Chapter 9
Marcus
T he walk back to Julie’s place is quiet at first. Not awkward, just... charged with something unspoken. The scent of wine and fresh air clings to her skin, and every time her arm brushes mine, I have to remind myself to breathe.
She’s humming softly under her breath, some melody I don’t recognize, and it calms me. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it. That’s what I like about her—nothing she does feels forced.
"Did you know you hum when you walk?" I ask.
She meets my gaze, eyes wide. "I do?"
"Yeah. Do you also talk to your muffins when you think no one’s listening?"
That earns me a shove to the arm. Not hard. Just enough to say shut up in a very cute Julie kind of way.
"That is privileged information, Officer King."
We walk a few more paces in silence. I count the steps, not because I need to, but because it keeps me from doing something reckless like grabbing the back of her neck, pulling her in, and kissing her madly.
She glances at me again. "You surprised me tonight."
"How so?" I’m thankful for the distraction.
"You laughed. Like a real, actual laugh. I wasn’t sure you had that in your arsenal."
"It’s rare," I admit, fighting a smile.
"Well, it was a good one. You should use it more often."
We reach a break in the hedges, a small bench overlooking the ocean. I pause, and she follows my lead, dropping onto the bench with a quiet sigh.
"You okay?" I ask.
She nods. "Yeah. Tired. In a good way, I think. It felt nice to laugh again. To just... exist without it feeling like everything was heavy. I’m taking Emma’s advice and not dwelling on Mrs. Waverly or the attempted robbery."
I nod slowly. I know that feeling. More than I should.
"Thanks for coming tonight," she adds, turning slightly to face me. "It meant a lot."
I glance away, out toward the dark water. "Tonight was a bit outside of my comfort zone."
"Why?"
I take a breath. Not deep. Not steady. Just enough to speak. "I'm not good at people. Crowds. Laughing. Pretending everything's normal. All of it… it leaves me feeling conflicted."
She watches me, quiet and still. She’s letting me have my moment and I can’t tell her how much I appreciate that.
"When I returned from deployment," I say slowly, "I didn’t know how to fit anymore. I felt, feel, completely out of place. Like the world moved on while I was frozen in a nightmare. So, I turned to woodworking and built things. Tables. Chairs. Walls. Whatever I could to stay busy. Stay focused."
"To stay numb," she says softly, acknowledging a truth I’ve been fighting hard to admit.
I look at her. She doesn’t flinch. "Yeah. Exactly."
I don’t mean to keep going, but the words come anyway despite the inner battle raging inside me. "I used to hate nights like this. Quiet ones. The silence after coming home, when every quiet moment gave me too much room to fall back into my head. It would drag me back to one horrible night."
Julie nods while looking over the water. "Why?"
"Because it gave my mind too much space to go there."
She doesn’t ask where ‘there’ is. She just waits.
I shove my hands into my pockets, unsure why I’m even saying this. “One mission.” I heave a sigh. “It went to shit fast, and I lost three guys in under five minutes. One of them was my best friend, Matt. I... I was in charge. I made the call, and he lost his life."
Julie doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pity me, either. She just reaches out and brushes her fingers against my arm and then takes my hand. "I’m sorry." Her tone is a mix of empathy and something else – a silent understanding of my torment.
"You didn’t do anything,” I counter weakly, the words bouncing between self-reproach and desperate need for absolution.
"Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry it happened." Her voice is soft but strong, and it grounds me.
We sit in the silence that follows, listening to the waves crash on the shore. It stretches. Breathes. "You don’t seem frozen now," she says eventually.
"Because of you." The words are out before I can stop them. She turns to me, eyes wide… is that fear I see? I shouldn’t be dumping all my fucked-upness on her, yet I just did. She’s too sunny, too bright for my darkness and the burdens I’ll carry for the rest of my life.
I shift, aware of how close we are. Close enough that I can smell vanilla and cinnamon in her hair mingling with my own spiraling thoughts. "You make it easy to forget that I don’t usually do this. That I don’t let people in."
She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine.
I glance down at our joined hands, then up at her. She’s watching me with that steady, unflinching gaze. No walls. No hesitation. Just trust.
Something in me breaks open.
I lean in, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She doesn’t. Her breath catches, and then her lips find mine.
The kiss is soft at first—tentative, reverent—but it deepens, and suddenly, I’m lost in the way she tastes, like honey and something warm I haven’t felt in a long time.
We stay like that, lips brushing, fingers laced, hearts beating in sync.
The silence between us isn't heavy. It’s peaceful.
It’s home.
* * *
We reach her front porch, and she stops by the steps. The porch light flickers, casting shadows over her face. I should say goodnight. I should walk away.
But I don’t.
Julie turns to me, one hand on the railing. "You want to come in? I still have leftover lemon bars from earlier."
"Are you bribing me with baked goods?"
She grins. "Is it working?"
I follow her inside and as the door clicks shut behind us, the air shifts.
Julie moves toward the kitchen, barefoot now, her heels abandoned by the door. She glances over her shoulder. "You want something to drink? Tea? Water?"
"You don’t have to make a fuss."
"Fussing is my love language."
She pours two glasses of water and hands me one. Her fingers linger on mine, and this time, neither of us looks away.
"Tonight was fun," she says quietly.
"Yeah. It was."
We stand in the kitchen, inches apart, the silence stretching taut between us.
"I don’t usually do this," she whispers.
"What’s ‘this’?"
She swallows. "Bring people into my space. Trust them. Want them."
My control frays and I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches, and I feel it like a spark against my skin.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You can tell me to walk away.” She should tell me to go, but I really want to stay.
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t want you to leave.”
That’s all it takes.
I step closer, closing the distance, and press my mouth to hers. The kiss starts soft—exploratory—but deepens fast. She gasps, clutching my shirt, pulling me in. I press her back gently against the counter, the edge of it biting into my thighs as our bodies align with startling precision.
I break the kiss only long enough to whisper, “Tell me this isn’t a mistake.”
“It’s not,” she breathes, her lips brushing mine. “I want this. I want you.”
That’s all I need.
We move through the house in a tangle of hands and mouths and rising heat, limbs bumping furniture in the dark as she leads me to her bedroom. Her bed looks soft, the sheets carrying a whisper of lavender and vanilla. She peels off my shirt, fingers trembling as they trace the lines of my chest, like she’s trying to memorize every scar, every story.
I want to take my time, mapping every inch of her skin, learning the rhythm of her breath, the arch of her back, the sound she makes when my hands and mouth find just the right spot.
She’s sunlight and heat and softness wrapped around steel, and she opens for me in a way that undoes me entirely.
“I don’t have a condom with me.” I tell her, silently hoping she either pushes me away or has an entire box somewhere in here.
She swallows hard, “I’m clean. I just had my annual appointment last week and I haven’t been with anyone in a few years. I had my birth control shot, then, too.”
Years? The gravity of that word pulses between us. I should go. But do I? Nope. “I’m clean, too. I just had my quarterly check up with the department doctor.”
Her hands stroke across my chest. “Then we don’t need anything, do we?”
I shake my head. “Just you. I need you.”
She smiles and shakes her head, affirming our understanding.
I feel her heart racing as my fingers trace a deliberate pattern along her spine while my other hand grips her hips, pulling her against my hardened body. She clings onto my shoulder, biting my lip, trying to hold back her moans that threaten to escape.
I walk her backwards to the bed and lay her down as she pulls my cock out of my jeans and wraps her hand around me. It’s been so long since someone has held me like this, I have to breathe through the urge to explode too early is overwhelming.
“I need to be inside you, Julie, or this will be over before it begins.” I take myself out of her hands and place my tip to her moist entrance. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, please,” she begs and I don’t need any further encouragement.
I slide into her with one thrust, her body arching to meet mine with a gasp that echoes in the small room. The sound makes my blood catch fire. I move slowly at first, savoring every inch, every moan, every soft cry that slips from her lips as her fingers dig into my back.
“Marcus…” she breathes, head tipped back.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, bending to kiss the hollow of her throat. “Let go.”
She does.
I groan, grazing my teeth over her shoulder as my hips meet hers in a desperate rhythm. My free hand trails her stomach and moves to her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard points. She gasps at the sensation, arching into my touch as I pinch them, her back bowing.
The pressure builds, each thrust becoming harder and more urgent. “Marcus…” she calls out, her voice straining.
I growl low in my throat, going deeper as I pinch her other nipple, rolling it between my fingers.
Her climax hits first—hard and fast—her body tensing beneath mine, thighs clenching as she cries out, raw and unrestrained. I follow seconds later, her name falling from my lips like a prayer, her scent burned into my lungs, her heartbeat echoing against my chest as I collapse beside her.
Now, she lies against my chest, her breath slowing, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
I don’t speak. I can’t because something about this—about her—is too much. Too good. Too dangerous for me.
She falls asleep curled against me, and I stay awake long after because I know what happens next. This is the part where I need to pull away because she deserves more than a broken man who still wakes up in a cold sweat at night with blood on his hands. I’m not sure I can be what she needs even if I want to be.
Especially because I want to be.