Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

record time. Mac set another record by having me slammed up against the closed door face first and my pants around my thighs in seconds flat.
    "Fucking missed you, Gunny," he rasped in my ear.
    I could only nod, my heart hammering as Mac bit and sucked at the large tendon on the side of my neck. My focus narrowed to that warm, wet mouth and sharp teeth, and I was reduced to a series of incoherent grunts and growls that meant " hurry ", " Jesus ", and " now !"
    Mac didn't tease. The bastard could torment me for hours, fucking days even, without letting me come, teasing that left me a hairsbreadth away from a padded room. Mercifully, he never teased our first time together after a long separation, just took me hard and fast, the burn intense, with little more than spit and pre-cum to slick the way.
    "Oh, Christ, Mac."
    He grunted and slammed into me, his hands holding my hips in a bruising grip, pumping his cock in and out of me with forceful thrusts of his hips. I splayed my fingers, trying to get as much purchase on the door as I could. My arms locked, muscles quaking as I used every bit of my strength to keep Mac from fucking me through the door. Raw, carnal power against brute force.
    Mac could read my body better than even I could. He increased his speed an instant before a knot started to form at the base of my spine. Before my balls could draw all the way up against my body, Mac had his fist wrapped around my cock. Two strokes with his big, calloused hand and I was howling my release, clenching my ass around his cock and forcing him into orgasm with me.
    We were both spent, breathing harshly, and Mac wrapped his arms around my waist, burrowing his face into my neck. My arms gave out and Mac collapsed against me, still buried deep in my ass and holding me tightly against his solid chest as we came down from our euphoric high. Yeah, it'd been a long three months of porn and hand jobs, uncertainty and crazy mood swings, but Mac, he could make me forget in an instant that we'd ever been apart.
    The rest of the evening was spent in bed— no, not fucking the entire time, although Mac and I have been known to endure some epic fuck-fests. After a quick shower, Mac, coming off a thirty-six hour stretch of no sleep, crashed in my arms the minute we fell into bed. I spent most of the evening stroking his head, his muscular shoulders, down his spine, unable to stop touching his warm skin. That irritating as fuck battle between the, I'm so happy , chest tightening and the panic induced palpitations was getting fiercer the longer I lay there staring at the man in my arms.
    It began to dawn on me, settling right into my twisting gut, that this may be the last time Mac would be here. In two short months' time we would no longer have to hide our sexuality, so why would he want to come home to me? The heart palpitations won. He could have guys half our age falling at his feet in worship.
    From the neck down, Mac and I could be mirror-image twins. We're both six-foot, two-hundred-plus pounds. Our torsos are thick with muscle and a light pelt of dark hair adorns our chests and abs. We even have the same tattoo, mine on the left arm, his on the right, mirror images. About five years ago, we had gotten some rare downtime together and spent a month in Europe. Mac… well it doesn't matter what Mac said about the tattoos binding us together forever. He was drunk at the time, showing off his new tattoo in a pub, forcing me to show mine and telling the entire place how much he loved his best friend, blah, blah blah. Mac's a loud, lovable, touchy-feely kind of drunk. It didn't mean anything. At least I didn't think it meant anything to him at the time. Hell at the time, I wasn't sure it meant anything to me. At least I wasn't admitting that the chest tightening meant anything.
    The similarities below the neckline sure as hell don't continue above it. Yeah we have the same buzz cut and dark stubble, but my face looks like a growly English bulldog and Mac's face… Christ, his can only be described as statuesque. His brow is gentle with high, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and while there is nothing refined or stuffy about Mac, his features are regal. He's just fucking gorgeous head to toe.
    Lying there some time before the first rays of sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, I finally knew the reason for the shitty mood I'd been in. I was heartbroken. Heartbroken and so fucking scared. I'd never worried about where Mac was or what