Stricken Resolve (18 page)

Kneeling on the ground between her legs, I
press my lips to her rosette. My come dripping out in white salty
clumps. Swirling my finger around her pucker, I press inside of her
and gently finger her.

“You are mine, Cammy. I love you and I won’t
leave you for Emily. If that’s what you think is going to happen,
it's not. You’re too important to me. I am myself when I’m with
you. You let me do the things I most want.” I curl my finger
inside, massaging her wall closest to the balls still stuffed into
her cunt. And she mumbles something.

“What?”

“I…I love you too. I was so scared.”

“There is nothing to be scared of, my
whore.”

“Your kinky whore,” she corrects with a shaky
voice, my finger awarding her honesty with serious intense
pleasure.

I chuckle, “Yes, my kinky whore. Always…
always… always,” I state breathily, my face inching closer to her
deliciousness and my tongue pokes out and laps her back hole,
savoring the flavor of my come and her essence mixed. So good. So,
so, so good.

“You will always be mine and I always yours,
don’t ever question that. I’m not trying to get with Emily. We are
all just going to be a family and eventually we will tell her about
us when she’s done mourning the loss of her fiancé,” I breathe
against her back hole. My lips at her pucker as I speak to her. My
tongue lavishing the ring, my finger still deep inside.

“Okay,” she whimpers.

“Are you ready for more orgasms? Thirty three
more to go tonight and I’m hard again. I’m ready for you, my
perfect little slut. You done being a bitch?”

I can feel her nod with her entire body so I
dip my tongue into her ass and she wails out an intense moan. She’s
close again. So I dive in and begin the wonderful night of many
orgasms to come. My woman realizing she’ll always be mine and my
body ready to put her through some seriously intense orgasmic hell.
Fuckin’ yeah!

Chapter Twelve

~James~

“Oh, Mama Bear, that feels so good,” I moan
through clenched teeth. Watching her delicate pink lips quirk up
into the most heart stopping smile. Peering up into my eyes—my
soul, as she kneels naked on the floor between my legs. Absolutely
beautiful and unbelievably flawless inside and out.

Mine
. All
mine
. Forever.

A deep protective growl vibrates up and out
of my chest as her silken tongue pokes out between those kissable
lips and laves my thick pounding head.

Sweet Jesus!

Sucking my scarred length down into her moist
perfection, I groan, threading both of my hands through my hair,
tugging extra hard to keep from losing control. Holding my shaft
all the way into the back of her throat, she purrs, sending sparks
of rapture through my manhood, flooding my veins with rampant
desire.

“My love,” I sputter between shaky lips.

Tortuously sliding my shaft out of her mouth
with a ‘pop’ and a rather dirty smile, she catches him in her hand.
Fondling him in her warm loving palm.

“Yesss...” She drawls out in a sexy hiss,
making me gulp with unadulterated need. “Does
my
Papa Bear
want more? Or does my Bear want to make hot steamy love to his
wife?”

A knock sounds at our bedroom door. Who’s in
our house?

Another knock thuds. This isn’t a good sign.
My protective intuition soars and I break from her grasp, dashing
to grab my gun from the nightstand. Nobody better be in my house
uninvited. This is
my
house and
my
woman!

“James! James! Wake up.” I hear somebody
order. But they’re not in our bedroom. Where is that sound coming
from?

I stand naked, legs spread, aimed and ready
protectively standing in front of my love, with my gun itching to
unload on whoever might be here to harm us on the other side of
this wooden door.

“James!” I get tapped on my leg. I look down
and Emily hasn’t touched me.

“Get up!” A slap registers on my cheek and I
shoot up out of bed. What the hell? Where am I? I frantically look
around my room. This isn’t my bedroom. And then it sinks in, it was
a dream! Another one. It was so vivid I could have sworn it was
real. I’d hoped it was.

“You okay?” Gonzales asks, sitting on the
edge of my bed holding a glass of OJ for me.

“Yeah, sorry,” I mutter, taking the tall
glass of orange juice and drinking it down in one breath, the
bright flavor energizing me just enough to make me completely lucid
and bringing me out of my intense dreamscape.

“Another Emily dream?” She inquires
delicately, knowing that I don’t want to talk about this.
Especially ones of this magnitude to make my manhood stand at
attention. Another morning where I’m going to have to masturbate to
clear this strange animalistic need that’s clawing at my
insides.

I nod in response and she gets up and departs
the room. Leaving me to cope. I handled PTSD from being tortured
better than I’m doing now.

It’s been three weeks to the day that I’ve
been gone from my Mama Bear and my withdrawals are becoming more
than intense. They’re seriously affecting my ability to do much of
anything coherently. Not only because I miss her. But, that I’m
wracked with monumental amounts of guilt and worry. Worried sick;
wondering if she’s okay, if the twins are okay, if Dylan’s okay. If
she’s made up with Johnathan. Which, according to Davis, the one
and only time I’ve been able to contact him, said she’s not doing
well at all. Which makes me feel even worse. I had every intention
of having him relay a message, but the way he explained all of the
crying and stress she was enduring I didn’t want to make the pain
worse. I also didn’t ask him if she and Johnathan were making up. I
do want to know. But I couldn’t bear to ask. My mental state is
enough of a mess as it is. And at the end of our three minute
conversation, I was informed that a last minute tour will be
starting this coming week. That will be good for her. She loves her
job.

Throwing the duvet off of my legs, I glance
down to see what I knew would be tenting in my boxers. Twenty one
days I’ve been away from her and fifteen of them I’ve woken up with
this monstrosity incessantly throbbing as a third leg. I wonder if
this is what she felt like pregnant with the twins. I remember her
insatiable hunger like it was yesterday. I almost feels like
yesterday in my mind. The good ol’ days where we’d lay in our log
bed and talk for hours, even before we became lovers. The times I’d
lay in that same bed and listen to her moaning from the bathroom,
as she used her toy to bring her to climax. Making me need to come
just as badly. But I never did. I enjoyed the throbbing her husky
moans brought out in me. All because she was the one who filled me
with life and love. Reclaiming a part of me I had long lost and an
even bigger part of me I never knew existed, until I woke up that
morning in my log bed with her leaning over my shirtless body
checking out all of my tattoos. And her fingers grazing the lines
my age has created alongside my eyes. A part of me she loves, or
did. Never caring I’m old enough to be her father. Just loving me,
all of me, for who I am and me doing the same in return. That same
love that follows me everywhere I go. Haunting me in my dreams, to
wake up alone in a bed that isn’t ours. In a house that isn’t ours.
Playing the role of husband to a woman who isn’t her. All of it is
wrong. So very wrong.

Giving in to the hungry soldier standing
attention in my shorts, I shuffle them down just far enough that I
clear my nut and leave the waistband to rest around my meaty upper
thighs. Propping my back against the sleigh bed to get situated, I
slide my hand down my abs and across my thin patch of man hair and
slowly enclose my rigid shaft into my palm. Giving it just enough
pressure that I can imagine it’s Mama Bear tugging on him.

Tilting my head back against the bed, I close
my eyes and drift into my thoughts. As my hand glides up and down
my shaft, I stop at the head to capture the dewy drops of my
pre-come oozing out. Using my thumb I swirl it around my thick head
and let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

Emily, my lover, the most perfect woman in
the world is lying on her stomach between my legs. Her tongue
delicately licking the underside of my tortured and scarred sac.
Following the raised purple scar, she pecks soft wet kisses to the
base of my member and a tiny smirk curves up at the corner of her
mouth. I sigh with joy, taking in her beauty. Her red hair framing
her face, her green eyes glowing hazily into my brown with such
warmth and desire, revealing to me without words that I am the man
she wants.

“Does my friend want to play?” she teases,
licking up my shaft just below my head with her tongue and flicking
the V underneath in soft pulses. Driving me wilder.

“Yes, my love,” I nod, kneading our bed
sheets in my hands. My chest rising and falling with each uneven
breath. My blood sizzling with need for the only woman who
completes me.

“Then I will give him what he wants.” She
smiles the biggest, most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and engulfs
my shaft in one gulp. Resting it into the back of her throat. Her
hands rubbing over my legs, down to my knees and back up again.
Humming in her throat as she fills her mouth with a part of me and
I lose myself.

Oh yes, my love, suck on him. Make him come
into your soft mouth. You’re so amazing. I don’t know what I’d do
without you.

I grunt as I edge nearer to my orgasm and she
picks up her pace.

Opening my eyes, I look down to see my
solider about ready to explode in my hand. I jerk him up and down
in long hard pulls. My other hand cupping my sac, giving it a
little tug.

Whoa, I’m almost there.

Drawing up to the head, I stop and pump the
head of my meat quick and furiously, belting out feral grunts
between my clenched teeth. Shit, I’m gonna… Oh… God… Yes… I’m gonna
come…

“Emily!” I moan, spurting my hot jets of
semen out of my manhood, landing on my stomach. My body jerking,
legs contracting as I ride the wave of climatic satisfaction.

Sitting up I swipe my hands on my boxers,
pull them up, get out of bed and head into the bathroom for a much
needed shower. For being such a cookie cutter house it does have a
rather nice bathroom setup. A large stand up shower that could fit
two of me. Which is saying a lot. And would be able to fit six of
Emily. It’s huge, and the shower head is like a well pressured
rainfall.

As the hot water pelts my skin the guilt
starts to wrack my brain once again. Unforgivable guilt for
masturbating to her, after I’ve done the most horrific thing and
left. The old James would have never thought twice about hurting
anyone. He had little feelings and zero people skills. Him, and the
wild, seemed to have more in common than anything else. And
speaking of him in the third person is the only way to perceive
him. The man that’s turned into who I am now. An ex-military ops
specialist with enough kills under his belt to make anyone cringe.
So much has changed.

Scrubbing the filth from my skin, I stop to
relish in the heat. Letting the steam saturate my lungs. It’s time
to go to work as a safe link and tonight it’s time to have our new
neighbors over for dinner. Gonzales is cooking alongside Dr. D’s
wife. This should be an interesting day.

***

Sitting in this white interrogation room with
a concrete floor and steel table with two other chairs opposite
mine isn’t what I call a pleasant day. Things went smoothly with
the extraction. Forty five minutes of code input into a database
that uses the codes to do whatever it is they are doing with them.
It’s above my pay grade and it’s forbidden to ask questions. Part
of the code of conduct—if you will. Two men sat in the room with
Gonzales and I, as we rattled off each of our parts. Nothing fancy,
just a metal chair sitting in a white room at the Pentagon, just
like last month. Apparently, this puts us a week ahead of
schedule.

Tapping my hands on the table out of boredom,
I wait. Wait to see why I’m in this room. I know an interrogation
setup when I see one. Big one-sided ‘mirror’ taking up a rather
large portion of one wall. A camera in the upper right hand corner
of the room scanning me, observing me. It would take me exactly
seven seconds to dismantle that camera and another forty five to
crack the seal around the mirror that I know is attached to a room
on the opposite side. Probably three men, a computer, and four
chairs. So predictable.

“Would you guys like to tell me why I’m in
here?” I call out, I know they’re listening.

Leaning back and crossing my arms over my
chest, I tap my shit kicker clad foot on the floor. I don’t have to
look down to know it has been precisely twenty six minutes since
I’ve been taken into this cell.

“You have four minutes gentlemen. Four
minutes, until I make this experience slightly less pleasant for
you,” I warn, making sure they get the point as my tone turns from
normal to menacing. It’s one thing to screw with my life when I was
younger, using me as a trained killer. I’m older now and less
tolerant to child’s play. They’ll do good to remember that before I
show them.

“Three minutes,” I caution, keeping up the
rhythmic tapping of my foot. Leaving it to fill the room with a
mild echo.

As the time runs down, I don’t move. I don’t
show any sort of indication what I am going to do. Counting down
the seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six…

The click of the door and a whoosh of fresher
air gusts in my face when two people enter the cell. A woman in a
white doctor coat with short blonde; almost white hair, and fake
tanned skin. Her cohort, a man hitting five-ten, about a buck
ninety, close to my age with graying hair and lined eyes, wearing
civilian clothes, a plain suit and tie. Both sit down across from
me. Clever fella thinks I can’t see the outline of a gun pressed to
his left rib or the one I saw around his ankle when he walked in.
Silly child’s play.