with all your psycho-analytical babble,” he countered. Truxton expected a scowl to appear. Instead mischief sparkled in her dark eyes.
“Make me,” she said low and seductive.
Damn, if she hadn’t sent an invitation to play.
A game had started, and he didn’t even get a jersey. It hadn’t been enough for her to leave him, now she had to toy with him? Her bail out had ripped a hole in his soul so deep, not even he knew if a bottom existed.
“Seriously, you want to challenge me right now? Because I’ll be all up in your ass before you can scream ouch.”
She grinned. “I like the way you make me scream.”
“You’re flirting.” Fucking was easy. Flirting, now that’s evoked emotion in the flirter and the flirtee. Could she really be ready for forever this time? “Did you fall on your head and I missed it? You know when I take you inside, your ass has basically entered the Twilight Zone. I’m not going to let you just walk again, Ty?”
At least she met his eyes. She managed to mask her pain behind a tight smile, but he knew her too well. Uncertainty, embarrassment, and self-loathing simmered under the surface.
“Since when does flirting mean I have a head injury?”
Maybe he wanted her to hurt, feel the stab of humiliation that had sliced through him for every minute he stood at the altar.
“With me... you’re flirting with forever, remember?” he said, the words clipped, “Left my ass at the altar in that damn rented maître’s suit. I swear, my sisters still have a two liter of whip ass with your name on it.”
“I deserve it,” she murmured, voice steady. “And don’t be ridiculous, I’ve always wanted you, but—,”
“But what?” Now she wanted to clam up. He could see the confusion in her mind playing across her features. But then, she exhaled, as if a barrier had collapsed.
“You can do better than a broken Marine with a bum leg and nightmares that seem so damn real,” she rasped, anguish in every word, “that you woke up to my gun pointed at your head.”
Damn. Truxton fell silent at the memory. They had agreed not to talk about that night. Maybe they should have.
“I would never have left you... love bears all things, Ty.”
She nodded. “I know.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and his gut twisted.
“I’m better now... in case you’re wondering. I... I’ve,” she repeated, “been in therapy. It helps.”
In that moment, he felt her pain, shared in the torment her decision had wrought on both of them.
He could tell she struggled to rein in her emotions. But he didn’t need her to save him. He needed her to love him. Dropping his head, he placed a kiss on her forehead. Nothing seductive, more a gesture of acceptance, forgiveness even.
“You ready to come inside?”
Swallowing, she said, “Yeah. I am.”
Shifting her weight, he opened the door to Double Decker’s. It was time to bring his woman home.