Corps Security: The Series (150 page)

CHAPTER 29

Emmy

“You need help stripping, Em?” he asks me when he sets me down on the edge of his bed.

I shake my head, not really sure if I’m answering him or telling myself. I honestly have no idea if I’ll be able to get my clothes off.

“That’s what I thought.” His hands go to the hem of my tee and swiftly pull it over. My bra comes off even faster. Placing his hands under my armpits, he lifts my ass off the mattress. “You good?” he asks, making sure I have my balance before continuing.

With my nod, his hands go to the elastic band at the top of my baggy sweats. He’s more careful with my pants, moving down as he pulls them and my panties to the ground. I feel his lips press against my knee and travel up my leg.

And just like that, he’s gone. I sway, but his strong arms grab my shoulders to help steady me. After making sure I’m good on my feet, he takes a step back before lifting his shirt over his head. Inch by delectable inch, his stomach comes into view first. His wide chest is next. Then I bring my eyes to his and lick my lips. His focus follows the path of my tongue, and I have to squeeze my thighs tight when his groan rumbles through the room.

I bring my hands to my breasts and caress the swollen skin. My weaker arm gives me some pain when I tweak my nipples, but the look on his face makes it one hundred percent worth it.

“Emersyn,” he growls, palming his crotch.

“Maddox,” I counter.

And just like that—he attacks.

My body is hauled off the floor when his hands return under my arms and lift. Then his mouth takes mine in a hungry kiss full of possession. I bring my legs up and wrap them around his waist, moaning deeply into his mouth. His hands flex against my ass, his hard cock rubbing against my seeping core. I toss my head back when he pulls one large hand off my ass before bringing it back—hard—in a biting slap.

“More,” I beg.

“With fucking pleasure, Emmy.”

He sets me back on the mattress and steps back. I watch as his hands go back to his pants, pulling his belt off slowly—calculating—and dropping his pants. He doesn’t even move to take them off all the way. I know it will take longer with his prosthetic still on than he’s willing to take. His rock-hard cock springs out, the head purple and angry, the loop through the tip wet with his come. I reach out and brush my hand against his thigh, cup his balls, and then tease his length with my touch. The feeling of his ladder against my skin makes me shiver in anticipation.

“Hands off and roll on to your stomach, Emersyn.”

I immediately remove my hand, craving the promise his words provoke.

It takes me a second, my arm still too weak to help my movements, my leg—still in the cast—a big annoyance. He gives me the time I need, and when I’m situated and look back at him, he’s stroking his cock behind me. His eyes are heavy, his face flushed.

I did this to him.

“You still want it hard? Want me to take your body as roughly as I can without hurting you?”

“God, yes!”

His hand slaps down on my ass with a loud crack. “Fucking beg me, Emersyn.”

With pleasure. “Please, Maddox. Please take my pussy hard. Give me your cock and take my body with everything you have.”

His hand comes down on the other cheek, the sting making me cry out in pleasure. “Again,” he demands.

“Please, Maddox, baby. Take me. Make me come on your cock until my come is dripping from my body.”

His palm comes down on a different spot, smoothing the burn with his palm before challenging, “Again.”

“God damn! FUCK ME!” I scream.

“That’s my girl,” he growls.

His hand comes down seven more times, each a new location, and his palm rubs the sting out after each one. My breath is coming so rapidly that I’m starting to think I really might pass out like he threatened earlier.

Right when I think I can’t take a second more, he helps me flip over and grabs my hips, pulling me until my ass is all but hanging off the bed. I look down and notice that the height of his bed puts my pussy level with his hips. His cock aligns perfectly with my waiting body.

“Not fucking you with a condom, baby. I know you’re clean. You know I’m clean. And I’ll be damned if there is anything between us.”

“No condom. Just fuck me!” I scream when he starts rubbing his cock’s head against my center. Each time the metal of his piercing hits my throbbing clit, I scream again. By the time he finally pushes in, I’m crying.

His balls slap against my ass with the force of his thrust. I bring one hand up and grab his forearm where he’s holding my hips, my nails digging in. I shout loudly when I start to come. He grunts as his movements become uncoordinated.

He pushes in deep and doesn’t move, his chest heaving and his eyes closed tight. I wiggle, trying to get him to move again, but his fingers on my hips dig in and his eyes snap open.

“Don’t fucking move. I’m not going to come in thirty seconds like some teenage shit.”

“You have to move. God, baby, I can feel every inch of you stretching me wide.”

With a grumble, he pulls out a few inches—enough for me to feel his piercings rubbing against my inner walls. When he pushes forward, I feel him hitting even deeper than before.

I pant, beg, and scream for him to move, but he just stands there, breathing roughly and flexing his hips.

When I can’t take it any longer, I rock against him. If he won’t give me what I need, then I’ll just fucking take it.

“You think you can make yourself come
ON
my dick? Baby, that’s the same thing as using your hands. I make you come. Don’t fucking forget it.”

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming home. Over and over again, he slams roughly into my body. One hand comes off my hips and his thick fingers rub over my clit, teasing me, before he pinches it between his fingers.

On a hiss, I come again, my juices rushing against his rigid flesh. He gives me one hard plunge into my body before throwing his head back and roaring.

Fucking roaring.

The sound of his release making my orgasm roll on and on to the point where I do, in fact, pass out.

CHAPTER 30

Maddox

Jesus fucking Christ.

I don’t think I’ve come that hard in my life. The feeling of her pussy milking my orgasm from my body was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

I look down my body to where I’m still planted deep within her warm heat. I can feel our combined releases running down my balls, and my spent cock twitches to life inside her. It takes everything in me to pry my hands from her hips and pull free of her body. My cock is already starting to beg for more of her sweet cunt.

She doesn’t flinch. Not when I release my hold on her hips. Not when I step away from her body—my eyes zeroed in on my cock pulling free. I can see her cream coating me and damned if it doesn’t pump my craving for her up to uncontrollable levels. When the head of my cock leaves her heat, causing a slow rush of our mixed come to leak from her, I have to grab on to the mattress from the head rush it gives me.

Never has sex felt like that. I can’t even deny that it was that intense because of the feelings we have together.

Not even bothering to dress, I move her slack body so that her head is resting on her pillow. Covering her naked body is the last thing I want, but I have a few things I need to take care of before I can climb into bed with her.

Things that I’m finally ready to let go of, thanks to Emmy, and things I want settled before I take her again.

Over the last two months, I feel like I’ve changed as a person. I no longer look at the world thinking that, at any given moment, I will destroy those around me. I look at our close group of friends, people I’ve known for years now, and see that, by knowing me, they haven’t felt my demons. They haven’t been touched—or
tainted
—by my dark soul. If anything, I can now see the role I’ve played in helping each one of them come together.

That one took a little longer for me to wrap my mind around. Years of thinking one way was warring against the very real truth that I was wrong.

Or, more importantly, that every fucked-up thing my mother had drilled into my head—making me believe without a doubt—was in fact the catalyst in it all. Her hate for me fueled my own self-hate. I carried it around. I owned it. I let her do that to me.

I refuse to let her have that power over me now. I’m worth more than a lifetime of being alone and afraid of myself.

I’m worth Emmy.

It hasn’t been easy these last two months, but it has been rewarding. With the help of both Emmy and the doctor I have been seeing a few times a week, I’m ready. Ready to move on and forward. All those baby steps I’ve taken with her at my side have paid off and I feel like we can now run a marathon together.

It’s one fucking amazing high to feel the love of another. To have her wrap that love around me, refusing to let go, and never waver. Indescribable.

Now, it’s time to take the rest of my so-called monsters and toss them where they belong—in the darkest pits of fucking hell.

After making sure Emmy is situated, I laugh when she still doesn’t flinch. I knew she was running on some kind of manic high today with the thought of having the use of her arm again. Even the thought of the physical therapy left to build her strength back up hasn’t weakened her happiness. Being able to move forward and start bearing weight on her leg was even better. It’s going to be harder since her wrist is too weak to support crutches for now, but she can move around now, and that is the important thing to her.

I make the walk over to my dresser and feel my lips twitch when I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel the dread of what I’m about to do.

Open that fucking box.

It’s time.

We’ve slowly been removing items together, just as she promised, but this part needs to be done by me alone. I need to know that I
can
do this one alone.

Popping the lid, I take in the three remaining items. The question is: Which one do I take care of first?

I grab the letter from Johnson’s widow first. One of the hardest things for me to accept was that I wasn’t responsible for their deaths. It would have happened regardless of who was there with me or where my head was. Looking back, even though I was stressed over Mercy, I was on top of my fucking game out there. I’d been trained to be the best of the fucking best, and goddamn it, I was.

Two weeks ago, I called up Johnson’s widow. I was alone at Corps Security and I took a chance. I never fathomed that she would regret this hate-filled letter in my hands. She told me that she had wanted to contact me so many times over the years but just didn’t know how. We talked for two hours that day. Remembering her husband, laughing about the stupid shit we would get into overseas, and finally healing. When I hung up the phone with her and felt that guilt dissipate a little, I started to believe in that hope for a blessed life.

My next call was to Morris’s widow. She was shocked to hear from me but, in the end, glad that I called. Like Mary, she needed that closure that her husband hadn’t suffered and to have some memories I could give her of him.

By the time I finished those calls, I broke.

I sat in my office, surrounded by computers and technical equipment, and I fought with my body to calm down. It was almost as if I hadn’t known how to move on without that guilt. But by the time I left the office, I almost felt whole.

After removing Mary’s letter—and my Medal of Honor—I walk into the kitchen. Then I swipe one of the lighters out of the spare drawer, place my medal on the counter, and hold her letter over the sink. With one flick of my thumb, I watch as flames take over the old paper. Each piece of ash that falls into the sink represents the guilt I’m letting go.

When I’m finished, I grab the medal and walk over to the mantel. I stand there with my legs planted to the ground, my shoulders tight, and take in the pictures Emmy insisted on putting up. Just one of the many home-decorating projects she forced me to do for her during her recovery.

There are five frames in all. The first is a picture of our group of friends from Axel and Izzy’s wedding with Emmy and me standing on opposite ends of the crowd. I am looking—unsmiling—at the camera and she’s looking directly at me. Even though it could hurt to look at this picture, I have to remind myself of what it represents—just how far we’ve come since.

The second is one we had taken when Greg and Melissa had everyone over for a late welcome home for the twins. Melissa hadn’t wanted to do it without Emmy. Emmy is sitting off to the side, one of their girls resting against her good arm and her leg propped up on the couch. She was in so much pain that day but refused to let it stand in the way of going. You would never be able to tell by the look on her face. She’s smiling down at Lillian—or Lila, as we’ve been instructed by her big brother, Cohen, to call her—with a look of pure wonderment. I made a mental promise to myself that day that I would put that look back in her eyes—only, this time, with our own children.

I run my finger over her profile in that picture and move on to the next.

It’s one of all of the guys. Axel has his arm wrapped around Greg’s neck—laughing. Beck is standing with Coop, their heads thrown back hooting, and I’m looking at them all pissed as hell. I let out a laugh when I remember why. Izzy can be seen in the background with Sway, both of them bent at their waists to hold their laughing bodies up. It took me three days until I stopped finding gold flecks of glitter on my skin. Another week until my head stopped shining in places.

“Damn Sway and his fucking glitter,” I mumble with a smile.

The next is one we had taken when Chelcie came home from the hospital with Zac. All of us met down at Coop’s grave and had Davey take a picture. Everyone was there. Emmy, still unable to walk, was in my arms. Even though this picture breaks my heart because of the reminder that we no longer have Coop with us, to look from the first one when Emmy and I were so far from this moment and then to see us together . . . Yeah, it is hands down one of my favorite pictures. It’s our whole family. All four of the men I consider brothers with the women they love. My girl is in my arms, her smile taking over her face and my small grin stealing the hardness from my face. Izzy is holding Nate while Axel is holding her very pregnant stomach. Greg and Melissa each hold one of their beautiful daughters. Beck has his arms wrapped around Dee. Asher and Chelcie are sitting on the ground next to Coop’s headstone with sad smiles on their faces. In their arms is Coop’s son, Zac. And then there are Sway and Cohen—both with red capes flowing in the wind, hands on their hips, and smiles on their lips. Sway said that we needed to make this a place where we could smile at and not always cry . . . so that’s what he did.