My Always One Page 10

  “I’m going to eat you, Sami.”

  My insides twist as my pussy clenches. “I thought we were planning that for later at my condo.”

  He touches my lips. “Did that sound like I was asking your permission?”

  Oh shit…

  My core twists tighter at his change in tenor. This isn’t the tone of my lifelong friend. This is the Marshal Michaels of lore, the one others have talked about.

  “Marshal…”

  He reaches for the button on my jeans, expertly snaps it open, and peels down the zipper. Leaning forward, he brushes his nose near my core and inhales, the sound filling the old building.

  “Lift your ass, Sami, I have honey to eat.”

  My arms quiver as I do what he says. My jeans and panties move down and soon join my bra and shirt in a pile. Marshal grins as he lifts my feet to the edge of the bench. With my knees high, he pushes them apart, exposing my most private parts.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says as he scans my exposed sex.

  The modest part of me is glad the lighting is dim, but as my core clenches and I grow wetter, there’s no doubt that I’m less embarrassed and more aroused.

  I gasp as Marshal’s tongue swipes my core.

  “Hmmm.”

  I close my eyes as he teases my clit. I’m not sure exactly what he’s doing, only that his attention in one area is setting off nerve endings elsewhere and in all directions throughout my body. My scalp tingles, my skin covers in goose bumps, and my nipples harden to diamonds. Marshal is a starving man and I’m his feast.

  My arms give out as I fall to my back.

  “Fuck, Marshal…” I moan.

  His speed increases as my hips jump.

  Undeterred, Marshal holds my hips down as he licks and nips. I’ve never been so consumed. I mean that literally, but also figuratively. The world outside these old walls is gone. Hell, even within these walls. I can’t fathom anything or anyone other than Marshal and what he’s doing to me.

  No amount of wiggling or thrashing will lessen his ministrations. I can’t fight his hold, and I don’t want to. Yet it’s too much stimulation as tiny tremors morph to seismic earthquakes, pushing me closer and closer to my orgasm. It’s when Marshal adds his skilled fingers, plunging deep inside me that I scream his name.

  “Marshal.”

  My entire body convulses, flooding my system with the sense of euphoria. It’s as my mind clears that I realize that his touch has moved, circling and teasing the place I’ve never considered allowing anyone to go.

  “Marshal, I’ve never...”

  “Shhh, honey, let me show you how good you can feel.”

  On the few occasions when anyone has tried to breach my tight muscles, I’ve stopped them. Jack never tried, but with each passing tease, it’s apparently clear that Marshal isn’t waiting for me to grant him consent.

  Of course, I haven’t refused him either.

  The word no is on the tip of my tongue as my breathing quickens.

  I bite my lip, losing myself to his touch, confident he’d stop if I told him and equally curious if I don’t. The exhilaration of the haunted house is back. Thank goodness, I have my best friend with me, the man I know I can trust.

  As his finger pushes past the tight muscles, my back arches and my hips quiver. The stimulation is more than I ever imagined. He’s working me with both his fingers and his mouth. Perspiration moistens my skin. Breathing seems overrated as I pant and gasp.

  All I can think about is how good it feels, and how I don’t want him to stop.

  When his thumb strokes my clit, every muscle in my body tightens and wave after wave washes through me. The sound of the river outside is lost as convulsions overtake my body and my feet slip from the bench. By the time my eyes open, Marshal is moving my feet to the floor and turning me around. My breasts are against the old bench, and I suck in a deep breath as his erection pushes against my entrance.

  I taste my own essence as he cranes my neck backward and kisses me.

  As his tongue dances with mine and my back arches, his monster cock plunges inside me. As it moves in and out, my breasts rub the bench and my core stretches as Marshal works to get his full length within me.

  Full.

  Deliciously filled.

  Marshal Michaels fills me like no one ever has. In no time, my core again clenches as he pushes me toward another orgasm. His rhythm grows faster as his cock continues to harden and grow inside of me.

  Again, his finger enters territory where only he’s gone.

  “Oh…oh…God…” Words are difficult to form.

  “That’s it, honey. Tonight my finger, but soon you’ll have my dick.”

  I shake my head, telling him no, but the words won’t form. I trust this man. I trust my friend not to hurt me. Those thoughts come and go as my body again detonates. My core clenches and hugs his cock. My shoulders fall to the bench and the boathouse fills with Marshal’s guttural growl.

  The deep rumble reverberates in the concrete boathouse as he throbs within me. Finally, Marshal collapses over my back. We’re still connected, his chest covering my back, warming and protecting me.

  “I…I…That was amazing,” Marshal whispers near my ear.

  What was he going to say?

  When he doesn’t say more…I agree, “It was.”

  Sami

  * * *

  I wipe ketchup from my chin as I set the partially eaten cheeseburger in the plastic basket lined with crinkly paper that’s sitting upon my lap. With the windows of Marshal’s car open and the summer breeze, the scene reminds me a bit of when we were young.

  “I don’t remember the last time I ate here,” I say, looking up at the sign THE SUDS.

  “Do you remember riding our bikes here?”

  “I do.” I look over at Marshal, wondering what will happen to us and to our friendship. A wave of sadness washes over me. “Hey, you’re not eating your fries.”

  His sexy blue eyes turn to me. “You see, I had this fantastic pussy right before saying goodbye to your parents.” He leans his head back on the headrest. “You know, I’ve known Jean and Paul most of my life, and I swear they knew what we’d just done.”

  “I’m a grown-up.”

  “You certainly are.”

  I set the plastic basket on the middle console and turn in the seat, pulling my leg up. “Jack would never let anyone eat in his car. He wouldn’t even valet park.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of things stick-up-his-ass Jack wouldn’t do.”

  I shrug. “Not with me. I’m not sure what he did with—”

  Marshal reaches out and touches his finger to my lips. “Remember our rule about details?”

  I nod against his finger.

  “When it comes to your pussy and” —his eyes roam the neck of my tank top— “gorgeous tits, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather think about them at my disposal rather than at Jack’s.”

  “As long as you don’t tell me the next time you screw a stranger.”

  “Hey, I don’t screw strangers. I’m a gentleman. I learn names and sometimes exchange phone numbers.”

  “Can we do this?” I ask.

  “I fucking hope so.” His voice lowers an octave. “You, Samantha Ann, are a fantastic lay, but more importantly, you’re my best friend. You have been that person to me forever and I always want you to be.”

  “So our new agreement stands—friends with benefits.”

  “Best friends with benefits for always.”

  He pushes the basket toward me. “Eat, honey.”

  I stare down at the basket. There is at least half the burger and most of the fries left.

  Marshal reaches for my chin and lifts my eyes to his. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’ve been dieting and working out for the wed—this thing I had on my calendar.”

  Marshal reaches for my knee. “Will you take some advice from a friend?”

  “My best friend, always.”


  “Do you like the burger?”

  “Oh my God, it’s heaven.”

  “Then eat it and if you’re worried about gaining weight, I have a vigorous workout I’d be happy to show you.”

  Lifting the burger to my lips, I take a big bite. Once I swallow, I smile at my friend. “I think I should take your advice because if the workout is anything like last night, I’ll need energy.”

  “You better eat it all.”

  After our five-star dining at The Suds, my mind fills with all the times Marshal and I have been there for one another, the stories and adventures we’ve shared as well as laughter and tears. I reach over and lay my hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  “For my cock? You already did at lunch.”

  I shake my head. “For being you and for being there when I told my parents. I’m a bit surprised at their reaction. And perplexed.”

  “Perplexed?”

  “It seems like everyone saw Jack differently than I saw him. How did I not see what everyone else saw?”

  “You’re asking that of a man who has known you most of our lives and just realized what a fucking fantastic rack you have.” He took in a deep breath. “That doesn’t make me the most observant person in this car.”

  I turn toward the window.

  Marshal’s words fill the silence. “I think sometimes we see what we want to see.”

  I look back with a grin. “And you didn’t want to see my breasts?”

  He squeezes my knee. “Self-preservation.” His million-dollar smile shines my way. “You have a wicked right hook.”

  Music fills the car and seeps from the open windows as Marshal drives us back to my place, away from Johnson and into Grand Rapids. Traffic increases as the scenery changes from fields, trees, and starry skies to stoplights and taller buildings.

  Once we get to my condo, Marshal walks with me to the door.

  “Does this feel awkward?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No, Sami. It feels right, natural, comfortable, and fucking exhilarating all at the same time.”

  Nodding, I open the door. As I reach for the light switch and flick it up, I’m face-to-face with Jack.

  The next few seconds blur as Marshal steps in front of me and Jack takes a step back.

  “Get out,” I say, holding the door open. “And leave your key.”

  “Fuck,” Jack says, sidestepping Marshal. “I didn’t think Michaels would be here.”

  “I’m here,” Marshal says, puffing his chest. “You heard Sami, get out.” He extends his hand, palm up. “And give me the fucking key.”

  “Samantha,” Jack says, ignoring the wall of a man in front of him. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, but that’s all it was.”

  “Your mistake has a name, Jack,” I say. “Ellen is her name. I recognized her. She works at your firm. You introduced us at the dinner with the head partner at The Rooftop. Were you fucking her then?”

  “No.”

  My hand goes to my hip. “Tell me, is fucking interns part of the program your firm offers? I haven’t looked at the website. Is it spelled out or is that clause only in the fine print.”

  “Samantha, stop. It’s not like that.”

  I point to our—no, my—bedroom. “You screwed her in our bed.”

  “Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

  My lips purse as if I’ve tasted something sour. “You’re pathetic. The flowers were pathetic.” I shake my head. “I was so stupid.”

  “Sami,” Marshal says, his voice supportive.

  “No, Marshal, I was. I didn’t see Jack for who he is because I didn’t want to.” I spin toward my ex-fiancé. “Now I see what a pathetic excuse of a person you are” —I shake my head— “and I can’t unsee.”

  “Samantha,” Jackson says, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I absolve you of your guilt. I actually want to do as Marshal did and thank you. Thank you for showing me your true colors before it was too late.” Stretching out my arms, I spin around. “I can’t tell you how liberating it feels.”

  “It will never happen again.”

  My gaze narrows. “You’re right. It won’t happen to me because we’re done. Thank you, Jackson. Now, for the last time, get the hell out of my place.” I see Marshal in my peripheral vision. “Or I’ll let Marshal do what he has offered.”

  Jackson takes a step back. “Touch me, Michaels, and I’ll sue.”

  “Jail time for a friend,” he says with a grin.

  For a second, I recall offering to torch a house in Lansing.

  Reaching in his pocket, Jack takes out a keychain, removes the condo key, and sets it on the table near the door. “Goodbye, Samantha.”

  “It’s Sami,” I say.

  Without another word, he steps through the doorframe and closes the door behind him.

  Marshal gently reaches for my shoulders. “I know I keep asking you, but tell me, are you all right?”

  “I will be after I have the locks changed and a new bed delivered.”

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  I lift my eyes to his and shrug. “The couch, unless you have a better idea.”

  “How about a sleepover at my place?”

  “Let me pack a bag. Tomorrow I’ll call the maintenance office about new locks. Oh, and remind me to call the fire department.”

  Marshal’s eyebrows knit together. “The fire department, why?”

  “I’m burning the bed.”

  “There’s my girl. How about I get the matches?”

  “Partners forever,” I say as I go to the bedroom and begin to fill a bag with clothes and cosmetics for work in the morning.

  When I turn, Marshal is leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed over his wide chest. There is something in his expression that I can’t exactly read.

  “Now what are you thinking?” I ask.

  “I’m sizing up your bed. Fire is a little drastic, but I have a saw.” He lifts a hand to me.

  My hand seems smaller than before as I lay it in his.

  His fingers close and he tugs me to him.

  I come to a stop as my breasts collide with his chest.

  Marshal’s lips come to my forehead. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sleepover.”

  “Last night,” I remind him.

  “That one wasn’t planned. What do friends do at a sleepover? Watch movies. Oh, should we stop for popcorn?”

  I tilt my head. “Do you have a movie in mind?”

  “No,” he says as he cups my behind, tugging me closer. “I can’t think of one title at the moment.”

  “Are you still hungry?” I ask with a grin, my mind going to all he’s eaten.

  “Not for popcorn.”

  “Then I guess we don’t need to stop.”

  Sami

  * * *

  “Either spill or set me up with your friend Marshal.”

  I look up from my computer, lost in the advertising proposal I was putting together for a big athletics company. I like my campaign and feel like it should be well received. I’ve constructed it all on my own, but I was currently double-checking those of other companies, making certain what I came up with isn’t already out there.

  Sometimes what seems like unique ideas could have been subconsciously planted by observing other advertising. The last thing my firm wants is a lawsuit claiming copyright or trademark infringement.

  “Sorry,” I say to Linda. “What?”

  She hands me a cup of coffee. I recognize the white cup. It's from the corner shop. As she does, she grins and lifts her shoulders innocently. “Something’s up," she says. "I can sense it. Last Friday it was a million flowers and you were distracted. Today you’re on cloud nine. And you’re focused, but every now and then you just smile. Is it Jack? What did he do?”

  I take a deep breath. “Um, no. It's not Jack.”

  “What’s not Jack?” Marcy asks as she appears around the corner of the cubicle.

  A pang of guilt hits me. �
�I should have told you first thing this morning. I canceled the wedding.”

  Linda’s eyes go wide. “Holy crap. You did what? When were you going to tell us?”

  From the neighboring cubicle, Ashley pops her head over the partition. Whenever she does that move, it always reminds me of that neighbor on an old television show my mom used to watch. You never saw the neighbor's whole face. I think his name was Wilson.

  “What did I just hear?" Ashley asks. "Damn it, Sami, I already bought your gift.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I should have said something first thing. My mom is sending out regrets. It’s just…”

  “Break time,” Linda announces with a clap of her hands.

  The clock on the corner of my computer says 9:35. It’s hardly time for break. But from experience, I know I’ll never get work done if I don’t indulge Linda and Ashley for at least a few minutes.

  As soon as we all enter the break room, Ashley slams the door and begins her rapid-fire questions.

  “What the hell? Details, girl. Now. Was it Jackson? He wasn’t as good in bed as you thought?”

  Marcy joins in. “I think you tasted a different nectar and decided Jack’s wasn’t sweet enough.”

  I square my shoulders. “What?”

  “Set me up with Marshal,” Linda says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “What?” I ask again.

  “It’s him. Isn’t it?” Marcy asks. Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed, as if she's asking me the most incriminating of questions.

  “It wasn’t,” I answer truthfully.

  “Wasn’t?” Ashley and Marcy repeat together.

  “Are you seriously triple-teaming me?” I ask, walking toward the watercooler and pouring myself a cup. I know I have coffee on the table, but I need to move. As the cooler bubbles, I feel all six eyes on my back, waiting, ready to pounce.

  I turn around in time to see them eyeing one another.

  “Okay," I say. "Promise to keep it quiet. I mean, like, to your graves, never tell a living soul?”

  Again, Linda, Marcy, and Ashley look at one another.

  “Is it that big of a deal?” Linda asks.