“Condom,” he managed, chest heaving. “Do you…” He sucked in a breath and blinked, trying desperately not to come undone. “...have one?”
She turned and reached for the drawer in her nightstand. Wood slid against wood. He heard the small crinkle of foil as he shed his shorts and then felt the press of it against his palm. He tore the condom package with his teeth, and she laughed, breaking the tension. He rolled the protection on.
He kissed her again, deep and unhurried, letting the length of him rest against the soft heat of her. Letting the weight of his body tell her everything his mouth had already said. She made a small sound that hit him right behind his breastbone as he lined himself up with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. It wasn’t his most shining, romantic moment, but this was Ziggy. This was the woman he loved.
He eased in slowly, inching forward as her body opened for him, the hot, tight slide that made his vision go white at the edges. He had to close his eyes for a second and breathe. Theurge to bury himself in one thrust rode him so hard, he saw stars. Instead, he went slow because he wanted it to last. Because he prayed there’d be plenty of other times for fast, hard, and wild, in their future. He pressed his forehead to hers and set a rhythm, sinking into her, and it was like coming home.
Her hands moved along his back, down his ribs, grasping when he changed the angle, the kind of grip that would leave marks he’d want to look at later. He drew almost all the way out and pushed back in. She groaned. He did it again. And again. He lost count the moment her nails bit into his shoulders..
Sweat beaded at the back of his neck. A drop fell to her sternum and he chased it with his tongue without stopping the pace he’d found. He wanted—God, he wanted—to make this last until the light changed, until the cinnamon rolls went stale on the counter and the coffee turned to mud. Until every apology he owed sank into her soul.
Her fingernails dug deeper. His name fell from her lips as her body rocked and convulsed. And when she clenched around him again, he came with a low, rough sound that started somewhere he didn’t have words for, pulsing deep while he held himself as still as he could manage. Everything stilled to a breath, a heartbeat, and the unexpected sting of tears as he exploded into her climax.
He stayed inside her until his arms shook. Then he eased out and rolled to his side, dragging her with him because there was no version where he’d let her go, not yet. The condom went into the small trash can by the bed. He pulled her in again and wrapped himself around as much of her as he could reach.
Her forehead tucked under his chin, damp hair sticking to his chest. He breathed her in, slow and deliberate, counting each rise and fall because it calmed the rapid stutter of his own. In the quiet, he heard the gulls somewhere over the Sound calling to noone in particular. He exhaled on a chuckle he didn’t mean to let go.
“What?” she asked against his skin.
“I’m just—” He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Thinking about how much I like my old shirt on you and how much I like it off you.”
She huffed a laugh that warmed the center of his chest. “I’m not giving it back.”
“I’m not asking for it.” He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, not to sleep—though if that came, he’d let it—but to hold the shape of this moment against whatever tried to pry it loose later. But for now, he fit his palm to the small of her back and let the heat of her sink into him like a promise he had every intention of keeping.
6
Ziggy and Noah had spent Saturday night at her place, and when they woke, they’d decided it would be a nice day to go for a walk since the sun had made a rare appearance. But it rained before they’d gotten out of the neighborhood. And it hadn’t been that light mist the Sound was notorious for. It actually required an umbrella—which, of course, they didn’t have because no one in Seattle carried one.
They got soaked.
After that, they thought they’d do some research for a story—until the internet went out. So, they gave up and went back to bed.
That was the good part of Sunday, and she’d been basking in the afterglow of being in Noah’s arms again. She’d even pinched herself three times to make sure it was real, choosing to ignore the tiny little voice in the back of her head that warned her Noah would run. That just because he told her he loved her and that things were different, didn’t mean he’d stick around.
But her enjoyment was squashed when her brothers and another man showed up on her doorstep with serious expressions. Now, she was back to where she wasn’t so sureshe wanted to participate in what these twenty-four hours might bring.
She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. The sky over the Sound had been cycling between gray and something almost blue for the last half hour, and Ziggy's living room buzzed with the kind of energy that swirled around her family when half of them wanted to say something, and the other half wanted to keep it quiet.
Jag had his elbows on his knees, and his coffee mug sat on the table in front of him—untouched—because it was late, and his wife had told him he needed to cut back. Jag always listened to Callie—mostly.
Troy sat in the armchair by the window with his ankle crossed over his knee. He had a way of looking relaxed, even when things around him weren't. She’d always resented that about Troy, the fly boy. The man who could fly a jet with his eyes closed while getting shot at and not worry about where he might have to land it if his engines failed—which had happened to him more than once.
Noah sat on the couch next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, in a way that made being with him steady and real.
Cormac O'Mallary stood near the kitchen island like a man accustomed to rooms that weren't quite big enough for him.
Troy had introduced him as a former Green Beret, Whidbey born, which had landed hard in Ziggy's chest.
She recognized Cormac’s name from when the island had gone quiet one summer, after a drunk driver killed his half-sister.
“…Cormac is one of the first of my new team for the Cascadia Division of the Aegis Network,” Troy said. He’d been talking for the last five or ten minutes, but that was the first thing Ziggy latched on to because the rest was more about this new jobTroy was starting when his contract was up with the Navy and some other light banter between her brothers and Cormac. “He’s getting things set up at the office the owners purchased.” Troy leaned back. “And since the Navy still owns me for another six weeks, he’ll be keeping an eye on you and Noah.”
And there it was. The thing that had been bugging her more than how her brothers had come into her home was “I want to talk about that." Ziggy set down her mug and rolled her shoulders. She and her little sister had been dealing with Troy and Jag their entire lives. Both her brothers were kind, loving, sweet men. But they were also men who carried themselves with a bit of bravado. They had big egos and loved to puff out their chests. But taking on the role of protector—even when it wasn’t necessary—was their specialty. Not that she was implying this situation didn’t call for a little help. “Who's watching Noah when we’re not together?"
“I’ll be fine,” Noah said.
“Right.” She glared. “You’ve been threatened more than I have." She kept her voice even, which took some effort because this part of the conversation could be tricky with Noah. He wasn’t that much different from her brothers, except that he was better at keeping people out. “Noah’s the target. I’m adjacent.” She looked at her brothers, then at Cormac, who watched her with steady attention, but he didn’t move a muscle and was impossible to read.