A Matter of Time 05 - Bulletproof (MM), page 23
part #5 of A Matter of Time Series
I moved into the spacious wood and glass office with Dylan and Fallon, and we made it our own. You walked from a sort of boring space into warmth and a homey feeling, and no one failed to comment on it. And I was surprised how many people there were. Dylan had contacted all our old clients, Fallon had brought new ones, and Aaron Sutter, who was putting up a new hotel in Sydney, Australia, wanted a new logo for his new flagship, The Summerville. It had to incorporate Australia without hint of any traditional symbol, as well as encompass Sutter as a brand.
"Are you kidding?" I asked him. "I never have any luck creating things for you. I failed the first time out, remember?"
"Yeah, but I think that was because I didn‘t really know what I wanted, either."
I squinted at him as he threw one of those squeezy stress balls against the wall in my office.
"That‘s annoying, you know."
He grunted from where he was stretched out on my couch.
"Where did you even get that?"
He pointed at the bowl of them on the coffee table beside him.
Dylan had made them with our logo on them. I had just missed that she put some of the damn things in my office.
"You‘re supposed to use them to release tension, not annoy your designer."
"Who says that annoying you doesn‘t decrease my stress level?"
My eyes flicked to his, and he waved.
"How‘s Jaden?" I asked him.
"Good. He‘s enjoying school, and he met somebody, another aspiring chef just like him."
I rolled my eyes. "That means nothing. I doubt he‘s replaced you already, Sutter. He knows he needs to give the romantic part time and not jump into bed with someone else."
He gave me a shrug. "You‘re thinking I‘m bothered, and I‘m not. I don‘t even care if we remain friends. Right now, since I‘m paying for his education, we have to stay in touch, but beyond the
next two years… who knows?"
"Why?"
"I don‘t stay friends with my exes," he said, continuing to play handball with something not designed to do that against the wall of my office.
"I‘d like to point out that we‘re exes and trying to be friends."
"That‘s different," he told me. "You, I loved."
My eyes locked on his.
"It‘s true, and that‘s why I‘m trying. If this is all I can have, I‘ll take this."
I smiled at him, and his eyes were warm.
"Oh my God, Jory, can you stop with that already!" Fallon roared as he came through my office door, having hurled it open.
We all froze.
"See," I said, smirking at Aaron. "I told you it was annoying."
"Oh." Fallon‘s breath caught, and he looked horrified. He had just screamed at easily one of the richest men in the state, if not in the entire Midwest. "Mr. Sutter, I—"
"Sorry." He gave Fallon his dazzler. "I was just trying to piss off Jory."
And when Fallon did the slow pan to me, I had no idea why I was on the receiving end of the look until later.
"You shit!"
Such an outburst from unflappable Fallon Strauss seemed completely out of character for him. "What?"
"You‘re buddies with Aaron Sutter?"
I made a noise.
"They used to date," Dylan said, cackling.
"Jesus," he said, falling down into the chair in front of my desk.
"Why don‘t you go faint in your office," I told him.
He just looked at me. "I swear to God, from one day to the next I have no idea what‘s going to happen with you."
The wheelchair had surprised him when he had first seen me, but not as much, apparently, as my relationship with Aaron Sutter.
"Fun, huh?" Dylan smiled at him. "Welcome to the show."
He looked back and forth between the two of us.
"We could go for yogurt," I offered.
"We love yogurt," Dylan seconded.
He just shook his head.
WHEN Sam got home that night, having started his new job, bringing home mountains of stuff to read every time he came through the door, he was startled to see me.
"What?"
He cleared his throat. "Why‘re you wearing my catcher‘s mask?"
Sam had played baseball on a city league with the other guys in the department, and it was nice that when he had left, they had made him promise to come back. He had been surprised at the response from a lot of his fellow officers when he left, especially the other detectives. They had not wanted him to leave. It turned out the gay piece didn‘t really matter in the big picture of doing your job, backing up your brothers in blue, and just being an honest cop. Sam had a reputation for being fair and hard-working and loyal, and that was all, in the end, that mattered. His captain had asked him to stay, but the field office of WITSEC in Chicago was counting on him, and his new boss, deputy US Marshal Tom Kenwood, had already made sure to pay Sam a visit as soon as we got home. They wanted him, and Sam had given them his word when he accepted the position. I could not have been happier.
"J?"
I lifted the mask to look at him. "Your folks are coming for dinner, and I‘m deep frying empanadas to go with the rest of the meal, since your dad likes them so much."
"Sure."
"And since I‘m lower now, closer to the stove, I didn‘t want to get hot oil in my eye."
"Oil can still splatter through the holes," he offered logically.
I held up the round frying screen I had as well. "It‘s my second line of defense."
"Of course it is." He chuckled, leaning down to kiss me.
I got the feeling I was being placated. "I‘m not crazy."
"No, I know." He continued to laugh as he walked into the loft.
"How was your day talking to people going into witness protection and checking on witnesses?"
"Well, I don‘t have any of my own witnesses yet. I‘m just following my new partner."
"You like him?"
"I do. He‘s a little stiff, but he‘s gonna bring his wife over here next week, and I figure after that, he‘ll be better."
"Why?"
He turned to look at me. "‘Cause once his wife falls in love with you, he and I will have that between us."
"What if she hates me?"
"Yeah, like that‘ll happen."
The possibility was kind of small. I was likeable, Dane did always say so.
DINNER had been nice. I loved Sam‘s parents, and they were both kind of crazy about me. I had gone to bed early, and Sam had stayed up to read, but when he came to bed, he woke me up. The solid length of the erection pressed to the small of my back let me know what he wanted before a warm hand slid down my abdomen and under the elastic waistband of my pajamas.
"Yes, deputy marshal? May I help you?"
His hand fisted my already hardening shaft, and I pushed back against him in response.
"Oh," I moaned, because it felt so good, his hands on me not gentle, rough with wanting.
His mouth was on the back of my neck, nibbling, sucking, as he slid my pajamas down with one hand moving over my hip and the other grazing my ass.
The moan became a whimper, and I arched my back as Sam groaned.
"I need you," he rasped, and I realized that something was wrong.
"What were you looking at?" I asked, gasping as I heard the snap of the pop-top on the lube before one slick finger grazed between my cheeks.
He didn‘t answer, but I knew. Whatever he had been reading in those case files had scared him, so he had come to the bedroom to check on me, to assure himself that what he loved was safe and secure. But at some point in his reminding himself that I was fine, he‘d become aroused, and I was about to reap the benefit.
"You want me?" I asked, because sometimes his desire ran to silence and urgency.
His breath was hot on my ear as two fingers slowly, gently entered me and just as tenderly began to scissor me apart.
"Do you want me on my knees? I can if you hold me?"
He didn‘t, and when the fingers eased free, my hole stretched and ready, I felt the first nudge of the head of his penis. My back bowed as I shoved my ass against him.
Taking the motion for the invitation it was, he pressed forward, sliding inside, pushing steadily until I was completely breached and he was fully seated.
He bit down into my shoulder, and I shuddered with the sensation of being completely filled, my channel clenching around him, the muscles contracting and holding him tight.
"Move, Sam, fuck me."
He pulled out and then slid back in, the motion, his angle, putting pressure on my prostate as his hand traveled forward down my thigh to fist my shaft. I cried out, and he pushed up deeper, moving around me, rolling to his knees and taking me with him.
My face was in the pillows, my ass in the air as he kept the persistent rhythm of the slow slide in and the long pull out. The man was huge, and he was letting me feel every single inch of length and girth.
"Fuck," he almost snarled, and his hands were hard on my ass, fingers digging into my flesh as he began to deepen his thrusts but not quicken them. "You are so fuckin‘ hot."
He liked watching his enormous cock push into my hole, had always loved it, and at that moment, it was taking him over the edge.
"I want you to come," he commanded, leaning over me, pressing his hard, carved chest to my back as he tugged on my cock from balls to head. "I want it all over the bed, J."
His mouth, his hands, the feeling of stretched fullness, the way he pegged my gland… I was a goner. I forgot to breathe for a few minutes, and was light-headed as Sam pounded me through my own roaring orgasm and his.
He was rough, wrenching my head back, holding me under my hips, making sure we were pressed together as tight as we could be as he pumped semen into my ass, coating my insides, and still pushing deeper even as it ran down the back of my thighs.
When he could finally stop, he eased from my spasming channel and fell over on his back, heaving.
I rolled to my side and looked at him. He looked good all disheveled, with his heavy-lidded eyes, and I slid a hand over the six-pack abs, now covered in sweat and come. "You all right?" I teased him.
He nodded but said nothing.
"Sure?"
"You‘re a fuckin‘ gift, I swear to God," he said, closing his eyes. "Whatever I need, you give me. I‘m so fuckin‘ lucky."
It was said not as praise, because he wasn‘t even looking at me, but simply from his heart, because to him, I was everything.
I got up to get him some water, feeling sluggish and slow from the pounding I had taken, and by the time I got back to the bed, I was ready to pass out. I was surprised that he was sitting up against the headboard, eyes huge, staring at me like I was a ghost.
"Jesus, what‘s with you?"
His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"Sam?"
He swallowed, licked his lips, and sucked in a breath.
"Are you okay?" I asked as I leaned on the doorframe. "I brought you some water."
"Um, J," he said, starting to smile. "Baby, you seem to be on your feet."
I stared at him, and he stared at me.
Eight weeks, closer to nine, had come and gone, and we had weathered it, and we had been busy and had accepted that whatever was going to happen would happen. It had not changed us, the reality of me being in the wheelchair, and we had gone on, preparing for the rest of our lives with the certainty that we would be together. We had even met with a great guy at the adoption agency, who had been thrilled to work with us. Life had gone on, and now it had rendered up a gift.
"I guess maybe we should call the doctor in the morning," was all I said.
He nodded before he rolled out of bed and crossed the room to me fast. Some water spilled when he grabbed me, but it was of no consideration that it was dripping down his back as he hugged the life out of me.
"I didn‘t care," he told me.
"I know," I said as I leaned far enough to put the glass down on the chest of drawers. "You just love me, Sam, however I am."
The kiss I got, full of love and overwhelming happiness, let me know, as always, that as far as Sam Kage‘s heart was concerned, I knew what I was talking about.
About the Author
MARY CALMES currently lives in Honolulu, Hawaii, with her husband and two children and hopes to eventually move off the rock to a place where her children can experience fall and even winter. She graduated from the University of the Pacific (ironic) in Stockton, California, with a bachelor‘s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She works at a copy store but has been unable to incorporate that into a book… yet. She also buys way too many books on Amazon.
Mary Calmes, A Matter of Time 05 - Bulletproof (MM)
