“You’re a dirty cheater, Red.” Marak throws his cards down on the table. He grabs his soda can and chugs the last little bit. “I’m not playing with you anymore. You’ve probably got an ace in your bra.”
Marak was chosen to stay the night with me. No one explained to me how it was decided, but by the time I got back to the living room with blankets and pillows, Maverick and Allistar were ready to head out. There was a small pang of disappointment when I had to say goodbye to them, just as there was when Syn left with Grumpy, but the excitement of time with Marak dispelled any grouchiness.
One delivered pizza, four beers, two sodas, and a few hours later, the two of us find ourselves playing cards on the floor of my living room. Something new about Marak came to light in the last few rounds of our game—he’s a horrible loser. He really gets pissy about it. I find it hilarious and adorable. He doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do, and he throws popcorn at me every time I laugh at his frustration.
“Marak.” I snort, desperate to keep the giggles in. “It’s Go Fish. An ace wouldn’t do me any good, and it’s really not a hard game.”
He harrumphs and crosses his arms. My attention leaves his icy gray eyes, traveling down to his torso. He isn’t as built as Maverick or Allistar, but he has a bit more bulk than Syn. None of the guys are small, and none of them are weak. It’s clear they take great care of their bodies, giving me something fun to stare at. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Huh?” Whatever he said went right over my head while my focus was on his body. Luckily, he’s too bitchy to notice where my attention was.
“I said we should try a different game.”
I bark out a hard laugh. “We’ve tried poker, gin, war, and go fish. You’ve said the same thing about all of them. Maybe you should just admit failure and call it a night.”
“I’ll never admit defeat.” His eyes narrow. “But it is late, we might want to think about sleeping.”
“Not a bad idea. I have to be up early to pack my stuff, anyway.”
Hopping to my feet, I stretch my hands over my head and yawn. Marak’s eyes travel slowly down my body, with a quick pause where my shirt rides up to show a small bit of skin, then continues down to my legs. Maybe the leggings that hug every curve were a bad idea. Or a good idea, depending on what he thinks.
A thought occurs to me and takes any heat from my body. When was the last time I shaved my damn legs? My first night home, I’d taken an hour-long bath and pampered myself, but since then, I don’t think I’ve touched my legs. Unless Marak has a thing for Chewbacca, he can’t come near me right now. Not that he would want to, but why risk it?
“Okay, you have the blankets and stuff. You know where everything is, help yourself if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.” My words leave in a rush as I back down the hallway.
Marak frowns at my odd retreat. My door swings closed with him in the same spot, scratching the back of his neck and arching a brow.
Thank the architect who designed this place for the Jack and Jill style bathroom. One door leads in from the hallway, but it can easily be locked. I can avoid Marak by using the entrance from my bedroom. Clearly, I need a long, cold shower and a thorough shave. Maybe I’ll dry my hair, too. It doesn’t make a huge difference when I use the blow dryer, but it adds a bit of shine to my long auburn waves.
My hair came from my mother’s side of the family, as did most of my features. I refuse to say that woman gave anything to me. My looks came from Grumpy and Grammy, not my mom. My whole life, my Grammy told me my mother and I could be twins. She showed me pictures of my mom as a baby, a young child, an older kid, and a teen. Our pictures compared side-by-side would be hard for anyone to tell apart. The only thing my biological father gave me was my hazel green eyes. Grumpy met my father one time before I was born. He said my eyes are exactly the same as my father’s.
While in the shower, my mind wanders to the phone calls from my mother. She heard from someone that I was fine, and she started calling around my third day home. She left a few messages before she gave up, probably realizing I wasn’t going to answer her. She didn’t ask about my safety; she didn’t want to know if I needed her. She only wanted to know if there were any new rich men in my life she could steal from or hustle money out of. She phrased it in a more covert way, of course, but the intent was clear—Mommy needs her special juice, and she’s drained all of her resources.
Somehow, the two most amazing people in the entire world managed to raise one of the worst. My father had a lot to do with her downward spiral. He got her into drugs and alcohol in her teens. Grumpy and Grammy tried their hardest to get her help, but she refused. When she turned eighteen there was nothing they could do legally to help her. Luckily, they could take me from her, though. If they couldn’t save her, they would at least save me. For a while they hoped she’d turn her life around for me, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.
Maybe some girls would want their mother to come back into their lives and become the perfect mom. It isn’t something I ever wanted, though. Grammy was the best mother figure any girl could ever hope for, and I never wanted for anything or anyone more. My upbringing was average to most, but it was perfect in my eyes.
By the time I climb into bed, hair blown dry and legs smooth, my mind won’t stop racing. While I manage to push thoughts of my birth parents out of my mind, a million other things jump forward, demanding to be sorted through. All I want to do is sleep; I love sleep. But too many things are happening all at once, and as hard as I try, I can’t sort through them and find some serenity.
The clock on my phone reads four in the morning, and my irritation grows. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and I fully admit I’m a bitch if I don’t get enough sleep.
While I could stay in bed and ruin my covers with my tossing and turning, I decide to head to the kitchen for a drink instead. It may help my mind calm the hell down and allow me to sleep finally. With Marak on my couch, going slow and quiet is the polite thing to do. My steps are small, measured, and slightly exaggerated. Sneaking around my house isn't exactly a hobby of mine, but I’ve seen enough spy movies. I manage to clear the hallway and nearly reach the kitchen when a floorboard under my foot creaks loudly. I freeze in place and wait to see if Marak wakes up.
"Maybe I should start calling you Thunder Foot instead of Red." Marak's voice doesn't sound sleepy at all, and I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn't slept yet either.
Deflating from my tense ninja position, I spin and flip on the hall light. "My sleuthing skills are a little rusty."
"What are you doing sneaking around your own house?" Marak sits up, dropping one foot to the floor and folding the other in front of him as he sits sideways on the couch. The blanket covering him pools around his waist, his bare torso on display.
My mouth dries up, and all coherent thoughts leave me. Marak may not be the bulkiest out of his group of friends, but his smooth, muscled chest and abs cause my heart rate to speed up. He doesn’t have any hair on his chest or stomach. The urge to check the rest of his body for hair, or lack thereof, nearly overwhelms me.
“You okay, Red?”
His words snap me back from the dirty path my mind was going, and I force my gaze up to meet his icy gray stare. “Ah, yeah. I was just getting water.”
His brows shoot up. “Water? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink water.”
His surprise at my choice of beverage brings out a grin. “I already brushed my teeth for the night. I don’t feel like doing it again, so I have to stick with water. It’s difficult, but I’ll manage for one night.”
“Remind me to stock our fridge with the pretty silver and red cans you love so much.” He winks, and I smirk.
“Probably a good idea if you guys want any hope of living through the next... however long I’ll be there.” As I talk, I head to the fridge and grab a bottle of water then hold it up, silently asking if he wants one. He shakes his head.
With a quick twist, the cap pops off, and I stroll over to the couch. My dramatic plop down to face him brings out a chuckle. I turn my body to match Marak’s position with one leg bent in front of me and the other foot on the floor. “Can’t sleep either, huh?”
“Too wound up,” he admits, stretching his arms above his head, his body on display once again. He probably does it on purpose, to light my body on fire from my core out. His eyes close as he stretches, and when they open again, the innocence of his move shows. His beanie is now gone, and I can make out his light brown hair, longer than I expected. It parts to the side naturally and falls to his chin, though he continues to push it back and out of his eyes. Maybe the length is the reason he wears the beanie, but I happen to love how long it is. My hands itch to run over his hair and down his body, satisfying my curiosity of how it would feel.
He has no freaking idea what he’s doing to me. “Yeah, me too.”
“What’s on your mind?”
I shake my head, not sure where to start. “You first.”
He shrugs. “Just can’t sleep when I’m supposed to be on watch. It’s a habit, I guess.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Marak.” My defensive side rears its ugly head.
“I know, calm yourself, woman.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not watching you, I’m watching for the bad guys. I don’t want to get caught off guard by them either.”
“Oh.” A blush stains my cheeks at my overreaction. Hoping to change the subject, I say the first thing that pops into my head, “So, if we can’t sleep what should we do?” Marak wiggles his eyebrows and gives me a wicked smile, making me laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“By you, just now.” He smirks as I roll my eyes.
A moment of silence passes between us, but it isn’t awkward. Marak makes any situation comfortable. It’s the humor he adds to everything or how comfortable he is to hang out with and do nothing.
“Do you have a wife or a girlfriend?” The question pops out of my mouth before my brain can tell me to shut the hell up. It’s a toss-up if Marak is more shocked than me by my bold question. His eyes widen into saucers, mirroring my own.
He doesn’t respond for a few long, horrifying seconds. At first, the thought of running away to hide under a rock appeals to me, but he finally decides to do something other than gape. “I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.” His surprise morphs into mild curiosity. His eyebrows lower from his hairline and his lips twitch with amusement. “Do you think I’d be hanging out on your couch if I did?”
His question makes sense, but it never occurred to me until he asked. “It’s part of your job, isn’t it?”
“No, Red.” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes burning into mine. “It’s not at all just part of the job. We could easily have left you here with the cop out front as your security. We had nothing but a fucked-up phone call as evidence the guy was close to you. For me and my team, it’s enough. For the rest of the bureau, it’s not jack shit to go on.”
In other words, they decided to go above and beyond the call of duty in order to keep me safe. They take their work seriously. It does make me wonder how many girls they’ve done things like this for. My stomach twists when I think of them hanging out with a bunch of girls, sleeping on their couches and flirting with them.
“Taylor.” My name brings my eyes up to meet Marak’s. “It’s not something we do on a regular basis. And we sure as hell never asked a girl to stay with us so we can protect her.”
The ability to hide my inner turmoil clearly isn’t my strong suit. Marak basically read my mind, and I didn’t say a damn word. “I’m not sure I understand this whole situation, to be honest with you. You guys aren’t responsible for me. Why go out of your way?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again a few times before finally choosing his words. “I have no clue. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
My ladylike scoff earns me a laugh. He leans forward, giving my bare knee a playful squeeze. My gaze drops to his hand, and he freezes his movements. He doesn’t remove his hand, and I don’t stop him from running his fingers up a few inches to my thigh and drawing light patterns across my skin.
After my shower, I slipped on some thin cotton sleep shorts and a matching white tank top. It kills me to be overly warm while I sleep, so most of my pajamas consist of thin materials and little fabric. Even in the dead of winter, I wear the same thing to sleep.
The touch of Marak’s hand on my skin sets my body on fire. It isn’t a shy blush kind of heat, more of a sex-deprived inferno.
“I’m curious.” Marak’s voice is deeper than before. My eyes bounce up to find his playfulness has changed to a lustful glint. He doesn’t break our eye contact as his hand inches farther up my leg, and he leans closer to me, bringing his lips to my ear to whisper, “Is it true you don’t have a boyfriend, Red?”
Words elude me, but I manage a small shake of my head.
“Thank fuck for that.” His lips come to rest on the side of my neck, and he takes a deep breath. “You smell so good, like sugar and vanilla. Makes me want to find out if you taste as sweet.”
My heart picks up speed, as does my breathing. When he gets no response from me, at least no verbal response, Marak continues to drop hot little open-mouthed kisses down my neck. He nips lightly at my shoulder, and I whimper. “Hmm, is that a hot spot for you, Red?”
The only reply I manage is a long shaky hum as he repeats the move. “If I keep exploring, will I find more hot spots on your sexy, little body?”
“Maybe,” I breathe out, dropping my hand to his knee, a desperate attempt to gain some composure as he shifts closer, and the blanket falls away. Had I known he was only in a pair of boxer briefs, I might have taken the blanket away sooner.
Marak laughs quietly against my shoulder. “This could take a while. Maybe you should make yourself more comfortable.” He pulls back, and it takes the last ounce of self-control I have to not grab him by his neck and pull him back to me.
“How would you suggest I do that?” With the few inches of distance between us, my wits come back a bit as does my bravado.
If the small twinkle in Marak’s eye is any indication, he noticed my change in mindset. “Oh, I can think of a few good ways.”
“Do tell.” One brow arches as I smirk at him.
“I’d rather show you.” Faster than my mind can comprehend, Marak grabs me by the hips and pulls me down on the couch, lying flat on my back. I gasp in surprise as his body covers mine, and he gives me a panty-dropping smile.
My control snaps, and my hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine. Marak doesn’t hesitate. He nips at my bottom lip, taking full advantage of the quick breath I suck in. The two of us fight for dominance over the kiss, neither willing to concede. His right hand tangles in my hair, holding me at an angle that gives him better access to my mouth. His left hand creeps slowly up from my hip to the curve of my breast.
My hands can’t find a spot to rest. They run from his bare shoulders, down to his hips, over his tight ass, then back up again. When I fulfill my dream of giving his hair a good tug, his hips buck into mine, and he groans low and loud. Satisfaction bursts in my chest. He may be finding several hot spots for me, but I found one of his. I intend to use it. One more tug and his hand tightens around my breast.
Marak growls when he encounters the fabric of my shirt. He reluctantly breaks the kiss. “This needs to go, it can’t be comfortable for you.” He takes the hem of my top and pulls it over my head in one quick move. His lust-filled eyes roam over my chest. “Since I’m here, should I explore?”
He doesn’t wait for my response. His head drops, and he captures one tight nipple between his teeth, barely biting down. My back arches, and I cry out, the sensation different than anything I’ve experienced in the past. He pulls the tight bud into his mouth, sucking hard. My core tightens, and my hips thrust up into his. “Marak!”
“Fuck, Red.” He lets my nipple go and hisses through his teeth. “You’re gonna unman me if you keep pressing into me like that.”
The admission gives me an idea. With my left hand around his neck, my right drops down to his ass, pinching hard. He jerks his hips forward into mine, and I spread my legs wider, pushing against him. “Oh, god.” The move was supposed to be a tease for him, but the sensation of his hardening length against my sensitive core is almost enough to unravel me.
“If you want to gamble like that, I’m more than happy to play.” Marak drops his lips back to mine, our kiss more heated this time. My hands roam up and down his body, grabbing and clawing in an attempt to find purchase.
One of Marak’s hands massages my naked breast, pulling and pinching the sensitive bud in the middle. The other takes hold of one of my hands, raising it above our heads and holding it prisoner. The hand on my breast travels lower until it reaches the waistband of my shorts.
His fingers dip into the front of my shorts, and he draws in a sharp breath, pulling away from our kiss. “Jesus, Taylor. You’ve been sitting two feet away from me for over half an hour with no fucking panties on?”
I giggle and nod. He growls playfully, nipping at the spot between my shoulder and neck again as he tugs my shorts down my legs. He has to let go of my other hand to get the shorts off easier, and I take advantage of the freedom, stripping him of his only article of clothing. Marak pushes himself up slightly, allowing his gaze to roam over my naked body, and I do the same to him.
Sex isn’t a subject I’m an expert on. I’d probably give myself a solid C-minus in skills and experience. My ex wasn’t exactly selfless in the bedroom. He was actually really fucking boring and only cared about getting himself off. One thing I do know, though, is Marak isn’t a little guy, and by that, I mean, his little guy isn’t little—it’s almost intimidating. The only other guy I’ve been with was apparently extremely lacking in that department.
“Fuck.” Marak’ eyes drink me in. “Even better than I imagined.”
I scoff at him, feigning offense. “You imagined me naked?”
He grins wickedly down at me, lowering his body to lay flush with mine. “You imagined me naked, too, Red. Don’t deny it.”
Damn him, he’s not wrong. The real thing is way better than anything I could have dredged up in my mind, though.
“I didn’t just imagine you naked, though,” he admits, the heat returning to his gaze.
My breath hitches as he hooks his hand behind my right knee and pulls it up, level with his shoulder, giving him full access to my center. “No?”
He shakes his head. “I imagined kissing you like this.” He kisses me deep and slow, only to pull away too soon. “I imagined, touching you like this.” His free hand cups my cheek, and his thumb runs across my bottom lip. He drops his lips to my neck, and I angle my head to give him better access.
His hand leaves my cheek, trailing leisurely down my neck. He stops to give my breasts a bit of attention before continuing his journey. He reaches the apex of my thighs, and his fingers begin a light circular rhythm in just the right spot. My back arches, and I moan long and loud.
“I imagined getting you worked up like this.” He continues the slow, torturous rhythm on my clit, working me higher and higher, but refusing to allow me to fall over the edge.
“And finally, I imagined what it would be like to slide inside of you, to fill you completely.” He moves his hand, lining his hard length up with my center and enters me with painful slowness. His free hand holds my hips down so I can’t hurry him in any way. My head drops back. Whimpers and harsh pants are the only sounds I can manage when all I really want to do is push Marak onto his back and take control of the pace, finding the release I need so badly.
When his hips touch mine, Marak drops his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard. “This is way better than anything in my imagination, Red.”
“Please, do something, Marak.” I’m begging, but I don’t care. If he doesn’t start moving soon, I might literally explode. “Oh, god, I need you.”
Without further prompting, Marak pulls out slowly, then slams his hips back into mine. We both cry out from the movement but thank fuck he doesn't slow down. He sets a steady rhythm, slowly pulling out before slamming back in. Every time it builds the tight ball low in my belly.
Marak drops a quick kiss to my lips, then to my jaw, and down to my neck. “You feel so fucking good.” His movements speed up, and the pressure builds until I’m sure I’ll pass out if I don’t find release.
The hand holding my leg behind my knee tightens, pulling up a bit more, changing the angle he hits when he slides himself back into me. The new angle is all I need to fall over the edge, crying out his name as I fall. Marak isn’t far behind me; two more thrusts and he stills, grunting his release and sending me into another spiral.