Saint

by Zoe Dawson

  Saint groaned and dragged his mouth away, his breathing harsh and ragged as he lifted her hips against his, a violent shudder coursing through him. His merciless hold fusing them body to body.

  Aella wrapped her legs around him, giving him full access to the heat that was denied him by the barrier of their clothing. His breath harsh against her ear, he gripped her around the hips, locking her against him, his body thrusting, driving, urgent, against hers. Aella clung to him, her senses sucked into a mindless need, and she dragged her hands up his back, her fingers digging into his straining muscles as she twisted her body against his, trying to bring him closer, tighter, harder.

  Grinding out a guttural denial, Saint dragged her head against his neck, then hiked her higher, holding her immobile against him. His embrace viselike, Aella was aware of the heat and hardness of his body, aware that he was carrying her toward one of the beds.

  Awash with a whole storm of emotion, she uttered a broken cry and convulsively tightened her hold when he tried to disengage from her. A tremor coursed through him, and he buried his face against her neck, his hand spanning her head. On a shuddering intake of air, he braced one knee on the mattress, steadying their combined weight as he carried her down onto the bed, her legs still locked around him. Aella sobbed out her response as he collapsed on top of her, his weight settling heavily in the cradle of her thighs. Sensations and emotions raged through her, and she flexed her legs, thrusting up against him, an incoherent desperation possessing her. He met her urgent thrust with one of his own, the clothing that separated them the only obstruction against the breaking storm.

  His breathing harsh and out of control, he twisted and grasped her leg, trying to break her hold. “Babe, let go. Let go.” He shuddered, then pulled free, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Your clothes…I could use some help here.”

  Through her delirium, Aella turned her face against his neck and let her legs go slack, heat and hunger and urgency making her writhe against him. His touch, rough and frantic, Saint stripped away her pants, then freed himself, his fingers rough against her flesh when he yanked her thighs apart. Then, with a hoarse groan, he slid one arm under her hips and jerked her up, his arms clenching around her as he entered her with one savage thrust, as if trying to penetrate her soul.

  Aella cried out and arched against him as intense pleasure claimed her. His fingers tangling in her hair, Saint held her head as he covered her mouth in a punishing kiss that blasted through all her emotional defenses, that stripped away reality. Drinking in the sounds that were driven from her, he thrust into her again, a fragmented groan shuddering from him. Dragging his mouth away from hers, he buried his face against the curve of her neck, a hard, wild urgency claiming him, incinerating the last of his restraint. And then there was no holding back. Everything he felt for her broke free, unleashing a storm like no other. Raw and violent. Engulfing. Without a trace of gentleness—their need mingled, hers as savage as his until their worlds narrowed down to them.

  Fractured perception, in pieces of silver trickled through Aella’s consciousness, and she hung onto him, his heavy weight the only thing that was real and solid in her shattered universe. Her whole body trembling from the aftermath, she hung onto him. She had never joined with a man like that, ever. She felt so close to him, a part of him.

  Dragging one arm free, Saint cradled her head closer, the labored pounding of his heart vibrating through her. He inhaled raggedly, then brushed his mouth against the curve of her shoulder, his hold on her tightening.

  Aella flattened her hand against the back of his neck, drawing him even closer, feeling as if she would disintegrate into a million pieces if he let her go. A tremor coursed through him, and he splayed his hand wide against the back of her head, holding her with a strength that was all-encompassing.

  Blotting her face against his shirt, she drew an unsteady breath and quickly undid the buttons, smoothing her hands over his bare chest, his tight nipples, the hard delicious feel of his muscles.

  A jagged sigh escaped him, and he pressed a kiss against her neck, something profoundly poignant in the touch of his mouth against her. Her breath caught, and she dragged her fingers through his hair, cradling him against her with all her strength, feeling as if something miraculous had just happened.

  It was a long time before Aella was fully aware of anything but Saint. Then pieces of reality filtered through: they were still dressed, the rough texture of his pants against her bare thighs, the light that spilled into the room from the low burning solar lamp. But what she was most conscious of was the weight of him on top of her and the wet thickness of him still deep inside her. Closing her eyes, she slowly smoothed her hands up his back, beneath the shirt, savoring the damp texture of his skin and the denseness of the underlying muscles.

  Saint inhaled deeply, then eased some of his weight onto his forearms, the small shift rocking his pelvis against hers. The movement sent aftershocks of sensation shooting through her, and Aella clutched him, her breath catching on a gasp. Unable to be parted from him just yet, she locked her legs over his thighs, moving to keep him deep inside her. Saint shifted again, complying with her silent request, his chest expanding as he moved inside her. He remained motionless for a moment, then bracing his weight on his arms, he cradled her head in both hands, his mouth covering hers with a soft, lingering kiss. There was such raw tenderness in that kiss, she sighed, her heart turning over.

  She opened her mouth for him, and he tightened his hold on her face, his mouth soft and searching as he deepened the kiss. With the same infinite gentleness, he drank from her mouth, his tenderness moving her beyond words.

  He stroked his thumbs along her jaw, then with an uneven sigh, he reluctantly lifted his head. Aella tried to speak, but her voice was so thick she couldn’t. As if to comfort her, he brushed his mouth against hers again, then very carefully kissed her eyelids.

  There was so much more that needed to be said. But it would come in good time.

  Right now, she wanted to savor him and this moment.

  14

  His whole body sated, Saint clenched his jaw, his heart finally back to its normal rhythm, the intensity of his release leaving him totally spent. It felt so good to be with her again. So damned good.

  Drained dry by the thick, wringing climax, Saint inhaled unevenly and turned his face against her sweat-dampened neck, the rush of blood subsiding. He lay unmoving until his pulse rate quieted, his body heavy, his muscles slow to respond. Dredging up what little strength he had left, he braced his weight on his forearms, his chest contracting when he realized how hard Aella was hanging on to him.

  Sensation wrenched loose in his chest, and he closed his eyes and rested his head against hers, his throat suddenly contracting. Every time was like the first with her. Or the last.

  Not wanting to think about that, he drenched his senses with the heated scent of her, trying not to think at all.

  Finally getting it together, he inhaled unevenly and lifted his head. Murmuring her name, he reached behind him, loosening her hold around his back, then pressing her down against the bed. She lay with her eyes closed, and he could finally feel her relaxing.

  That had been a hell of an argument, and truth be told he was still pissed and unsatisfied with the outcome of it.

  She refused to go home, and he was put in an untenable place. Did he force her and expect that she would have nothing more to do with him, or did he go against his better judgment and support her in this risky attempt to find and apprehend Darko?

  If she…lost her life because he went along with her wishes, how would he live with himself?

  Smoothing her damp hair back from her face, he leaned down and softly kissed her mouth, then lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Look at me, Aella,” he whispered huskily.

  She drew a deep breath, then opened her eyes, and Saint met her gaze. He softened his expression as he caressed the line of her jaw. “You okay?”

  Her admission that she had to con
tinue going after Darko because she couldn’t live with Jason’s death being meaningless struck home with him. He’d lost brothers, close friends in combat. All of them had been dedicated to the mission, but if he couldn’t lay that brother to rest and move on, he would be completely ineffective as a SEAL and a medic. It didn’t mean that he didn’t care, God, the opposite, but war was about achieving the objective, and casualties had to be expected.

  She nodded, then closed her eyes again, her arms tightening around his back as she lifted herself up and buried her face against his neck. Saint experienced a rush of tenderness for her, and he grasped the back of her head, holding her close. He wished like hell he had a way of stopping time. If he could, he would hang on to this moment for the rest of his life.

  Releasing a reluctant sigh, he gazed down at her, his expression sobering as he stroked her temple with his thumb. He was digging himself in deeper and deeper. When they parted six months ago, he hadn’t expected to see her ever again.

  But stopping once he had Aella in his arms, his mouth on her, her so distraught, would hurt them both. They needed each other. She had been so emotionally honest with him.

  He caressed her again, then said, his voice quiet, “Aella.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, that same stubborn expression washing over her face.

  She saw a flicker of dread, and he experienced a twist around his heart, but he held her gaze. “Is this about Jason?”

  “Yes,” he said. She rolled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, drawing the covers over her lap. He sat up too and redid his pants. Pulling up a chair, he sat across from her. She stared at him, her eyes suddenly clouding, then she swallowed hard and shifted her gaze. She swallowed again, then said, her voice breaking, “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t, okay?”

  His expression sobering, Saint caught her along the jaw lifting her head, so she had to look at him. “Don’t what?” he commanded quietly.

  She hesitated, her expression stark, unhappiness dilating her eyes. He gave her head a small shake, prodding her to answer. “Don’t what?”

  “She took a deep breath, then looked away, her face drawn. “Don’t try to talk—”

  “That’s not what I was trying to do if you’ll hear me out.”

  She frowned and looked away as if her emotions were too raw to hold his gaze. Finally, she looked up at him, her shoulders dropping and that wary look in her eyes fading. “What is it you want to say?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then began fingering the wild tumble of her hair, his stomach knotting. What he was going to say was harsh, but it was reality. “I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there multiple times. It’s hard, as hard as it gets in our line of work, but people die, Aella. They die randomly, horribly, tragically, and painfully. They die doing their job.” She opened her mouth to say something, and he cut her off. “I’m not saying you have to give up going after Jason’s murderer.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you can’t dwell on any one person’s death or blame yourself for what happened. There’s only one person responsible for a death and it’s the person who took that person’s life. I couldn’t function as a SEAL or medic if I let the guys I treat or fight with disable me from operating. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Getting Jason justice isn’t my job. Completing the mission is?”

  Brushing back some stray wisps of hair at her temple, he finally met her gaze, his own somber. “That’s part of it. Mourn Jason, feel what you need to feel, then let it go. Tuck it away like you would a fresh rose between the pages of a book. The book is going to get filled with memories and people you’ve lost.”

  “How about your book?”

  “It’s too full,” he murmured.

  She moved off the bed and settled in the chair with him, her naked lower body warm against his groin, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry for all your losses, Saint.”

  For some reason Saint felt as if he’d just been let out of a dark, tight space, and he closed his eyes and hugged her hard, feeling as if he could take his first deep breath in days.

  He pressed a kiss against her brow, then hugged her again. His chest expanding with a deep, uneven breath, he said gruffly, “Thank you, babe. That means a lot.”

  He held her for a few moments, then realized he’d jumped her without confirming something very important. “Hey, babe, you still got that implant thingy under your skin?”

  She pushed away from him and smiled. “You mean my birth control?”

  Rising with her in his arms, she gave a little squeal until he settled her against his chest. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly.

  “You should have asked me that before we…”

  “Fucked each other over. I know.” He gave her a crooked grin. “You got off the mark pretty quick. If you’d given me a head start, I might have had half a brain to ask.”

  “So, this is my fault?”

  The tone of her voice amused him, and he grinned at her. “No, not if you have that thingy.”

  He set her down on the bed and stripped off his clothes, then pulled off her shirt and bra. Then he climbed in with her.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and ran his finger along her bottom lip.

  “You starting something, buddy, even before you know I have that thingy?”

  He gave her a seriously look. “Do you? Damn, was I that irresponsible?” He held her gaze, thinking she was teasing him because her eyes were twinkling. His voice was gruff when he said, “Being careless with you was never my intention.”

  Her expression softened, and she almost smiled, her touch feather light as she traced the outline of muscle on his supporting biceps. It was damned distracting.

  “You’ve never been careless, Zach,” she chastised softly. She looked back at him, a hint of dry humor appearing in her eyes. “And just out of curiosity, since when have you needed a head start?”

  Feeling as if he’d just gotten caught in a double play, he lifted back some hair that was clinging to her cheek. He fixed the silky strands in among the rest, then looked down at her, a small smile appearing. “Don’t give me a harder time, babe. You know damned well what I meant.”

  She laughed and squeezed his lips together in an exaggerated pucker. “So cute when you put your foot in your mouth.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, then lifted his head, smiling into her eyes. “You gonna answer my question or leave me hanging?”

  “Don’t change the subject there, charmer.”

  “Okay, I guess I’ll have to withhold sex.”

  “Right,” she laughed hard.

  “I can hold out.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m a trained SEAL.”

  “Did your drill sergeant teach you that too?”

  He made an ick face. “Fuck no.” His brows bobbed. “I had that down pat before I went into BUD/S.”

  “I bet you did.”

  He laughed.

  “I have the thingy under my skin, so you won’t have to be tested.”

  “Thank God.” Running his hand up and down her back, he rested his head against hers, liking the feel of her damp, naked body against his. Aella shifted, and he felt the brush of her long eyelashes as she closed her eyes. He continued to stroke her back. After a few moments he felt her body go slack, and he knew she had dropped off to sleep, which gave him a certain amount of satisfaction.

  Releasing a contented sigh, he drew his arm around her and closed his eyes.

  Iceman stayed with Rose, impatient that they had to wait for a medevac chopper from Djibouti to take her to Lemonnier.

  She woke a couple of times but passed out again. He was currently acting as her pillow. It gave him a lot of time to study that arresting face. Preach had checked her over and confirmed that she had a severe concussion coupled with exhaustion and dehydration. He thought she would be all right once she got bed rest and fluids. Iceman felt an enorm
ous amount of relief after his diagnosis.

  Fast Lane came back into the destroyed headquarters.

  “Any luck?” Iceman asked.

  “No, Saint’s off the grid. I can only hope he made it to the Baidoa military base.”

  He hated to be the bearer of bad news. “Not yet. I got a report that no one has shown up there yet.” Iceman looked over at Pitbull, then met Preacher’s eyes. He shook his head. The man was out, definitely feverish.

  “Looks like we’re going to medevac one of your guys out of here. He’s in no shape to continue. Looks like he has a fever. We don’t want to fool around with infection. Preach has given him some antibiotics, but he needs that wound addressed.”

  “Yeah, he got a gash on his leg when we crashed the SUV. No argument from me,” Fast Lane growled.

  “GQ to Iceman. How copy?”

  “Go for Iceman.”

  “Boss, we made it to where they left Slater’s body. On our way back now.”

  “Copy that. Double time it, Q. Once that chopper gets here, we don’t want it on the ground too long.”

  “Copy that. I’ll get Kodiak to carry him. He’s a beast.”

  “He just doesn’t want to mess up his hair,” Kodiak growled over the comm.

  “Thank you for going after him,” Fast Lane said, his gaze going around the debris-strewn quarters taking in Mad Max, Jugs, Dodger and Hemingway all out for the count. They had been up almost twenty-four hours. His eyes snagged on the woman who had been with them when they had shown up at the airport. She was a stunner, and it was clear Fast Lane was protective of her. She was a Nightstalker pilot and had also been caught in the bombing of the airport. The two women the only survivors. They had worked most of the afternoon to unearth the dead, including Commander Jackson and the headquarters staff.