What now really means is, before I fuck your brains out.
I nod, too lost for words, pinching his massive arm one last time. It’s like I’m trying to check that he’s still real and this isn’t a dream. “Agreed. I’ll help you with dinner tomorrow. Goodnight, Marshal. Thanks for…a memorable start to the year.” That’s so lame, but I don’t know what else to say.
We share one more look before I remember how my legs work. Then I slip out in the cold. It’s close to absolute zero when there’s hellfire in my blood.
I was wrong about his stubble.
It isn’t harsh or prickly or overwhelming at all. It’s soft, but rugged. Tenderly harsh. Another contrast. Enigma, plus one.
Quintessentially Marshal.
And it’s left me marked. I’m secretly craving its sweetness, but not on my cheek. I imagine its friction going new places guaranteed to bring me to my knees if I let this not-so-innocent New Year’s kiss become more.
6
Repercussions (Marshal)
This year is going to be insane, and it’s only the first day.
I’m in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, a throat scratching mug of pitch black coffee in my hand, asking why the fuck I lost it so hard last night.
Seriously.
It’s bad enough that I’m using her. Pumping her for questions, insights, opportunities to find out how best to end her monster bother.
Even worse that I still taste her today on my lips. That soft, sticky, inviting warmth left me hard as granite all night, and Christ does it make me want more.
Very risky. Very stupid. Very, very dangerous.
I start prepping the ham long before anybody else is awake. It’s the best distraction I can find, especially when Red walks in, decked in a plum dress and dark leggings I’ve never seen.
She says a few words about breakfast. I tell her I’ll take care of it before she beats a shy retreat.
My inner beast is in full hunt, fighting for permission to push her against the nearest wall, toss up her skirt, and bury my tongue against hers until she’s begging to be filled. I want to find her clit and frig it numb. I want her pussy coming on my fingers.
It’s hell hearing her less than twenty steps away, separated by two walls, watching TV alone. I ache to be her company.
I’ve never been more grateful to see Mia. My little sleepyhead drags herself down late, probably exhausted from last night’s excitement, crashing well before midnight. I kiss her on the cheek and put a bowl of oatmeal in front of her, apple-cinnamon today.
“How’d you sleep, honeybee?” I ask, sliding into the seat across from her.
“Okay. Funny dream, daddy…” She looks at me sheepishly, dipping her spoon into the food. I stop and stare, smiling. Just four years old, and she’s already mastered suspense. “Dreamed Sadie got to live here all the time. Dreamed you and her were mommy and daddy.”
Fuck. I’m almost choked up, but a slug of coffee saves me at the last second.
“That’s…pretty wild, baby girl. Let’s blame the snacks. Too much salami, I think – those cured meats will put all kinds of odd ideas in your brain.”
My eyes drift up. I almost sputter a second time when I see Red leaning in the doorway, next to the stove, a rumpled smile between two apple blossom cheeks. How the hell much has she heard?
“No, not meats, daddy. You and her made cake and we were happy. One big happy family.”
“No Whiskey?” I’m desperate to change the subject before the minx in the corner gets any ideas to give my little girl a run for her crazy.
“Oh, he was there. But he ate the magic cake too and it made us all giants. Made him big like a tiger!” Mia laughs, covering her mouth, giggling like it’s too absurd for her.
I look past her, eyeballing Red, trying not to let my raging hard-on reignite. “Think I’ll start listening to the vet as part of my New Year’s resolution. I’ll tell you what the dream means: that damn cat needs a diet.”
Right on time, the ginger beast appears, rubbing Red’s ankles. She never takes her eyes off me as she reaches down, stroking his head. He lets out a sharp squeak that sets honeybee off laughing all over again.
Winter has no mercy. It’s windy as fucking sin later, blowing several tarps off the old beaters and a tractor parked next to my storage shed. They’re abandoned projects I repo’ed after their owners failed to pick them up or show me the money, but I don’t want them rusting before I can flip them for spare cash next year.
So, I’m outside tying rope and using loose bricks to weigh their cover down, freezing my balls off. Except they’re hot as coals the instant I see Red walk out, stepping past her car, coming straight for me.