Breathe (His Command Book 5) Read online

  Your throat closes. Your lungs shrivel and demand you find air, but you can’t, because I’m still there, squeezing.

  Oli couldn’t talk. He couldn’t type. All he could do was keep moving his body to prolong their pleasure while Marshall controlled his every move with nothing more than a push of his thumb to the screen of his phone.

  The rest of the world bleeds away. Inane thoughts vanish. There’s nothing left anymore but the ache inside of you as your body screams for air and begs simultaneously to come… because now that you’re locked inside yourself, focused on what your body needs, you feel it. You feel your orgasm swelling. And as black spots dot your vision and your throat convulses in its hunt for air, you can’t hold it back anymore.

  Oli’s eyes were locked on the screen, his body tense from fighting off his orgasm even as he worked himself tirelessly on Marshall. It was a struggle he was losing. If Marshall didn’t grant him permission to come, he was going to defy him. He didn’t have a choice. The image Marshall had laid out before him had scorched his soul and pushed him over the edge. There was no coming back anymore.

  You’re trapped in your body now, aren’t you? You’ve let it all go. I can see it in your eyes. You can come now, Oliver. Let it all out, and let yourself tumble into total indulgence.

  There was no saving him. Oli’s stomach clenched, and he came harder than he ever had before. He sank down onto Marshall’s cock, his head hanging forward and his shoulders heaving. He’d dropped his phone onto the bed, unable to do anything but focus on the pleasure now radiating through his body. Marshall’s hands ran down his thighs, and it was only because of that tender touch directing Oli’s focus downward that he felt Marshall’s knot swell and his cum flow.

  “Oh my god,” Oli uttered. He closed his eyes and slumped down over Marshall’s chest, depleted. “Holy fuck.”

  “I love you, Oliver,” Marshall whispered against Oli’s cheek. “Thank you for letting me share that with you.”

  “You can share that with me any time you want.” Oli huffed a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever come half as hard before. That was… fuck. Do you think you’ve got it in you to go again?”

  “After I get my new lungs, we’ll talk.”

  “Mmph.” Oli sighed and nestled down, already feeling sleep tug at his conscious mind. “Well, that’s fair. Is it wrong to say that after this, I’m definitely going to marry you? Because holy fuck. Sex like that forever? Yes, please.”

  Marshall snorted. He ran his fingers through Oli’s hair and held him loosely. “So you really want an old man like me?”

  “Mm. Yeah. Those Daddy issues I developed back in The Shepherd? They still haven’t gone away. I’m thinking old men like you are the way of the future. My future, at least. You know, a future where you’re taking me to bed every night and making me come like a goddamn broken fire hydrant.”

  Marshall laughed, and it ended in a small cough that Oli knew better than to freak out over. He let himself relax, but before sleep claimed him, he chimed in with one more thing. “I love you, Marshall. I mean it.”

  “Then let’s look into how soon we can officially be legally wed,” Marshall murmured. “I’m not planning on ever letting you go.”

  “That’s good,” Oli mumbled seconds before he fell asleep. “Because I’m not interested in letting you go, either.”

  25

  Marshall

  “This suit is too expensive,” Oliver declared on their way out of the elevator, several weeks following his arrival in the condo. “When am I going to wear it again?”

  “At Cedric and Gabriel’s wedding,” Marshall replied.

  “I’m going to be better dressed than they are,” Oliver shot back. “I can’t let that happen.”

  “And Adrian will not allow his younger brother to be upstaged, if I had to guess.” Marshall grinned at Oliver, only to find Oliver wasn’t even looking his way. He was pulling at his cuff links. “I wouldn’t worry.”

  “It’s just a lot of money.”

  “It isn’t any money at all.”

  Oliver’s attention flicked toward him, and he narrowed his eyes. They passed through Synecta’s front doors and to the town car waiting at the curb. Marshall opened the door, allowing Oliver to duck inside first.

  “It’s pretty much a whole month’s salary,” Oliver said once he was seated. “I could be using that to pay Cedric back for what I owe him.”

  Marshall sat, then closed the door. The car pulled away from the curb and merged with traffic. “Your debt to Cedric has already been paid off.”

  “You monster.” Oliver elbowed Marshall in the ribs. A dry cough rattled loose, and Marshall covered his mouth with the crook of his arm and hunched over as the fit seized him. Oliver gasped. “Oh my god! I forgot. I forgot! I’m sorry.”

  “You’re fine.” Marshall said in the breaks between his coughs. The fit wasn’t bad, and he’d recovered in less than a minute. Oliver’s face was pale, and he’d shrunken into himself in total dread, like he’d just inadvertently killed a man and had to figure out what to do about it. “I’d rather you treat me like a person than a disease. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Okay, but if I were very heavily pregnant and you elbowed me in the stomach, I’d probably end you,” Oliver said. “I don’t like to hold myself to double standards. I should be more conscientious about your needs, and I’m sorry.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re fine?” Marshall slipped a hand over Oliver’s thigh and squeezed. “Stop worrying.”

  “I don’t know.” Oliver tapped his fingers on the leather upholstery, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Now that I’m officially making the leap from boyfriend to husband, I think worrying is a very fair thing to do. According to what I know about marriage from my parents, we’ve got all kinds of things to look out for, your health excluded. Things like yelling about dishes—”

  “We have a cleaning service.”

  “—complaining about finances—”

  “Unless you plan to buy a new private jet a day, finances will never be an issue.”

  “—and tension over a distinct lack of a sex life.”

  Marshall only looked at him, and Oliver dissolved into laughter. “Yeah, I know, I know. I thought that was rich, too. Even if you never get better—I mean, physically, like... you don’t die, but you just never improve—I came like a geyser when you were sexting me. I could definitely get off on you writing sweet, dominant everythings.”

  “I’m not even going to try to unravel that sentence.”

  Oliver laughed again. “I just mean... the things you say to me? I might not really get kink, at least right now, but the things you say make me want you like mad. They’re not sweet nothings. Those words are what brought us together, you know? They’re my everything. And whether you whisper them into my ear or send them through text message, it doesn’t change that they come from you.”

  Marshall smiled. “After all this time, you still make me feel like no one else has ever been able to.”

  “I’m a rare brand of Oliver,” Oliver said with a wise nod of his head. “I’ve never met another one like me, you know, despite numerous attempts to imitate my obvious success, social prestige, and political power.”

  Marshall snorted, and the snort devolved into another dry cough. He hooked his arm over his mouth and got it out while Oliver rubbed his back.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be joking.”

  “If you weren’t joking, I don’t know what I’d do,” Marshall admitted. “I’d probably be scrambling to find a doctor, since you’d likely be comatose.”

  “Jerk. I can be serious.”

  “Is that a fact?” Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Say one serious thing.”

  Oliver glanced out the window, then slowly turned his head so he looked at Marshall. He met his gaze and held it. Then, in his most seductive voice to date, he said, “Daddy.”

  Marshall stared at him. Oliver stared back, the fire in his eyes burni
ng too bright to extinguish. Then, with a little wink, he leaned forward and kissed Marshall’s shoulder.

  “When are you going to take me to the sixth floor, Daddy?” Oliver cooed against his jacket, his voice barely rising above the ambient noise in the vehicle. “I work for you now, so you can make me do anything you want.”

  Rampant arousal invaded Marshall’s system and left him breathless. Static began to eat at the edges of his vision, and the pressure behind his eyeballs returned. He took a deep, soothing breath and exhaled slowly. Oliver laughed and sat back. He shook his head slowly. “See? I can be serious.” He grinned. “And when I put my name on the documents we’re about to sign, I think I’m going to be pretty serious, too. Don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “I do, too.” Oliver looked ahead again and slung his arm over the back of the car bench, effectively looping it around Marshall’s shoulders. “And tomorrow, and the next day, and five Fridays from now, and into the next millennium. Life doesn’t get more serious than that.”

  “Crawford.” Marshall nodded at his friend, and Crawford smiled back in kind. He’d been waiting outside the courthouse, his chin tilted upward and his eyes distant. When Marshall had approached and raised his hand in greeting, Crawford had come back down from his thoughts.

  “Hello, Marshall,” Crawford said. His gaze flitted to Oliver. “And hello, Oliver.”

  “Hey.” Oliver slid his hands into his pockets and studied Crawford carefully. It occurred to Marshall that he’d never met the man before. “You’re Crawford, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just checking.” Oliver offered him a partial smile. “It’s, um, good to meet you. Thanks for coming today to be our witness.”

  “You’re welcome, and it’s a true pleasure to meet you, too.” Crawford’s gaze sharpened with interest. “It’s not every day that I meet a young man able to capture Marshall’s wayward heart. I look forward to getting to know you.”

  “Um. Same.” Oliver laughed to fill the awkward silence. “I’m sorry. I wish we would have met under normal circumstances. I promise, I’m a normal person who just happens to be ready to settle down with your friend.”

  “I don’t doubt you. To do so would be to doubt Marshall, and I’ve never had reason to do so before.”

  Marshall watched the exchange between them, studying Oliver as much as he kept an eye on Crawford’s behavior. Crawford was nothing if not a gentleman, but there were times when he could be demanding, and Marshall wasn’t sure if he was aware that Oliver was untrained.

  “Thank you for finding a babysitter for the boys,” Marshall said. “I know Owen is busy at work, and I appreciate you going the extra step to be here today.”

  “It wasn’t a problem. Sterling adores children.” Crawford’s lips twitched with humor. “I think Lilian enjoys the company, and I know Logan and Carter are fond of her.”

  “Funny how it’s all worked out.”

  “Everyone finds their happiness eventually,” Crawford said with certainty. He gestured toward the white stone stairs leading to the courthouse. “Now, let’s get the next step in your happiness underway.”

  They traveled as a group up the stairs. Crawford led the way, making sure their passage was clear, while Oliver remained at Marshall’s side and silently coached him up each step. Now that he’d allowed himself to use oxygen in public, physical exertion didn’t leave him half as exhausted as it once had, but despite it, each step left him more breathless than he cared to admit.

  Oliver never complained. He climbed at Marshall’s pace and waited patiently when Marshall had to stop to catch his breath. As embarrassing as it was, it gave Marshall a chance to appreciate Oliver in ways he was seldom able to. For every look Marshall sent Oliver’s way, he was rewarded with a different facet of his beauty.

  Oliver’s hair caught the breeze, and it pushed his thick, wavy locks haphazardly across his forehead. He grimaced and pushed them away, and Marshall had to smile. The sun beat down on his shoulders. Spring was giving in to summer, and by noon, the temperature was always balmy. It was a day that Marshall never would have acknowledged, had Oliver not been in his life, but now, it was a day he would never forget. Soon, their emotional commitment to each other would be recognized as legal.

  Marshall would pledge himself to the man who’d brought him back to life.

  They took the rest of the stairs slowly. Every once in a while, Oliver would crack a joke or make a comment about something that would squeeze a cough up Marshall’s trachea, and they’d have to stop a little longer while he recovered.

  It was worth it, and even if Marshall’s situation never changed, it would always be.

  Crawford greeted them at the top of the stairs. He bowed his head to Marshall out of respect, then held the door open. Oliver guided Marshall through, and even as the same old static prickled the perimeter of Marshall’s eyes, Marshall held firm. Each labored breath he took was another proof that he was still alive, still fighting. The hum of the oxygen compressor he carried permanently was a reminder that he was a warrior. He’d found his purpose, and now nothing would stop him from claiming his prize.

  He could do this. There was still life left worth fighting for. Oliver’s hand on his back, and the soft words of encouragement he now spoke as they approached the security checkpoint, proved it.

  The men working security took Marshall aside while Crawford and Oliver passed through the metal detector. Marshall produced his medical paperwork, given gladly by Dr. Miller upon hearing that Marshall was, indeed, willing to pursue his oxygen therapy full-time. They reviewed it, then waved him down with a metal-detecting rod and let him through the security checkpoint.

  Oliver was waiting on the other side. He winked. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be so bad. The hardest part is over. Now all you have to do is sign your whole future over to me. No big deal, right?”

  Marshall laughed. No coughing fit followed. His hand found its way around Oliver’s, and he squeezed. “No big deal at all.”

  Beyond the security checkpoint was a receptionist who checked them in—Marshall had made an appointment—and it wasn’t long before they were ushered to the cubicle in the far corner of the room and greeted by a magistrate with round cheeks and kind blue eyes.

  “May I see your identification, please?” she asked. Marshall produced his, and as he did, Oliver placed his on the counter for her to examine. The magistrate checked them over, humming softly to herself, and filled out the paper in front of her. “Everything looks to be in order. If you, Mr. Alcrest, can kindly sign on the line beneath your name here,” she pointed to the left side of the document, where a signature was missing, “and you, Mr. McKellar, sign on the line right next to it, we’ll have your witness validate the document, and I’ll be able to proclaim you officially married.”

  Marshall glanced at Oliver, not because he was uncertain, but because he wanted to read the expression on Oliver’s face. Would he have cold feet? There was every reason in the world for him not to want to go through with something so rash, and nothing stopping him from collecting his identification from the magistrate and leaving the courthouse. But Oliver’s face was calm, and his shoulders were relaxed. He was the one who picked up the pen chained to the desk first, and as he did, he shot Marshall a look that said, “What are you waiting for?”

  With a flourish, Oliver signed his name, then set the pen down. He lifted a brow and smirked at Marshall. “Guess it’s all up to you now,” Oliver said. “It doesn’t get any more serious than this.”

  “It does.” Marshall took custody of the pen and signed. As he struck the T, he held Oliver’s gaze. “What started as written words is now legalized by written word. I love you, Oliver. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  Oliver’s tender smile made it to his eyes. When Marshall dropped the pen, he took his hand and squeezed. Oliver squeezed back, then tucked himself against Marshall’s arm. Very few things in Marshall’s life had ever compared to the happines
s of that moment. They didn’t need floral arrangements, catering companies, or lavish venues to find joy—all they needed was each other.

  “And you, sir,” the magistrate said to Crawford. “If you can please step forward and sign an oath that you’ve witnessed this couple’s commitment to each other here, on this day, in person, the paperwork will be complete.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Marshall moved to stand beside Oliver so Crawford could sign. As he did, Oliver leaned over and tilted his head up to whisper in Marshall’s ear. “I know this sounds crazy, but this feels right.”

  “I know,” Marshall whispered in return. “It feels right to me, too.”

  For all the hopelessness and despair, for all the years spent in silent suffering, and for every suppressed emotional response, there was reprieve. As Crawford put pen to paper and signed his name, something foreign swelled inside Marshall, filling him with itself until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Hope. There were still years left to go, and better days to be had. He would not give up the fight. The struggle would be exhausting, and he knew there was a chance that no matter how hard he tried, it might end in tragedy, but that wouldn’t stop him.

  He would fight for his last breath for Oliver, just as Oliver would fight for him.

  They would see this through together, and together, they’d find the strength to keep going.

  Crawford set the pen down. The magistrate collected the marriage certificate.

  “With the form now officially signed, I’m delighted to announce that you are now legally married.” She tore the carbon copy from the original and slid it across the counter. “Official documents will be sent to your listed address within fourteen business days.”

  “Thank you,” Marshall said.

  “We really appreciate it,” Oliver added.

  The magistrate smiled. “You’re welcome. Have yourselves a tremendous day.”

  They left the cubicle hand in hand, Crawford trailing not all that far behind. Marshall led the way back through the waiting room to the reception area. Before they reached the security checkpoint, Oliver pinched his shoulders together and stifled a laugh.