EPILOGUE
brOCK
We were sitting on our couch, staring at the TV dumbfounded, when our phones rang. Adam picked up his phone and showed me the screen. I chuckled.
He nodded at mine, and I turned the screen over and held it out for the both of us to see. They were two peas in a pod.
The encrypted phone Adam used for work rang as well.
Adam laughed. The dimple that so rarely made an appearance flashed, turning my knees to jelly and making me thankful I was sitting down.
“Three for three,” he said as he muted both his phones, turning them off, before taking mine from me and doing the same with it.
“You don’t wanna see what they want?” I asked.
I knew what Foster, Walker, and Matthew Holt wanted—at least, I thought I did. The problem was figuring out what my answer would be to the questions I thought they would ask.
Adam looked at the TV and then back at me. He slid down off the couch, pushing the coffee table out of the way as he kneeled between my splayed thighs. His eyes flared to life briefly as his hands smoothed up my thighs.
“No. I don’t. I think we both know what they want.”
I smiled at him and nodded. “Yeah. So, are we going to do it? Are we going to re-enlist?”
Adam grabbed my hands, twining our fingers together. Since we’d left the teams, he had been so much more affectionate. PDA was a common occurrence between us now. He never shied away from showing me how he felt about me or how much he wanted me.
“What I want to know…” he started before taking a deep breath. “…is what you want.”
I leaned up toward him, brushing our lips together. Once. Twice. Three times before pulling away from him.
“You, Adam. I want you. I have from the very first moment I laid eyes on you all those years ago. If you want to go back, we will figure it out, but I like what we have with Holt.”
Adam smiled, cupping my face in his hands.
“Good,” he sighed. “I’m glad because that’s how I feel, too.”
He kissed me savagely, laying claim to my mouth.
My dick stood up and took notice that the gorgeous man I was lucky enough to be loved by was inches away, and his hands were sliding up under my athletic shorts.
He hummed when he found my unfettered cock, teasing it and me with barely-there touches while he fucked my mouth with his tongue.
I reached for Adam’s shirt. The fact he that had one on bothered me.
It always did, but I knew why he did it.
He did it for himself because he hated the scars.
I didn’t know if he forgot them until he caught a glimpse or what, but he knew I didn’t give a fuck.
I mean, I did because I hated that he had experienced that shit.
It made me want to bring that motherfucker and all his cronies back from the grave so I could make them experience every bit of pain and agony Adam experienced, but they were dead and gone, bullets through their foreheads, and Adam was here, in my arms.
I pulled the shirt up his body, whisking it over his head. As I leaned back to capture his mouth, he turned his head. I latched onto the sensitive skin below his jaw, sucking and nipping.
“This got a bit away from me,” he moaned, gripping my cock and giving it a tug.
I chuckled. “It seems you have things well in hand.”
He pushed me back and pulled his hand out of my shorts.
“Yeah, but we jumped the gun a bit,” he said, swallowing, then taking a deep breath.
“Woody, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He was making me fucking nervous.
He smiled at me, his hand coming up to my face. “Not a fucking thing, Rocket. Things are so fucking good that there’s only one thing on earth that could make me happier than I am now.”
“What is it?” I asked curiously.
Is there something I’m not doing? Something he needs that I’m not giving him?
He smiled, his thumb brushed across my bottom lip as he gazed at my mouth.
He sighed, his eyes refocusing on mine. “Marry me. Make an honest man out of me.”
He looked back at the TV as the news anchors talked about the expiration of DADT, then looked back at me.
“I want to be your husband. I want you to wear my ring and take my name,” he said cautiously.
I stared at him, glanced at the screen, and then looked back at him. “When?”
Adam cracked the hell up. “Only you, Brock. Only you.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“I asked you to marry me and to take my name, and you just say when.”
I grabbed his face, pulling it to mine until our noses brushed. “Yes, Adam DuBois. I will marry you, and I will take your name. Now, when and where, because I’ve been ready to be Mr. Adam DuBois for a long damn time now.”
That dimple that made my belly quiver and my knees weak came back out of hiding as he climbed onto my lap, his fucking bubble butt coming to rest on my cock, which went from half-mast to completely hard in a blink. I groaned as he wiggled until my rod was nestled between his ass cheeks.
Adam grinned mischievously and said, “Next weekend, in D.C.”
As I thrust up into him, I said, “Good. Now, where were we?”
I smiled as our lips collided, and the last coherent thought that stumbled through my sex-addled brain was that I was the luckiest motherfucker on this damn planet.
THE END