Graham
“Catch up, probie!” West shouts.
Raelynn swears loudly. She’s almost a full lap behind me, though Ry gave her a two-minute head start since her shoulder isn’t completely healed yet.
“I ain’t your damn probie,” she pants.
“Until Wyatt starts joining us for workouts, the honor’s still yours.” West taps his watch as I cross the chalk line he drew on the warehouse floor. “That’s 7:32 for Graham.” Inara’s less than ten seconds behind me, with Tank—who flew out last night for a week of hardcore training—at her heels.
Ry crosses his arms
Raelynn skids to a stop at nine minutes and forty-one seconds, bracing her hands on her thighs.
“Damn, probie.” West shakes his head, and she glares at the SEAL with a look that would kill a lesser man.
“Don’t you give me any shit, y’hear? I made it through the climbin’ wall without usin’ my right arm. As instructed.”
West passes her a bottle of water. “I was about to say, ‘I’m impressed.’”
“Oh.” She deflates a little, and trudges over to the mats in the corner to stretch. “I’m fixin’ to knock on Wyatt’s door and drag his sorry ass here for the next workout so y’all have someone else to gang up on.”
Ryker laughs—at least I think that’s the sound he makes. “I’d like to see you try.”
Elbowing me, Inara leans in. “You might want to warn Wyatt. Raelynn’s got a chip on her shoulder even Ry couldn’t knock off.”
I meet her blue-eyed gaze. “Wyatt’s twice her size. She’d be a fool…” Shit. Inara’s right. “I’ll drop by tonight and suggest Wyatt join us on Saturday. Not sure he’s ready to leave Hope alone yet, though.”
“Can’t say I blame him.” Inara and I head for the kitchen—and our phones resting on the counter. “Dammit. Royce’s flight is delayed half an hour.”
While Tank is visiting us in Seattle, the love of Inara’s life, Royce, is on his way to Boston. He and Zephyr have been working on his subdermal GPS trackers for months. They worked for all of forty-eight hours when we went down to Venezuela to rescue Trevor, but the two of them think they can extend the battery life by at least another two days by the end of the year.
“He’s on Dax’s plane. He’ll be fine. Dude doesn’t even have to turn off his cell phone during the flight. Call him.” I check my messages and burst out laughing.
Q: Clementine discovered she can open the kitchen cabinet. We need locks.
I show Inara the photo. Kibble covers the counter, and in the center of the mess, our cat sits like a queen on her throne.
Graham: How much did she eat?
Q: You don’t want to know.
***
Quinton
By the time I finish cleaning up the mess Clementine made, Graham’s on his way home with a loaded pepperoni pizza from Big Mario’s and a six-pack of beer. I wanted to cook for him tonight, but the kitchen still smells like cat food, even after I lit half a dozen candles.
Cooking would have relaxed me—something I desperately need. But pizza will have to do.
It’s a good day today. One where my pain level isn’t much above a three. But tomorrow, I’m supposed to have my first physical therapy appointment at Manny’s offices, and every time I think about it, panic churns in my gut.
I know this is the logical next step. Six months ago, I couldn’t leave my townhouse. Now, I can go to the coffee shop down the street, the grocery store, even a quiet restaurant—as long as Graham’s with me. But I still let Manny come to me.
Not anymore. Alec won’t control one more second of my life. He’s dead. Along with all of his friends. I’m safe in Seattle. With Graham. And while he’ll drive me to my appointment and pick me up when I’m done, I asked him to let me go in alone.
Clementine waddles a little as she joins me on the couch. “You were not a good girl,” I say, scratching her behind the ears. “I bet you were so proud of yourself. Weren’t you?”
She mrrps and starts kneading my thigh. Ever since I found her outside my back door, drenched and shaking, she’s been my constant companion. But even though she’s gained six pounds this year, I still think of her as the kitten who could fit in the palm of my hand.
The lock beeps, and Clementine jumps off my lap to race for the door. “Traitor,” I say. “He’s not going to feed you either.”
“Whoa!” Graham hops on one foot to avoid stepping on our little orange acrobat. “Watch it, squirt.”
The cat lets out a loud meow, and immediately pads over to her bowl.
“Oh, no,” Graham says as he slides the pizza box onto the counter. “Don’t even think about it.”
“It’s all she’s been thinking about.” I push to my feet with only a brief twinge of pain and join Graham in the kitchen.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about.” His lips slant over mine.
Kissing him never gets old. Graham knows just how to touch me, how to make me feel safe, protected, loved. He’s my home.
With a quick dart of his tongue, he asks for more. “Bedroom,” I manage, and he slides the pizza box on top of the fridge with one hand, the other arm still banded tight around my waist.
We stumble down the hall, leaving Clementine meowing plaintively in the kitchen. By the time we reach the bed, I have the back of his shirt fisted in one hand, the other going for his belt.
“Miss me?” he asks, his lips pressed to my neck.
“Maybe just a little.” The shirt lands in the corner of the room. I swear he’s more built now than he was this morning when he left the condo.
His palm skims over my length through my khakis. “Maybe more than a little.”
My cheeks flush hot. He’s right. I’m rock hard for him. We fall together, legs tangling, onto our king-size bed.
I have his pants undone before he can even find the hem of my t-shirt, and he chuckles. “Worried about the pizza getting cold?”
“No. But if I don’t taste you in the next two minutes, I might starve.”
He lies back as I tug off his black briefs and free his cock. A single drop of precum glistens at the tip, and I swirl my tongue around his crown.
I’ll never get enough of his man. Not even if we live to be a hundred.
I can’t go down on him like I want to. Not with my damage. But Graham knows what I need, and he wraps his arms around me and rolls onto his side. “Where do you want me, baby?”
“On your knees.” I sit at the head of the bed, my back against the headboard. Graham straddles my legs, his hands braced on the wall above my head.
In this position, he has to do all the work, but he’s never complained. Not once. Licking my lips, I curl one hand over his hip, and wrap the other around his length to guide him to my lips.
“God, Q…” Graham’s abs quiver as I take him deep and run my tongue over the underside of his cock.
I can’t tell him how much I love being able to give him this. He’s never asked me for more. Never made me feel less than because I can’t move the way he does.
Graham shudders. “Touch me…” he whispers.
Digging my fingers into the hard muscles of his ass, I pull him closer. Hollowing out my cheeks, I suck him deeper. With every thrust—his, not mine—he gets harder. I can’t get enough of the taste of him.
He covers one of my hands with his and stops. I gently pull away until his crown slips free from my lips with a small pop.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something…?”
“God, no, baby. You’re perfect.” His gaze locks on mine, and he reaches out to cup my cheeks. “But, I’m ready. For more.”
Graham guides my hand between his ass cheeks, and though uncertainty flickers in his eyes for a brief moment, when I skim a finger over his tight hole, he throws his head back and groans.
He leans over and snags a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. “All the way, baby.”
In all the time we’ve been together, he’s only let me touch him there twice. But he’s looking at me with such desperate need, that I spill some of the lube over my index finger.
“If you need me to stop…” I whisper.
“I know.” Graham braces his hands on the headboard, his whole body tensing as I explore his crack. With my other hand, I guide him back to my lips.
He’s somehow harder now than he’s ever been—or maybe I’m so fucking aroused at the trust he’s giving me it just seems that way.
Circling his hole while he thrusts slowly, I watch him for any sign he’s not ready, but he’s staring at me like I’m his whole world.
I hum as I press against the tight ring of muscles, and when my finger slides deep, he starts to move his hips faster. Harder. A light sheen of sweat covers his brow. I take him deeper, all the way to the back of my throat, and a brief second of panic hits me square in the chest. But I twist my finger to find the ridge of his prostate, and he gasps.
“Q!” I only have a second to prepare before his release fills my mouth. I take him all, swallowing him down until he collapses against me, his entire body shaking.
We don’t move for several minutes, his arms around my waist, his head on my chest. “That was…whoa.”
“Whoa good?”
He kisses me with such passion, I have my answer. “I love you, Q.”