Rare and Precious Things

  I cringed at her question, knowing there was only one answer I could give. Clusterfuck motherfucking load of steaming shit.

  WHOEVER says the government moves slowly is not talking about the people that work for the future Vice President of the United States. Things moved at the speed of light as soon as I gave my agreement to visit Lance Oakley.

  You have to do this. I stood in the hospital corridor waiting to go in, the smell of antiseptic and food permeating the sterile air making me want to retch. The bouquet of flowers I’d been given shook lightly in my hand as I tried to pull myself together. You don’t have a choice. Ethan’s hand at my back felt possessive, but I couldn’t deal with whatever emotions he was struggling with at the moment. You have to do it to protect your baby. I knew why Ethan was freaking. But there was nothing I could do for him right now.

  The moment Ethan had sent my agreement to meet Lance via the text message on my phone, a very well-organized media show geared into motion. Limousines, police escorts, secret entrances, personal photographers, gifts for the patient, debriefings on what to do, how long to stay, what to say. Everything arranged down to the millisecond. You’re doing this. Ethan’s hand caressed my low back. He was being forced into being a part of this bedside circus too. My husband was about to meet my past. Everything I wanted to forget about. He’s just a soldier who’s been injured serving his country.

  “Mr. Blackstone, you’ll stay on her left, until after your introduction to Lieutenant Oakley, then you’ll excuse yourself from the room to take a phone call. Your wife will finish the visit alone with Lieutenant Oakley.” The press secretary who addressed Ethan blanched at the look her gave her. Make that a wince. I couldn’t see him shooting her the fuck-off-you-pretentious-gash glare, as he was slightly out of my range of vision, but I could imagine what his face looked like right now. And no, Ethan wouldn’t take to her instructions well at all, now would he? Especially as she just told him to leave me in the hands of another man. Lance is not just any other man. Ethan might not even follow her instructions. I guess Miss Press Secretary was about to find out.

  “We’re all ready?” she asked me, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Ethan.

  No. “Yes.” He’s just a soldier who’s been injured serving his country. You knew him a long time ago…you can do this.

  MY legs propelled me forward. I don’t know how.

  I felt close to an out-of-body experience to be honest, but somehow I moved in slow steps that brought me into his private hospital room. I don’t know what I expected. I knew Lance had been horribly injured and that his leg had been amputated just below the right knee, but the person lying in that bed, was nearly unrecognizable to me.

  The Lance Oakley I remembered was a prep-school, west coast society boy. Clean cut and ambitious. He’d been a student at Stanford headed for a law degree when we were together.

  He didn’t look like Stanford Law now.

  Tattoos covered his arms in sleeves down to the knuckles on his hands. His brown hair was cut short as it would be for a military officer, but blended with the unshaven beard, he looked raw and edgy. Big bodied, muscled and inked, dressed in a hospital gown and lying in bed, his gaze straight ahead on the wall. Not at me. He looked bereft, and not at all like the cold misogynist I’d carried in my head these long years.

  I must have stopped short because Ethan’s hand at my back pressed more firmly.

  I took another step, moving closer. He flipped his eyes up. Very dark brown as I remembered them. Gone was the cocky self-assuredness I also remembered.

  Now, I saw something in him I’d never seen before. There was regret, and apology, and shame in the way he appeared before me, in his hospital bed, missing one of his legs. At some point in the past seven years—maybe just since his injury—Lance Oakley had found a conscience.

  “BRYNNE.”

  “Lance.”

  His face softened. “Thank you for coming…here,” he said clearly, as if he had also been briefed by his father’s press secretary.

  “Of course.” I came forward and placed the flowers on the side of the blanket and reached out my hand.

  His tattooed fingers gripped my outstretched hand, and miraculously…nothing horrible happened. The world didn’t end, nor did the sun go dark. Lance brought my hand up to his cheek and held it there. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

  The photographer shot the hell out of that moment, and I knew I would see the pictures in print, on TV, magazines, everywhere. I was in it now, and there was no going back. For any of us.

  I could feel Ethan beside me, as tight as a bowstring about ready to snap. He was undoubtedly furious that Lance was touching me in an intimate way. Strangely, it didn’t affect me much at all. I felt numb more than anything. So I forced myself to continue on with the charade, to propel it forward so we could all end the torture.

  Retrieving my hand from his grip, I said, “Lance, this is my husband, Ethan Blackstone. Ethan, Lance Oakley, an old…friend from San Francisco.”

  Lance gave Ethan his full attention and held out his hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Ethan.”

  There was a long pause where I wasn’t sure Ethan would return the handshake. Time stopped as everyone held their breath.

  After what felt like an eon, Ethan brought his own hand forward and delivered a firm shake. “How do you do?” The greeting was conveyed smoothly, but I knew my man, and he was hating on every bloody second of being here. Of me having to be here. Of him having to pretend.

  Then, as if a screen director were calling the shots, someone came up and tapped Ethan on the shoulder, apologizing for the interruption, but he had an important call that required his attention. And just like that, he excused himself. I watched Ethan walk out, the rigid gait showing me how hard it was for him to leave me there alone. You can do this.

  “Will you sit down?”

  “Yes, of course.” I followed the script, astounded that my brain was remembering what to say and do.

  Once I was seated beside him, he reached out and took my hand again. I allowed it only because I could hear the camera clicking as it captured pictures of us chatting together as close friends would, when one of them was hurt in the hospital. You are doing a job and you’re almost done. Finish it, and walk out the door and never look back.

  “You look so wonderful. You look happy, Brynne.”

  “I am happy.” And as if I needed reminding, my little butterfly angel chose that moment to assure me of its presence. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the fluttery brushes of my baby growing safe inside me. The beauty of that miracle sort of made all of the awkwardness in the current moment fade out of my focus, enabling me to bear it.

  “Brynne…I am so sorry about this…that you had to come here. I’m sorry you had to, but I am so grateful to finally see you again.” His voice was so different now. The way he spoke was different. I sensed sincerity…

  I opened my eyes and looked at him, having a very hard time coming up with a response. Eventually I did. “I hope—that you recover quickly, Lance. I—I have to get going.” Time for the coup de gras, the part which would be the hardest for me to get through. But I knew what I was expected to do. And so I would.

  I stood up from my chair and bent down to him.

  His face fell, his expression changing to one of displeasure that I was ending the visit. I took a deep breath and pressed my cheek to his in a simple embrace. I held myself suspended as the camera exploded in another round of furious clicking.

  Lance brought his arms up around my back.

  I closed my eyes again…and thought of Ethan and my butterfly angel to get me through the moment.

  My mission was nearly complete, the checkered flag about to drop, when Lance whispered in my ear. The words were spoken in a rush, and audible only to me, but there was only one way to describe how he sounded. Desperate.

  “Brynne, please come back to see me again. I have to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you
.”

  CHAPTER 9

  I knew Ethan was in a bad state the second I came out of Lance’s room. I could see the lines of worry around his eyes and the harsh set of his jaw. And I most definitely felt the tension in his body when he refused the car to take us home and had Len waiting for us instead. Ethan wouldn’t accept another morsel of anything from the senator. He was done.

  The moment Len dropped us at the lobby of our building, Ethan propelled me inside with quick steps. No seconds wasted on even a simple greeting to Claude, our concierge, as he usually did. He moved us along with a singular purpose, trundling me into the elevator without ever uttering a single word.

  He herded me into a corner and pressed his body up against mine, dropping his head to my neck and inhaling. Still silent, he just pinned me there and breathed me in. I could smell the seductive male spice coming off him. The scent of desire for sex, and the burning drive to mate.

  “Ethan,” I whimpered his name.

  “Hush.” He brought one finger to my lips and held it there. “No talking.”

  I could feel the length of his cock pressing into my hip and a long shiver rolled down my spine. I was already wet and he hadn’t even done anything to me except press his body to mine and express his displeasure for conversation. It was all in the power of suggestion in his manner, the way he communicated to me with his mind and his body about what he wanted, that was so compelling.

  Ethan wanted to fuck. Me.

  I knew he was just holding back the firestorm that would be coming at me the second he got us behind closed doors.

  THE click of the door latch sounded incredibly loud against the tense silence.

  With my senses on high alert, I braced myself for him to come at me. I didn’t have to wait long. In less than a second, I was covered from behind by a very hard body intent upon one, and only one goal. To get inside mine.

  Ethan had his hands up my skirt and his fingers sliding over my clit before I could even take a step. His forceful probing of my sex was primal, and sent me into instant lust. It was his animalistic desperation that flipped the switch. Ethan was a ravening beast at my back right, and the erotic images he conjured up in my mind made me go just as wild.

  “So drenched already,” he purred smugly at my neck, his hips thrusting into my ass while he fingered my pussy, building me up to where my body took over, and my mind didn’t have to think about anything beyond this.

  He pushed me forward, up to the foyer table. “Put your hands there and hold on,” he commanded.

  As I took my place, I felt my panties pulled down roughly, one leg lifted out of them and then…his magic fingers were back at my pussy. Thank you. This time, he plundered from the front so he could grind into me from behind. Spreading the slickness up and down my slit, he worked it around with talented fingers, stroking and lubricating my flesh until I was nearly ready to orgasm. Ethan was well versed in the signs, and I knew he would change things up because of it. He let me go along until I started to rock into the rhythm he had going, riding his hand like a wanton. Then he stopped. “No,” I cried out in protest when his fingers left me.

  “I’ve got you, baby. Hold on.” He smacked my ass cheek with a firm slap, the sting edging my pleasure up a notch. I tensed my muscles and shuddered into it, desperate for him inside me. How does he know?

  The noise of him unzipping was the best sound I’d heard all day. Still shaking, I moaned in anticipation as I felt the blunt head of his cock nudge at my entrance, hot and ready.

  Bracing my arms on the table, I looked down at the floor made of beautiful Travertine marble. The scene below us could only be described as sex personified. Creamy-lined stone, created by nature, juxtaposed against the haphazard cluster of abandoned clothing. Ethan’s dark grey trousers and leather belt bunched along his shins, the rolled pink lace of my panties still around my left ankle, the wide stance of my Gucci peep-toes propping up my legs. A truly jaw-dropping sight to behold, because of what it represented. Wild, filthy sex between two lovers too desperate to bother with getting naked.

  And also that I was about to be fucked senseless.

  Ethan filled me up on a steady thrust, his hands at my hips for leverage. He made that breathy groan of pleasure that I loved to hear from him as he sank into me. “Feel that, my beauty. All of it—just for you.” He drew out on a glorious slide of his thick cock. “You’re so good, so fucking beautiful right now, bent over this table—” He plunged inside me deeply. “—taking my cock.”

  God, he felt good in me. “ Yes…oh!” I couldn’t respond to his erotic ravings with any coherence. All I could do was take it.

  “You belong to me!” he barked on harsh punctuating thrusts, his pace almost punishing as he pounded faster.

  Yes, I do. My man was trying to reestablish his claim over me after having to give me up at the hospital. He needed this. I needed it. Over and over he pumped into me, the hot flesh of him sinking and retreating in a wicked stride that left me barely able to breathe.

  “I want to hear you say it,” he growled.

  My orgasm building, I could barely think, let alone speak, but his demands always pulled it out of me. “Oh, my God, Ethan…yes…I only ever belong to you!”

  I felt the first convulsion start, rolling me to the tip of the crest as I clamped down on his hammering cock as hard as I could.

  “Oh, fuck, yeah. Squeeze it just like that!” His hand gripped my hair in a huge handful and pulled my neck all the way back. I understood why. Ethan needed that intimacy of our mouths and eyes meeting, no less than the joining of our sexes. He brought his other hand around my throat and held me pinned, cock pounding relentlessly into me from behind as he took my mouth. His kiss was searing, devouring, and ravening. He bit and sucked at me with rough lips and teeth, possessing me in every way, demonstrating that I was, indeed, his.

  Just as I needed to be.

  As I climaxed into a blissful explosion of intensity, his tongue plunged deep into my mouth claiming my breath, my soul, my everything.

  I felt him harden and swell inside me. I cried out his name in a long, low wail, unable to vocalize anything other than that one word. “Ethan” was the only word I knew.

  “I love you,” he rasped against my lips right as he started to come.

  BRYNNE squeezing and gripping around me as she came—was so good. So—fucking—good. Every convulsive grasp and shudder coming from her sex, owned my cock. I felt the tightening rush in my balls just as I started to go off. “Uhn…uhn…uhn,” I grunted, with every plunge into her tight cunt.

  My beautiful girl gave herself up to me in exquisite surrender.

  “Fuck, YES!” I ground out, a hot flood of cum shooting out in spurts, spunking her up good and dirty. I kept on fucking through the ecstasy, holding her against me by pieces of her beautiful hair. Fuck. Love. Mine. Brynne... Random thoughts filtered through my consciousness as I melded into her, but one idea stayed with me though. No matter how far gone I ever got, I didn’t lose sight of the truth: This woman owned me from head to toe, and everything else in between.

  And she always would.

  I released my hold of her hair, straightened her neck, and buried my face at the back of it. Breathing in her floral scent, laced with the smell of pussy, I traced the top of her spine with my lips, whispering to her, cherishing her, kissing in between the words. I might be calmer now, but I was fully aware that I’d just fucked my wife like a madman in the entryway of our home.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she purred sexily.

  I wondered what she was thinking. Even so, I knew there was nothing I could have done differently. After leaving Oakley at the hospital, I’d slipped into a very dark place in my head. I understood the visit was necessary, but I hated every second of it. All I wanted was to protect my precious girl from the things that had hurt her. And I wasn’t able to do that today. I had to stand aside and allow him to put his hands on her…again.

  Don’t think abou
t that cocksucking shit.

  Pulling out, I yanked my trousers up, only bothering so I’d be able to walk. They wouldn’t be on me in another two minutes.

  I swept my hand over her gorgeously displayed arse and squeezed a cheek, taking in the view. “You’re so…goddamn…beautiful.” The word didn’t even do justice to how she looked right now. There weren’t words. And I could never get enough of looking at her.

  She rolled her neck like a cat getting a good stretch out of the way. My girl seemed pleasantly sated, but I wasn’t done with her yet. That desperate entryway fuck we’d just had was merely a warm up.

  “I think I need to get off my feet,” she said from her position bent over the table—pink pussy framed between her spread legs, standing long and straight, all the way down to the black heels at the end of her dainty feet.

  Guilt speared my gut. Of course she should be off her feet. She was pregnant. You’re a fucking moron sometimes. I helped her to straighten and turned her around to me. “I’m so sorry ’bout that, baby. Let me make it up to you.” I scooped her up into my arms and kissed her, relieved to see the sexy smirk teasing her lips as I walked us toward the bedroom. “I’ll rub them for a long time.”

  “Pretty please,” she hummed into my chest.

  And that’s all it took for everything to be right with the world. I just needed a sign from her. A smile, a word, a caress—something that told me she wasn’t bothered by my freak-out, and still loved me. That, and the fact I had at least another blinding orgasm coming to me. Brynne, on the other hand, deserved at least two more, plus a really nice foot massage.

  “You will be,” I told her when I laid her out on our bed.

  IN the SF, Captains lead troops of five men. Small squads for tactical ops that require zero detection. My men were the best the BA had to offer. Mike, Dutch, Leo, Chip, and Jackie. That day we found the boy and his dead mother in the middle of the road was the final day we were all alive at the same time. The last time brothers, husbands, fathers, and sons of Britain drew breath. Twenty days later, that number was reduced to…one.