Chapter 17
17
Joker never took his stormy green eyes off him. “And your response to me is always , yes, sir, right away, copy that, how fucking high do I jump?” he snarled. “Unless you have an opinion to offer or a solution, or an explanation, before any goddamned action takes place. I trust all your instincts. You’re one of the best fucking gunslingers I have had the privilege to command.”
D-Day completely understood that no response to Joker’s words were necessary, but his throat convulsed at those words, stunned by them as they touched an aching place inside him that he thought would never be filled.
Joker was venting because he had been scared shitless, and SEALs never liked to admit that they were anything but competent, in control, and stoic. There was no doubt in his mind that he cared a whole hell of a lot about the three of them, and there was a hard, tight, sharp shot of guilty pain to his gut that he’d almost gotten Zorro and Buck killed. How would he have explained that to Helen? Even now, he had no idea if the two of them were going to survive. Buck looked bad off, so still. He was as close as his brother, even closer because of D- Day’s ties with his family, and he felt the pain, the fear, and the loss if something were to happen to him. Helen’s grief…it would destroy him.
And Zorro. He’d meant what he’d said about Martinez. He was the best of men, not to mention every one of them had a special bond with their medic, regardless of his snarky humor, and his fearlessness. D-Day was humbled, contrite, and wrecked.
But he knew in his heart that given a second chance, he would make the same damn decision. Buck and Zorro had supported him. Helen needed them. The mission was too dire to pull out, and they had beaten the odds and gotten the win.
The horrors of war have a way of changing something inside of their warfighters, the kind of things that words simply couldn’t explain, and those who never experienced it would never be able to truly grasp the pain. Emotions shredded them from the inside, trying to find their way out at the expense of their sanity. He would rather die than let down his team, his LT. The thought of what Buck and Zorro had suffered was killing him.
D-Day saw the pain and intensity in his commander’s eyes. He was right to chew him out. He was the very sharp point of the spear, the man who led them into every battle, every mission. He’d gone through hell trying to fill their previous commander’s one-of-a-kind leadership, and he had proven himself worthy of their trust, respect, and admiration. As an officer, it was him who suffered each loss of each of his operators, and three of them had been in the field, outside his authority, knowledge, and expertise.
Trying to rub the exhaustion and moisture from his eyes, D-Day took a deep breath against the ache in his chest. He’d never wanted to let this man down, but there just wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Helen. There it was in stark black and white. She was his touchstone, an obsession, a beautiful pain in his ass, but that was the stark, God’s-honest truth.
Exhaling wearily, Joker rested his hand on his hip and stared at D-Day. He absorbed that look, one that had him struggling with the tightness in his throat, the burning in his eyes. Then it came, like a bullet flying out of the darkness straight at his most vulnerable place. “Were your comms compromised, or did you disobey a direct order?”
After all he felt, all the respect that was Joker’s due, there was no way he was going to lie to him. He deserved D-Day’s honesty, and he had never tried to escape the consequences of his actions. He’d proved that in high school, and every step he’d taken as a special operator. He wasn’t going to change that now.
“I disobeyed a direct order, sir.”
Joker’s brows rose, the satisfaction in his eyes at D-Day’s stark admission, and again, the man shook his foundations. He looked…proud. What the fuck? Another testament to his belief in one of his guys.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Joker shook his head. “I don’t think so, sailor. You were trained to be self-reliant, to assess situations and calculate outcomes. You were in the field, in the thick of it, and I’m afraid your heart was compromised. I deserve to hear your thinking and your rationalization of the situation that led you to making that crucial decision.”
Joker hadn’t earned his lieutenant bars without hearing a lot of carefully worded bullshit. So, D-Day took a hard breath and gave him the honest truth. “You’re right. My heart is compromised. I could no more leave Helen Buckard in the hands of those warlords than I could fly. She was definitely my major concern. I’m in love with her, and I guess that’s no surprise.”
“But—”
“The underlying mission was to retrieve those triggers. I knew I could get into the compound as Graham Butler, and I was going to fight to my last breath to make sure the NPA didn’t get their hands on them. Helen might have been a priority, but when have we ever backed down from saving people, worthy people like Greg and Helen? She risked her life, a civilian, to help us to get them back and save the Philippines. Frankly, if I had obeyed your order, those triggers would have landed in a terrorist’s hands, and there would have been no mercy for any of us if that had happened. She saved my life. She saved Zorro and Buck, and she saved millions of people through grit, courage, and determination to see it all through. She could have run, like I told her to, but she didn’t. I will accept any punishment you see fit to mete out, sir. I can’t apologize for going against your order. I simply can’t, but I do regret any harm, sleepless nights, and worry you suffered over our welfare. I know that burden must be heavy.”
“I appreciate those words, and I have made a decision regarding the consequences for your actions.”
D-Day slipped off the table, clutching that damn flimsy paper against his genitals. He stiffened to attention, ready to accept his commander’s punishment.
“I am recommending a Medal of Valor for all three of you for courage in the face of untold odds, for saving a hostage and bringing the body of another one home, for preventing a terrible catastrophe that would have devastated this region, for completing a mission, for gaining critical and valuable intel as to who constructed those devices, and for your unwavering integrity, honesty, and creative thinking. I have never been prouder to be Zorro’s, Buck’s, and your commanding officer.”
D-Day exhaled unevenly. He blinked furiously, all the emotions rising into his throat and choking him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hang on to the pressure pressing on his chest.
“You ready to go after the bastard who caused this shitstorm?”
“Sir?”
“We have a target package, and we’re spinning up. I want this for Zorro and Buck. You should be there. Are you fit enough?”
“I’m ready to go.” His gung-ho words reverberated in the room.
Joker smirked, looking him up and down. “You might want some clothes, body armor, and maybe a couple of weapons before we ship out.”
D-Day grinned, looked down at himself and the two of them broke out into hard laughter.
Later on, on the plane as they flew toward Thailand and the fucker responsible for manufacturing those WMDs, his only regret was that he had to leave Helen before he could talk to her, still in limbo regarding Buck and Zorro’s injuries. But as he looked around the plane at the grim, determined faces of his teammates, he knew deep down to the very soul of him, he was right where he needed to be.
Dr. Everly Quinn stood in the shadows of Zorro’s room. She had been on a plane for the last untold hours, tired, hungry, and jet-lagged. Doctors for the World had contacted her with a job offer to come to the Philippines to take over for the deceased Dr. Greg Matthews who had been killed by unknown forces while a hostage to warlords.
When she’d heard that Joker’s team had been involved in recovering Dr. Matthews’s body and saving the life of RN Helen Buckard, but that several team members had been wounded, she’d headed directly to the hospital, her heart in her throat.
She’d patched these guys up before when she was doing a stint in Niamey, Niger, when the country had been ruled democratically, but she’d been ousted after the military coup against the government succeeded and they took over.
She hadn’t been able to breathe until she saw the man who drove her crazy every time she’d encountered him. It got to her because Petty Officer Mateo “Zorro” Martinez was not only a freaking sexy bastard, but he was a special operator, part of the reason her husband was dead now for two years.
The pain of his death had dulled since, her regret at their inability to make their marriage a priority still eating at her. Work always got in the way.
“Don’t cry, Mom. It tears me up.” His warm, deep voice reached her in the shadows. She was aware this was eavesdropping, inappropriate, and wrong, but she couldn’t seem to get her feet to move. He was unguarded, wounded, hurting. As a doctor, she could hear the pain in his voice. There was also that sweet, son-to-mom inflection, a soft tenderness men couldn’t hide when it came to the woman who reared them.
He said something sweet-sounding in Spanish. She bit her lip, catching most of it. She had to admit that she’d been boning up on her Spanish, adamant that it was all about using it on the job, but she couldn’t fully lie to herself. Basically, his words translated to, “you are my heart.”
So, speaking of hearts, hers melted totally against her will. She had an ugly grudge, one that she hadn’t been able to let go of, miring her in so much bitterness and sorrow.
“Abdomen,” he said. “Got under my vest. Ricochet…just a fragment, but it fractured two ribs, and I had to have surgery to remove the piece still inside.” He sighed softly, his voice breaking. “Buck suffered a head injury…he’s bad off, Mom.” There was a pause, and he continued, his voice subdued. “I couldn’t do a damn thing for him, except carry him out of combat, and I failed at that.” She could feel his pain and the tension in his voice made her chest tight. “No,” he laughed softly, but it was tinged with more pain. “I didn’t have an MRI machine handy, and I’m not a brain surgeon, but I’m his medic.” There was a muffled sound, and she closed her eyes, realizing that he was crying. “It doesn’t matter. I feel inadequate.” He sniffed and she could see him wipe his eyes. “I’m not coming home just yet. I’ve got a few days here…no, Mom. Don’t fly here. It’s too far. No, I’m okay, and the guys won’t leave me alone for long, the knuckleheads.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, realizing that this was information she just wished she didn’t know. “I’m in good hands. Yes,” he said, his voice so warm. “I love you, too. I will. I promise. Bye.”
Struggling to hang on to her equilibrium, to maintain some balance, she swallowed hard, hiding in the shadows, not acknowledging that stark truth. Feeling unexpectedly close to tears, she held them back. She didn’t want to know that special operators were vulnerable, admitting his helplessness…and fuck it…human.
He shifted in the bed, that muffled noise drifting to her, and that heartbreaking sound was unbearable. God, he shouldn’t have to endure this alone, but she realized he probably preferred it. God forbid he should lean on anyone when Navy SEALs were adept at compartmentalizing their sorrow, guilt, and pain.
Everly had never acted on impulse in her life, but she acted on impulse now. Her eyes burning with tears, a weird kind of anger setting her resolve. She was a caregiver for God’s sake. She just could not— would not —let him go through this alone.
Fortified with a crazy kind of determination, she slipped into the dim light of the room, her heart growing larger and more cumbersome with every step, her nerves vibrating so badly that she was shaking. She didn’t have a clue what she was going to do. But she didn’t care, refusing to acknowledge her headlong, frantic flight to the hospital to make sure…very sure…that he was alive.
She approached the bed, ready to meet those deep brown eyes, and she expected a cocky grin, but what she got was an exhausted, sleeping, drop-dead-gorgeous, wounded warrior. His pitch-black hair was longer than she expected, the ends curled around the side of his neck just behind his ear. The thick, glossy-looking strands were tousled around his head on the stark white pillow. Her eyes traveled over his face, his lashes inky, thick half-moons against the dark circles beneath his eyes, his obvious Latin heritage in every line of his handsome features, down the strong column of his throat where his pulse beat in rhythm to his heart. The hospital gown was bunched around his waist, the white bandage against the tanned skin of his lower left side couldn’t hide the delineated muscle in his rippling abdomen, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from roaming over his wide, burnished chest, those broad shoulders or his beautifully muscled arms, his biceps smooth and thick. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his lean, so tantalizingly male frame.
Her stomach did a free-fall tumble that had nothing to do with her emotions. No this was all physical and all about her intense attraction to Zorro. Even asleep, wounded, and completely mussed, he managed to vibe an earthy, sexual magnetism, one she was finding dangerous on so many levels—physically, emotionally, and mentally. The fact that this man had the ability to affect her so completely was a scary prospect she wasn’t prepared to face or deal with.
She had no idea whatever possessed her to move closer, to lean down and press her mouth to his, to savor the warmth of those sculpted lips, the stubble there tingling her skin with soft pricks. The heat and male scent of him overwhelmed her thoughts, arousing her body, and creating a heavy, tingling sensation between her thighs. This had happened before, back in Niger, but it was during an argument, and she had no intentions of acknowledging how turned-on she was even during a confrontation.
He stirred, murmuring in his sleep, and she stiffened at what felt like her betrayal. She turned and bolted out of the room, sure that the odds of seeing him again were nil to none. She might have to work here, but she was going to avoid his floor, his room… him . She vowed she would never give in to these feelings again.
Human or not, sweet, funny, and gorgeous or not, his community had destroyed her life, ravaged her heart, and took so much from her. She could never forgive them, and now, after this display, how could she forgive herself for succumbing to temptation?
He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but a full month had passed since he’d left Thailand and that bastard dead, his deployments sending him all over the globe to hard-to-reach places. All those weeks unable to contact Helen, and when he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get through.
Buck was back in the States, in a coma, and at Coronado Medical Center. He’d suffered a fractured skull, and the bleeding on his brain had facilitated a medically induced coma, but he was alive, his brain activity was good, and D-Day prayed every day that they would get their teammate back.
Zorro was still healing, subdued, and on edge. Nothing like his old self, and that left the team without their comedian. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. D-Day suffered from his own demons, the lack of contact with Helen.
It was inconceivable that he’d previously gone a whole six months without calling her, texting her, seeing her. He had been a complete moron. He had been in way over his head since the very second he’d met her, and it was like she was a part of him that he couldn’t reach, couldn’t have, couldn’t keep, all that time cut off from himself. So, idiot, he knew exactly why he hadn’t contacted her. He knew exactly why he’d never gone back home. He hadn’t felt worthy, and it was the crux of his problem. Even when that trident was pinned to his chest, his anxious doubts chased him through all his missions, and there had been no connections with any woman outside of his team because his shyness wasn’t just about his tentativeness with the opposite sex. He feared betrayal more than he craved connection, touch, warmth, and closeness.
He arrived at his condo and pulled out his key, but the door opened before he could insert it. Katherine Buckard stood in the doorway, and he had to wonder how many fucking keys Buck had handed out.
“Mrs. Buckard?” he stammered.
“Andrew,” she said in that motherly way that showed she was pissed. “I’ve told you to call me Kitty.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled him and his duffel inside. “I’m here because I will not take no for an answer. You need to come home for Christmas.”
He opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he was going to say, but she preempted him. “I know you’re on a month’s leave. Your CO confirmed it, so you’ll be free.” She took a hard breath. “They woke Buck up today, and he’s…” Her breath caught, and she wiped her eyes. “He’s still my son and is doing great.”
D-Day let out a hard, grunting breath, so damn thankful, the relief almost knocked him to his knees. “He’s coming home with me, and Helen will be done with her assignment in the Philippines. When can you get there?”
“Mrs.—” At her stern look, he sighed. He’d rather face Joker again. “Kitty, I have something I have to do before I can commit to anything…or anyone.” He swallowed hard, wanting with all his being to be part of that family, but he still had unfinished business at home. “I have to go back to Bedford, back to my own family. I have something I need to say to them.”
She took in his solemn face, and after a moment her features softened. “They treated you poorly, didn’t they? Damn them. You say your piece, and then you come back to us. We love you like you are our son.” Her eyes filled, and he grabbed her and hugged her fiercely.
“I will do my best not to disappoint you.”
“Oh, sweet boy, you could never disappoint me,” she murmured.
It wasn’t long before he found himself touching down in Bedford, Massachusetts. The town had changed in the seven years since he’d been there. He started for the exit but was caught up short by a voice.
“Andrew? Nolan…is that you?” D-Day turned to find one of the guys who had beaten him senseless, humiliated him, and left him to the elements on that cold night. Keith Sommers.
“Sommers,” D-Day said, the edge to his voice like ice.
“I’ve tried to contact you. For a while now. Your mom said you had joined the Navy, became a SEAL. Wow, that’s something.”
“What do you want?” D-Day snapped, not in the mood to deal with this asshole.
Sommers took a breath, realizing that D-Day didn’t have the patience. “I want to apologize for what we…what I did to you. It was unconscionable. I’m ashamed of myself for putting you through all that. We were stupid little bastards, jacked up on testosterone, terrorizing everyone. Only you had the guts to stand up to us. I’m not offering any excuses. I’m only offering my sincerest remorse. I know you’ll probably never forgive us. We ruined your last year of high school, and we don’t deserve it, but I just had to tell you how much I admired you back then, and how twisted and jealous I was.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Gotta catch my flight, but take care and be safe out there, and thank you for your service.”
He dashed off, leaving D-Day flabbergasted and so disoriented, he had to find a bench and sit down. Everything dropped on him like a ton of bricks, all of it falling into place.
Helen had said he’d changed her life. But she had no idea how much she’d changed him without uttering a word more about it. She was the hands that were pressing him forward out of the dark and into the light. Those soft, tantalizing, always heartbreakingly gentle hands.
She didn’t know the man she had fallen in love with, not even close, and he thought there was no coming back from the places he’d been.
But Helen was that beacon, that angel that forced him to take the light into his own hands and shine it directly on himself until he saw all the flaws, all the pain, and the stark, invaluable truth. Worthiness wasn’t something he could find outside himself—the SEALs, approval, respect, his ancestors, his legacy, his parents—were all immaterial. Each time he faced his fears, he gained strength and courage, and that was all his doing. He saw his past for what it was, nothing but a lesson in the person he was, and the person he had become. A warrior, a protector, a guardian sent to the worst places on earth to do bad things to bad people. His mind exploded, his heart opening so wide it hurt. He was more than worthy of her love. He was the man she deserved and had been all along. He just hadn’t seen it.
But now that he understood who he was and why all of that mattered to him, this time he was leaving on his own terms. He was walking away not because he wanted others to realize his worth and value, but because he finally realized his own.
The sky was low and overcast, the steady fall of wet snow beautiful as it settled on everything the eye could see, trees, their land as it stretched to the horizon, rocks, barns, and the house. Her breath fogged the air, and the sweet black and white Appaloosa filly stamped at the inactivity. She’d named her Zigzag for the zigzaggy-like markings on her rump. She was a prize, and Helen’s hope of breeding her with quarter horses for a new, showy cutter swelled. With an unsatisfied ache, she was at loose ends right now, not sure what her future would hold.
She had waited and she had waited for any word from him. But there had been nothing but missed calls and silence. She had thrown herself at her work, getting to know Dr. Quinn, Greg’s replacement, and they had gotten very close. Between bouts of intense worry over her brother, the suffering of the Filipino people, and D-Day’s silence, she had been relieved when the assignment ended. She’d quit the very next day and had gone home.
Her mother had come back to the ranch with Buck and Mari, and the whole SEAL team. Joker and Pippa, Professor and Julia, Gator and Izzy, Blitz and Bree, Zorro, and Bear. They were spread all over the ranch, in the house, the bunkhouse, and a guest house that accommodated four. Her mother had put them to work decorating up a storm, and everything was so wonderfully Christmas. Lights were everywhere, on the fences, the barns, the house, every hall was decked with holly, and her mother, sister, and the other SEAL babes were cooking up a storm. It was Christmas Eve, and her heart was full of love as she yearned for the one person who was absent.
She turned the reins and kicked Zigzag into a wild gallop across the snowy field, her hooves kicking up powdery crystals of ice, as the exhilaration of being on horseback made her forget about everything.
Her heart swelled when she caught sight of the ranch house and barns all lit up. It helped to raise her spirits. She was home safe and sound, she was going to celebrate Christmas with her family, and Buck was…Buck, and so grumpy about being fussed over, she couldn’t resist overdoing it.
She laughed softly as she reached the barn and swung down from the saddle. She pulled the reins over her neck, then led her mount toward the festive barn, kicking up snow with her favorite boots as she went. She paused briefly outside, straightening the horse’s mane as Zigzag took a long, noisy drink from the watering trough. Having drunk her fill, the filly tossed her head, flinging water and making her bridle jingle. Helen laughed softly at her antics. “How can you feel your oats?” she murmured. “I haven’t fed you yet.”
Zigzag whinnied when she caught the scent of one of the most gorgeous quarter horse stallions trampling back and forth in the paddock. “He’s not for you just yet, my pretty. Soon, though. You’ll have a foal by next spring, and I’m positive you’ll make pretty babies.”
She led the filly through the wide barn door, the lights on in the long alleyway between big box stalls but still casting the cavernous structure in murky light.
Her shod hooves made a hollow clip-clop sound on the thick plank flooring, the sound echoing in the stillness of the barn as she led her past beautiful wood and black wrought iron box stalls to the middle of the barn and her cozy home.
She made efficient work of stripping the horse of her tack, leading her to the heated wash area, hosing her off with warm water, cleaning off every spec of mud and sweat, then drying her thoroughly, covering her with a heavy horse blanket when she was done.
When she led her inside the freshly mucked and strawed interior of her stall, there was a fresh flake of hay and a measure of oats ready and waiting. Removing the lead, she gave her a smack on the rump, then dragged the heavy door closed, shooting the bolt as she hung the lead shank on a hook by the door. A black plaque with her name in white was placed on the ornate slats outside the stall.
She bent down to pick up the saddle, bridle, and pad, heading toward the tack room. When she got to the tack room, she heard footsteps, a pang went through her when she passed the small room where she and D-Day had made love for the first time. She pushed the ache away. Wade always came down to the barn to help her with the tack. He was such a sweetie.
“Hey, you’re late,” she groused, smiling at her censure. “I thought I was going to have to do all the hard work by myself.”
“We can’t have you working that hard, darlin’” His deep voice went through her like sunshine, and she whirled around to find D-Day standing at the doorway to the room.
She dropped all her tack and folded her arms across her chest. “You son of a bitch! I saved your life, and I haven't heard from you for a month.” The feeling of being isolated from him made her unsure. Her heart pounding in her chest, she stared at him, feeling shaky and afraid. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
The muscle in his jaw tense, his expression so rigid he appeared angry, his jaw flexed, then he answered in a clipped tone, “I was working things out, and I tried to reach you, but you were out of touch.”
Deciding to give him some space, she started to turn away, but he lunged forward and caught her wrist, palm sliding against palm as he gripped her hand. The instant his fingers slid through hers, she understood, and she closed her eyes against the wild surge of emotion that made her shiver. With a low moan, she turned blindly into his arms, sliding her hands up his back in a desperate hold. There was an instant, just a heartbeat, when he remained rigid, then his resistance buckled, and he caught her against him in a viselike embrace, releasing a ragged groan as he found her mouth with a kiss that shattered her senses.
His hand supporting the back of her head, he locked his other arm around her hips, hauling her up against him. His mouth opened hungrily against hers, feeding a need that raged in him, and Helen sagged in his arms, the frenzy in her chest making it impossible to breathe. He twisted her head, asking for more, desperate for more, and she yielded, giving him access, drawing him deeper and deeper as he probed the moist recesses, as if he were famished for the taste of her. Another guttural sound was torn from him as she moved against him, and he widened his stance, pulling her hard against his groin, thrusting against her with a thick, heavy need. Helen cried out, and he drank in the sound of her response, the feel of his hardness making her heart pound and clamor as a rush of hot, pulsating desire slammed through her. Caught in a delirium of need, she twisted against him, and the passion in him exploded, his hunger turning desperate, his need raging out of control.
And he pulled her to that little room where this had all begun, taking her down, down into a storm like no other.
Awareness returned in fragments—like slivers of light winking across her mind—and Helen tightened her arms around him, twisting her face against his damp neck, the firmness of the bed beneath her and his weight on top of her the only reality.
In that small room, everything poured out of D-Day as he explained what had happened to him, how he had internalized it all, and how she had, through her support and tenderness made him understand that he was the man she deserved.
A tremor coursed through her, the rush of emotion so intense, it was almost unbearable, and she clenched her jaw against it, tears of profound joy slipping down her temples. God, but she loved him. So much. So very much. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she slid her hand up the back of his neck, cradling his head against her with infinite tenderness. D-Day shuddered and pressed his face against the curve of her shoulder, his hold on her tightening convulsively. There was only sorrow for the family who hadn’t been able to see the treasure they had shunned, and the pain it much have caused him.
Helen closed her eyes waiting for the ache of emotion to ease a little, then she slipped her hands through his hair over and over and pressed an infinitely tender kiss against his neck.
“You changed my life, too,” he murmured. “I’m stupidly in love with you and can’t live without you in my life.”
She smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. “Can I say it now?” she whispered.
He gazed down at her, his expression softening into a near smile. His voice gruff with emotion, he said, “Yes. Please say it, Helen.”
She gave him an uneven laugh and hugged him hard, lifting her head to press a kiss against his neck. “I am stupidly in love with you. So, I guess that makes us both dunces.”
Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers, his grip on her tightening. It was a long time before he spoke, his voice roughened with raw emotion. “You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that. I knew it in my heart, but it’s infinitely more beautiful coming from your lips.”
“Welcome home, Andrew. I feel we have all the time we need to make plans.”
He stared down at her and his expression softened, open, and vulnerable. He smiled into her eyes, a spark igniting. Then he lowered his head, brushing her mouth with a tantalizing kiss. “Merry Christmas, hellion. I’m sure you’ll keep me on my toes.”
She laughed against his mouth and tightened her arms around him. “And on your back.” She nipped his bottom lip, urging him on with a small thrust of her hips, “And on top of me, up against walls, and any surface that suits.”
He laughed and hugged her hard, slipping his arm under her hips as he thrust against her. “This surface suits me just fine.”
Their love would only continue to grow, and they would be together always, forever wherever he went, wherever she was, he would always be home with her.