Here it is! Marshall Dudley’s point of view. Let me preface this by saying this is a scene from TOXIC (I won’t say whether it’s Part One or Part Two) but Marshall may have embellished slightly as to how it all unfolded. Then again, he might just be telling the truth. ;)
*(Skyla visiting Marshall past midnight. She is markedly late for their dinner date.)
“Finally,” Skyla says, striding in after a rather noisy pounding session where her fist felt the need to test the resolve of the door.
“Come in,” I say, after the fact. If it were anyone else I’d be less than amused by the infraction, but it’s not anyone else—it’s my future bride.
She barrels past me into the kitchen with a slick of mud on the side of her face, a tear or two on her sweater, and a muddied imprint of her bottom on the back of her jeans.
“You’re absolutely filthy—and I most definitely approve.” I give a wicked grin, and head in her direction. “I might be moved to bathe you.” I slide my finger down her cheek. “Oh, how I’ll scrub,” I say, losing myself in the exasperation on her face. Her fits of vexation animate me on a primal level. That alone is reason to remain on this spinning rock long after I’m needed. I’ve found a new destiny and it very much involves a one, Skyla Laurel Messenger.
“You’re right, I am filthy.” She jams her fingers into her hair and further instigates the tumbleweed effect that’s forming. “I’m disgusting, don’t look at me. And, for sure, no scrubbing.”
“You, my love, are far from disgusting. Although, if you prefer, we can continue this conversation somewhere devoid of light—horizontally if you wish.”
She pinches her lips with a brief look of disdain.
There’s an overall war torn appeal to her this evening but by no means does it distract from her beauty—in fact, it amplifies it immeasurably—makes her all the more alluring with that, ‘I might kill you and eat you for breakfast’ look in her eye.
“I’m moved to run a bath for you,” I confess. “You could sit on my lap while I offer you a shoulder massage.” I offer an impromptu preview of the bliss to come, and she rolls her head back in ecstasy. Skyla lets out a moan that raises the temperature in the room by fifty degrees. “I’m sure we could both let out a little pent up frustration in the process.”
“No need.” Her eyes spring wide and she jumps out of reach. “I’ve got Logan for that.”
An image of her locked in the Pretty One’s arms infuriates me, and I’m reminded why it is she’s late in the first place.
“I was expecting you hours ago. This far from pleases me,” I inform. “I’ll be sure to let Logan in on my displeasure as well.” A slow brewing anger stirs in me and I’m well aware of the spark of envy that has lit this inferno. The way those Oliver dolts monopolize her time you’d think the war were being decided by whoever manages to impale her first. “Let the record show, I disapprove of your nocturnal wanderings.”
She gags in lieu of a response. “Excuse me—I had a war to fight.”
“Which you lost.”
“Which my mother lost because she flipped the switch before your frat brother could give me the heads up on how to take the region.”
“She’s not one to make things easy.” I withhold a grin.
“What are you laughing at?” She snaps.
“Dare I say, you.” There’s nothing I relish more than my beloved worked up in a frenzy. It’s almost worth the contention just to watch her writhe in a hotbed of agitation. She’s viral, this one. “You, Skyla, certainly know how to bring the passion to the table with your virulent outbursts of both the emotional and physical variety—and how I look forward to more of the physical.”
“We’ll see about that.” She moves past me deeper into the kitchen and lifts the lid off a pot.
Was I just privy to a sprig of carnal hope?
For a moment I consider abandoning the meal and running her up to the bedroom instead. There is no greater aggression that begs to be unleashed, than after a bout of good old-fashioned warfare.
Skyla leans into the pot and indulges in a guttural moan that sends my testosterone rising, among other things.
“Smells like heaven!” she says, pressing her hand to her chest as though it were the first aroma she has ever enjoyed—and with her mother’s disastrous kitchen tinkerings it just might be. “What is it?”
“Squirrel—caught two in the yard.” I broaden my chest with the proclamation. “A man with good aim is difficult to come by,” I purr. “And, I assure you, that skill is best employed in the bedroom. I’m more than willing to demonstrate later—show, don’t tell, and all those good lascivious adages.”
“I’ll pass,” she says, lacking the enthusiasm I was hoping for. “And really? Squirrel? That’s freaking gross.”
Good Lord, she’ll never appreciate my culinary skills if I keep confessing what’s on the menu—best leave some mystery in this arena of our relationship.
“That’s not freaking gross,” I inform. “That, my love, is dinner.” I flip the dishtowel up over my shoulder, eluding to the fact I’ve far more interesting things to sling but she doesn’t flinch. “And, where were you after the war?” I even my tone. I know very well where she was and with whom. “I was beside myself with worry.”
“With Logan and Gage, thank you very much.” She goes over and lands on the sofa before seductively flicking off her heels. She lies back on her elbows and glimpses at me from under those long, dark lashes. Whether or not she realizes it, she’s a vixen of the highest order.
“You my dear kitten are impossibly titillating.”
She purses her lips. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but it sounds disastrous.” Her eyes close a moment from sheer exhaust.
“Never you mind your pretty little head. What’s important is that you’re no longer with the twisted Olivers—you’re here.” I slink my way over. “And might I note that you lose each time you’re in their presence. Accept the fact they’re cursed and move on. I suggest you find someone of noble character, someone who comes from victory, like me.” I hover over the couch and inspect her from this aerial vantage point—her golden hair slightly frazzled, her silver eyes partially closed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was beckoning me to lie next to her.
Dear God up in Heaven—she’s giving me the come hithers.
I hurdle the back of the sofa and land next to her with the deftness of a feathered wing. “I want to hear all about your time in the Ethereal Plane. Tell me everything.” Conversation is the height of foreplay to human women. After six thousand years of observation I know this well—it’s almost an unfair advantage.
Her ribbon lips curve into a delicious smile as she places her head in my lap and takes up my hand. She looks up at me, pure as the driven snow and my entire being electrifies at her touch.
Skyla starts in on a long sordid tale of intrigue and mystery, peppering the lopsided conversation with the occasional stray thought.
I run my gaze over her supple neck, the perfect hourglass that her hips afford. My mouth desires to trace out the landscape of her every curve. I crave to have her, right down to her tiny beautiful feet. How I yearn for the moment she graces my chambers night after luscious night with all of the affection we can afford. We’ll charge the air with our ferocity. I can almost feel her skin burning against mine, the singe of her thighs smoothing over me as I make her my wife with a pronounced finality.
“I can hear you,” she flat lines.
A smile rides up my cheek. “Though the deep drink of our love tarry—wait for it.”
“As I was saying…” Skyla carries on with the stamina of an auctioneer as she details the events of the past several hours. She strings out a single sentence without interruption for five solid minutes regarding Delphinious, the weather, Jock Strap—and Harrison-I-Specialize-In-All-Things-Illegal.
My fingers ache to touch her but I veer from her skin and indulge in her luscious curls instead. Such amazing beauty, such stunning attributes—I would say, they broke the mold when they created her, but in truth, it was her mother’s egotistical need to duplicate that led to Skyla’s beauty. The only difference being, Candace is severely lacking in the gentle soul department—fortunately for me, her offspring is not. Skyla glows from the inside with a radiant beauty.
“And, that’s how it ended,” she sighs into me. “You know…” She burrows the back of her head deeper into my lap and rouses more than my curiosity. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m all alone.”
“You have me.” I probe her with a heavy gaze. “For the rest of your days I will be here for you—someone to trust, to lean on—to have and to hold from this day on.”
She reaches up and presses her fingers to my lips. “Those sound an awful lot like wedding vows.”
I snatch her hand and hold it to my mouth. “One day they will be. You will be everything to me, Skyla. A lover.” I press my lips to her ring finger. “A friend.” I kiss another slender digit, dipping it just past my lips. “My spouse.” I plunge her entire forefinger into my mouth and run my tongue along the back as she slips it out. “Where shall we spend our honeymoon?” Tasting her flesh has invigorated me to the prospect.
“No honeymoon,” she’s quick to assert. “But, well…” She folds her arms tight across her chest. “Since I’m not seeing Gage—and Logan wants to wait until the end of the faction war before we see where our ‘feelings’ lie—I suppose I’m open.”
“Open?” My jaw goes slack.
“You know…” She shrugs. “For your wooing—no kissing though. You’ll have to woo without lingual contact.”
“No kissing.” I repeat as though I meant it. “Fantastic.” I marvel. “What shall we do to commemorate our first day of coupledom?”
“Let’s hop in that mirror of Demetri’s and see what’s cooking on the other side.” She prods me in the ribs as if I were cattle. “You’re a Sector—you can get us out of any number of messes. Come on.” She shakes me by the collar in what can only be described as a partial assault. “I’ll be fun.”
“Absolutely not.” I grit my teeth at the idea. “There’s an off chance it might have diminishing effects on my powers. I can’t risk getting caught with my proverbial pants down. I won’t have it. In fact, I should give you a good tongue lashing for entertaining the idea.” A lewd smile begs to glide across my face. “Shall I start now?”
“No.” A tiny dimple ignites on her left cheek and it takes all of my celestial reserve not draw her up and cover my mouth over hers. “And,” she continues, “I seriously doubt you’d have anything to be ashamed of with your pants leveraged to the ground. In fact, I’m betting you’d draw an awful lot of attention.” She runs her tongue over the rim of her lips and gently moves her neck over my hips. “Something tells me you’re a real crowd pleaser. You’re a giver, aren’t you, Marshall? And, I can tell you have a lot to give.”
I’m stunned into silence.
I pluck a twig from her sweater. “Shall we run upstairs and get you into something a little more comfortable?”
“Let’s see—” She runs her fingers through my hair as though she were considering far more than relaxing in my briefs. Her breathing grows erratic. I can feel her desire rising for me like an aria. The only thing we’ll be feasting on this evening is ourselves. There could be no better meal. “I bet your bed falls under the category of something more comfortable.”
“If you insist.”
A knock erupts at the door before I can seize the moment and steal her away.
“Give me a second—I’ll get rid of them.” I rise in haste nearly depositing her to the floor.
“It’s probably just Gage,” she says, averting her eyes at the thought.
“Like I said, give me a second—I’ll remove them from the planet.”
We head to door and I swing it open ready to behead whichever Oliver has the misfortune to darken my doorway, however, there’s no sign of an Oliver for miles—its Shelly.
“Expecting company?” Skyla cuts me a sharp look. Clearly she’s reduced to cinders at the thought of Shelly warming my bed at night.
“What’s going on?” Michelle asks, wide-eyed and stunned to see Skyla by my side.
“Just hanging out,” Skyla says with a touch of ownership over yours truly.
This is panning out better than I could have expected. Shelly showing at this late hour has incited my love to a fit of jealous rage. She’ll want nothing more than to make me hers before I’m snatched away by my former mistress.
“You wanna come in?” Skyla offers. “We were just about to play a game.”
“What?” I balk.
“Sure,” Shelly growls, as the two of them ignore my clear surprise.
“Shelly, you can’t stay.” I turn her by the shoulders and begin to usher her right back from where she came. “Ms. Messenger and I are calling it a night. We’ve a game to play in private.” I slide a secret smile over to Skyla. Let the record show the boudoir adventure was her brilliant epiphany.
Shelly’s face rounds out in horror as she struggles to remain inside. I give a generous shove and bid her goodnight before securing the door behind her.
“You.” I take Skyla in my arms and press a warm kiss over her lips until she pulls away. I absorb her form, her features as if she were the only sustenance I needed to survive, and truthfully she just may be.
“Now where were we?” she whispers, running her lips along the underbelly of my jaw while procuring an involuntary groan from deep within me.
“I believe we were headed upstairs.”