A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM) (29 page)

“And I’m here.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “Hey, take a look out there and make sure cocktail hour is going well.”

I did as I was directed, moving a few feet away from him to peer out at the room from the safety of the heavy drapes. Everyone was standing or sitting, milling around, talking, laughing, and drinking.

“Well?” he inquired, his hands on my hips undoing the belt that held the scabbard on.

“What are you doing?” I spoke to him over my shoulder.

“I just want this off for a second.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, dropping the sword on the ground before going to work on the second belt I was wearing, the one not holding an antique weapon on my hip. His nimble fingers had it unbuckled in seconds.

“Aaron?”

“You’re not checking on the guests.”

I went back to survey the crowd. “I think it’s going okay.”

“Good,” he said, kissing the back of my neck quickly before he was suddenly on his knees behind me, biting my ass through the thin fabric of the breeches.

“Aaron.” I bucked hard.

“So guess what got finished today?” he asked as his hands released the toggle clasp on the front of the breeches and made quick work of the trouser stays.

“I….” He wanted me to carry on a conversation? “What?”

“Your greystone,” he answered, sliding the pants and the jock down together until both hit the top of the boots.

“Oh,” I moaned, opening my legs as far as they would go, bending forward, hands fisted in the drapes, holding tight as I arched my back.

“So now,” he said, parting my cheeks, “we can start buying things for it.”

“Yeah, we—oh,” I groaned softly as he slid his tongue inside me.

“That was a good, sound investment on your part,” he praised, then speared his tongue in deeper and deeper before pulling out and swirling it around my hole.

“Aaron.” I jerked back against him.

He pushed back in, licking and laving, stretching me slowly, relaxing the muscles, his face pushed between my cheeks, massaging as he feasted on me until I was coated with his saliva.

When he added a finger, sliding back and forth over my prostate, I started fucking myself on it, harder and harder.

“Here,” he purred, and I felt the stretch in my ass as he added another finger, still moving gradually, in and out, back and forth, the rhythm slow but steady, relentless.

When he reached around and took my cock in his hand, I begged.

“Can you take me without lube?” he asked, rising behind me, stroking me from balls to head, repeatedly. “Can you?”

In answer I thrust out my ass for him.

“God, I love that you would,” he purred, kissing my back as I heard the tear of foil. “But that’s what lube packets are for.”

“Are you kidding?” The planning was impressive. “You had the presence of mind to grab lube on the way out of the house?”

“The way you’re dressed,” he said, his voice dark and low, “there was no way you were making it home without getting fucked.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

“Only to you,” he husked, hands on my hips, positioning himself behind me before sliding easily between my cheeks, the press of him at my entrance making me gasp. “Ever since I got home and saw you…. Jesus, Duncan, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

His entry burned, even with the lube, and instead of the usual slide, he had to wedge himself in, grind and shove, inch by inch.

“Jerk yourself off. You’re so tight and hot there’s no way I can do anything but fuck you.”

His words, my hand on my shaft, tugging and pulling, and his thick cock moving inside me made me jolt backward and impale myself on his length.

“Oh fuck,” Aaron rasped, hands like claws on my shoulders, holding tight as he eased back. “Baby, can you feel me?”

My muscles twitched and rippled around him, clenching, wanting to keep him steady and still even as the throb that resonated through me encouraged him to move. “Aaron, please.”

He pushed in deep and a shiver that was half-pain, half-pleasure rolled through me.

“I don’t want––to hurt––”

“No,” I said, feeling dazed and heavy with need.

“I just want to bury myself in you.”

“Yes,” I pleaded. “Hurry.”

“You have no idea how badly I want those boots over my shoulders and you under me.”

“I’ll keep them on all night,” I promised, my breath catching, “if you fuck me now.”

“I’m taking you right here,” he swore and rammed himself all the way inside me.

That fast it went from sharp and stinging to a dull, blooming ache I wanted to rub, over and over, on the end of his dick.

He stroked in and I bent forward, taking him deeper, the languid pace opening me until my body stopped fighting, stopped trying to push out and sucked in.

“Holy fuck, baby, your ass.”

I needed to be on the ground and so sank to my knees. Aaron followed, connected, his thighs plastered against mine before he pistoned inside me.

Fists clenched on the carpet, I took the pounding because I wanted it, too good to stop. When I felt the sizzling heat tighten my balls, rise from the base of my spine to my stomach, I whispered I was close.

“You’re not touching your cock.”

“Don’t—” I gasped. “—have to.”

He bent over me, his fingers lacing with mine as he sucked between my shoulder blades, biting down as his driving rhythm, the forward and back, became only about being buried inside of me. He wanted to be
in
, and that was all.

I bit my lip hard so I wouldn’t scream and came on the ground under me, spurting thick and messy.

Aaron hammered me through my drowning orgasm and his own release seconds later. He spilled, hot and thick, and then collapsed across my back, replete and panting. “Ohmygod, I love you,” he groaned.

“That is sex talking,” I said as I tried to calm my racing heart.

“No,” he countered, lifting up and easing gently from my still spasming channel.

Luckily, his Phileas Fogg costume had lots of layers, so he took off his jacket, then the waist coat, followed by the fancy shirt under that, and finally the sweaty T-shirt sticking to his torso, leaving on only an off-kilter silk scarf.

“You look completely debauched,” I teased.

“Oh, Mr. Pirate,” he said, leaning over to kiss me, “it’s all you. You, sir, look utterly ravished.”

“Is that hot?”

“Oh fuck yeah,” he answered as he used the T-shirt to wipe my ass, the insides of my thighs, and finally mop up, and then rub in, the come splatter on the floor.

“You ground it in,” I scolded him.

“Baby, they have to clean all the carpets in here after this event—the whole place, all right? Let’s not worry about some spooge on this one little area.”

I laughed.

“Hey.”

“What?” I couldn’t stop smiling.

He cleared his throat. “Marry me, all right?”

That fast we were all serious. “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Can’t get married in Chicago,” I said, running my fingers over the chain at his throat.

It turned out Aaron was the one who needed grounding, especially when he had to fly away from me for business. The collar he had removed from me that night in Sedona had never come off of him and was always flipped to the
D
for Duncan. I would have been the only person who saw it, but the chain had been visible in pictures snapped at a hot springs in Landmannalaugar, Iceland.

“We’ll have a civil union here and go get married in New York.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was admiring your collar, Mr. Sutter.”

Instantly, his smile returned.

“So where are we getting married?”

“In New York.”

“Well, that’s kind of fitting, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

I stared into his eyes and he held my gaze. “Okay, then.”

His face lit up. “That’s a yes?”

“It is.”

He reached for me, and I met him halfway, kissing and hugging and trying to press together tighter.

Once we could both stand and get dressed, we rejoined the crowd, grabbed drinks, and found our seats at the table with Max and Astrid and Prentiss. Aaron lost no time telling them and asking Max to be his best man.

Max nodded quickly and lunged at Aaron; Astrid, seeing him, covered her mouth with her hand. I could tell she was trying really hard not to cry. It was nice to see the brothers Sutter having such an unguarded moment. I put my arm around her and tucked her against me. The way she snuggled in was nice. I had a family again, and I was so very thankful.

After dinner, while people were dancing, Aaron sat with his long muscular legs in my lap as we talked. His face was flushed, and the white cravat at his throat contrasted beautifully with his bronze skin and gold hair. His eyes were soft as he stared at me like he was drunk.

“You look wasted.”

“No, just looking at you.” He sighed. “I like looking at you.”

“You know all this lovey-dovey crap will fade, right?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s permanent. I’m in love.”

“Me too,” I said, massaging his calves, using the strength in my hands to push into the muscles and knead them.

He whimpered in the back of his throat.

“Feel good?”

“God, yes.”

“Maybe I should take you home and give you a full body massage.”

“Will you wear the boots?”

I couldn’t stop smiling. “Sure.”

“Okay, you’re on.”

And as usual, when we left, after saying goodnight to Max and Astrid and even Prentiss, he was holding my hand.

M
ARY
C
ALMES
lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will
so
not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.