Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  As each pump of his cock blasted more and more sensation through her already-sensitive pussy, he found a harder and faster rhythm. Soon, his face grew serious and focused—and his breathing changed. His skin grew hotter, and his cock seemed on fire.

  “Fuck, Dani,” he groaned slowly, pulling out and releasing hot liquid all over her abdomen.

  She just watched him refocus after the pleasure of his orgasm subsided. Keeping his warm, rough hand on her, he reached into the bag on the side of the tent to grab a towel and clean them up. Within moments, he’d collapsed beside her on the mat and zipped them both, naked, into the sleeping bag.

  He pulled her close to him and kissed the tip of her nose before kissing her forehead and her hair. He reached up and affectionately caressed her face, closing his eyes with obvious exhaustion. In that moment, she allowed herself to just watch him fall asleep.

  A spiteful little voice inside her tried to remind her that it was all temporary.

  This isn’t real.

  She quashed any inner voices that she didn’t want to hear and kissed Carrick’s sleeping mouth before rolling over and falling into sleep, still held in his arms. The last thing she remembered before completely passing out was his sleepy lips grazing her shoulder and his thick arms tightening around her, bringing her into him as his little spoon, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

  Chapter Twenty

  Carrick

  On a bright Monday morning, Carrick sat on the golden white sand of San Onofre beach in Southern California.

  He inhaled the breeze wafting off the waves before him and dug his heels into the grainy sand, which was hot on top and cool underneath. Already, the heat of the sun was mounting, and sweat slid his black sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

  There was something so peaceful about the beach in the morning, so soothing. The waves ebbed back and forth, a rhythm that was entrenched in his soul. He felt connected to the water in a way he couldn’t explain.

  It might have been the rising warmth or the sun beating on his back—but Carrick could swear that his core felt warmer than it had the days, weeks and months before. Who knew what it was, but it didn’t seem to be all in his head. The feeling was palpable throughout his body.

  For the first time in years, he felt alive.

  He twisted in the sand, checking the tent up the beach where Danica was still sleeping. There was something about her that really pulled him in, made him want to break rules. He was doing things he shouldn’t, but she made him feel something he hadn’t in a long time. And the fact that she had given herself to him the previous night, begged him to be her first? Well, that had only made it all the better. He had no regrets. He certainly didn’t feel bad about punching out the clown who was trying to force her into marriage. He’d do it again—harder—given half a chance.

  He reached down beside him into the sand, running the warm, tiny grains through his fingers. Looking out over the horizon, hearing ocean birds singing, he was brought back to days aboard naval warships—his time of deployment, his old life. Maybe one day he could tell Danica about it all—when she could understand.

  He’d seen more death than he could explain…for too long. And maybe his luck was changing. She embodied a vivacity that had been breathed into his existence.

  Purity. Happiness.

  Satisfaction.

  And as he gripped another fistful of sand, feeling it against his calloused palms, his cellphone vibrated in his hoodie pocket. He fished for it, bringing it out, and saw that it was a text message from Delta.

  Ignoring me?

  Carrick opened the app and saw all the unanswered texts from his partner the day before. The reality of the dumpster fire he was in flashed to the front of his mind, drawing him away from the ocean’s serenity.

  I was busy. What’s up?

  The last time you ignored me, I found you hungover, broken and bloodied.

  I’m fine.

  God, I hope so. You’ll be getting a call from her daddy shortly. Shit’s getting real, man.

  I’ll handle it.

  Will you? You’re not yourself. Something’s up.

  Carrick read the words and exhaled sharply. His friend was damn right about that.

  This can’t go on. Are you going to deal with her or not?

  Before Carrick could write back, a call started coming to his cellphone. Seeing that there was no caller ID, he knew exactly who it was. He sure as hell didn’t want to talk to the fucker, but Carrick wasn’t a coward.

  And he wasn’t about to let the asshole think he was faltering.

  “Yup,” he answered the call, pressing it hard against his ear so he wouldn’t miss a word.

  “You said you would call me,” Petrov’s unimpressed voice rang through the line. “It has been over twenty-four hours.”

  “Patience is a virtue”—Carrick kept his voice calm, not willing to show his cards—“especially on Monday mornings.”

  “I hope you have enjoyed your little holiday.” Petrov wheezed into the phone, alerting Carrick. “Now, bring her to me.”

  “Not a chance,” Carrick stated, his mind running with questions.

  Little holiday? What the fuck does that mean? Does Petrov know we’re at the beach? Carrick looked around, his mind working through any possible way Petrov could be tracking her, then decided the thug was just being a smart-ass.

  Petrov let out a shallow cough then spoke in a low, deadly serious tone. “My jet is leaving for Moscow tomorrow, and I expect her to be on it.”

  “And what makes you think I give a shit?”

  “Poshel na khuy,” Petrov snapped, clearly growing irate. “Enough with the posturing. You’ve done everything I’ve asked so far, haven’t you? You found her. You brought her to the wedding. I know you’ll bring her to me once again—because, if you don’t, you are intelligent enough to recognize what will happen to you and her.”

  A protective fury rose in Carrick as he slammed back against the threat. “Stop trying to control her. She’s not going to marry Andriy.”

  “Won’t she? She won’t say no. You know she won’t say no.”

  “I won’t let her.” The words slipped out of Carrick’s mouth before he clenched down harder. “You don’t deserve her—and neither does he.”

  Petrov laughed again. “And look at you—trying to control her life, telling her what to do. Remind me how you are so different from what you are criticizing?”

  Carrick went silent, remembering how submissive Danica was, remembering that controlling her life was exactly not what she needed.

  She needs to stand up to Petrov by herself.

  Petrov added, with a tone of finality, “Andriy is a good man and will make a good husband for her. We take care of our own. Unfortunately, he is already displeased that he will have this black eye for their wedding reception this weekend. If I were you, I wouldn’t give him any more reasons to be unhappy… It could kill your business.”

  Carrick flexed his jaw, removing the phone from his ear to hang up. Staring at it, he debated throwing the thing in the ocean. Something about that call left him feeling in way, way less control than he had yesterday…when he’d last spoken to the guy.

  What the fuck am I going to do now?

  Letting all the frustration inside him out in one long exhale, Carrick narrowed his vision on the crashing waves before him. He needed the cold water to wake him up. He popped up and zipped his phone back into his hoodie pocket. Whipping it off, leaving him in nothing but his board shorts, Carrick turned toward the tent to throw the hoodie up the beach.

  But then he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. A grin washed across his face as he watched Danica walking down the sand toward him, flipping back her long hair. She was so damn stunning.

  “Morning,” he called to her.

  “Good morning,” Danica replied, focused on him.

  She stopped a few feet away from him, her expression apprehensive, awkwardly holding her arms across the chest of her pink hoodie
.

  Carrick immediately closed the gap and leaned in to give her a kiss, but she pulled back. He returned her intense gaze. There was no chance in hell she’d overheard anything. The crashing waves and strong breeze were enough ambient noise to drown out the conversation he’d just had with Petrov.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked, the words pouring out.

  “It was a business call. How did you sleep?” he replied, keeping his cards close to his chest.

  A frown shot across her face and she looked away. He knew for sure she didn’t believe him and didn’t trust his words. He bit his lip, regretting his response. In the blink of an eye, everything they’d shared the night before had disappeared—and they were right back at square one.

  “So, what’s the plan now?” Danica turned back to him, her voice stone cold.

  “Well, what’s your plan?” Carrick asked, pushing the conversation to where it needed to go. “What were you planning on doing with these survival skills?”

  Her lips parted and he saw that she wanted to lie. He’d interviewed enough sources throughout the world, collecting intel, to know when someone didn’t want to answer a question. And just like that, she seemed nervous and searching.

  And that was when he decided he absolutely had to know.

  “I think we are past the smokescreen, Dani.” He laid it all out. “I need to know what you are planning. I need to know how to help you.”

  She flitted her amber gaze up to him, obviously relenting. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

  “So what. Tell me anyway.”

  She shifted in the sand, barefoot, and started fiddling with the bottom edge of her pink hoodie.

  She breathed out, speaking quickly, “Look… I tried to face Petrov at the wedding. I tried to talk to Andriy and tell them to leave me alone, but it didn’t work. You saw it. And now all I’ve really done is open the door even farther. They know I’ll fold like a cheap tent.”

  “So?”

  She pressed her eyes together as she finally said, “So, let’s be real here. I only really have one option.”

  “Which is?” he asked through a clenched jaw. He knew what she was going to say and he already hated it. “What is your only option?”

  “To run,” she finally admitted, opening her gentle eyes to him once again. “Get off the grid. Hide somewhere they can’t find me.”

  He exhaled as he let the truth sink in. She didn’t want to fight back. She didn’t want to make a stand. She didn’t believe in herself. She was a flight risk more than anything, even at the cost of her own wellbeing.

  I should have known.

  “What does ‘off the grid’ mean?” he probed, trying to keep it cool.

  “I’ve had friends who have lived an alternative lifestyle, and you know what? All it does is bring a person closer to nature and art.” She was obviously trying hard to convince him. And maybe herself? “I can get up to the mountains and camp, either alone or with others.”

  “Living off the land? Living in a tent in the forest?” he shot back. “Is that part of your vegan crap?”

  “Something like that,” she whispered. “People do it.”

  Assessing her, he felt her deep anxiety. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a place for pussyfooting.

  “That plan is dumb as fuck. Are you high?”

  “What?” she gasped. “Listen… I recognize it’s not a great first choice, but I’m looking at Plan B here. I’m trying to find a way to just be free.”

  “I’m not going to let you do something as dumb as that. You should have a real life.” He waved his hand, holding his ground. “I’ll help you.”

  But then she pushed back.

  “It’s not up to you,” she snapped, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. “You can’t run my life.” Her gaze was fierce, strong.

  Carrick leaned back, looking down at her in amazement. Why the fuck couldn’t she stand up to Petrov like that? Didn’t she see what she was already capable of?

  “This is a free country, Dani. You don’t have to run from anyone,” he implored. “We can have them charged. We can fight back against them. There are grown-up ways to deal with this.”

  She stepped back, blinking out a few big tears. “I am not a Navy SEAL, Carrick. I can’t do what you do.”

  “Yes, you can,” he urged.

  But she took another step back, accidentally stumbling and falling down into the hot sand. Shit, Carrick thought as he watched an expression flash across her face. He’d recognize it any day.

  She feels helpless.

  Unable to watch her break, he nodded sharply to the tent. “Go pack up your things. We leave in ten.”

  Her expression grew pained. She had no other words. And that was when it really hit Carrick. He saw something too familiar—a young woman who deserved everything in life but had been unfairly handed brutal hardship. As she scrambled off the sand and spun to march back to the tent, he found himself blinking rapidly, trying to get a grip on the present and forget his past.

  I can’t save her.

  Finding himself alone again on the beach, Carrick realized how different he felt from when he’d woken up. He hated every problem weighing on him, every memory his mind threatened to flash before him. And with all that hatred, he walked toward the water, unable to be any closer to Danica, to think about her, to feel.

  I can’t watch her suffer.

  As his feet hit the cold water of the ocean and it crashed against his shins, a chill shot through his body. But he wasn’t cold. On SEAL Team Seven, he’d been on many, many dives in water that was frigid. He was used to cold water. The chill shooting up his body was because of what had just happened and the old agony that wouldn’t go away.

  Now waist-deep in the waves, Carrick dove in headfirst, finding his way underneath the water. The power and force of the ocean overtook him, holding him and pushing him forward. The undertow was incredibly strong, and he knew inexperienced swimmers could get caught up in a bad way. It was a good thing that he was very, very capable. As he swam back and forth, never too far from shore, keeping his eye on Danica packing up, he had to come to terms with what was happening inside him.

  This was all too familiar. He’d been there before, been down this road. An unwelcome memory flashed to the front of his mind. As Carrick swam, he allowed the flashback to take over in full, knowing he just had to relive it…at least this once.

  It was a little less than two years before, and he was standing over Lauren’s intensive-care hospital bed, watching her stats on the monitors. She wasn’t doing well. She’d had a stroke.

  “Why didn’t you take the meds?” he roared out of pure frustration, knowing his fiancée couldn’t even hear him. “I told you this would fucking happen.”

  Her eyes remained shut. She was unconscious in her bed—vulnerable and weak. Her natural hair fanned out over the pillow, still messy and knotted, though Carrick had tried his best to brush it over the weeks she’d been there. Her dark lashes fanned out over her white cheeks, nearly lifeless. He desperately wished he could see those crystal blue eyes open to him once more.

  “Lauren, I can’t fight this for you. I can’t climb into your body and beat the leukemia out.” He broke. “You have to listen to me. You have to keep fighting.”

  Exasperated, he ran his hands over his unshaven face, feeling the pain of watching her get sicker and sicker before his eyes—the helplessness, the powerlessness, the exhaustion from living out of the hospital chair beside her bed. She wasn’t supposed to get sick. She wasn’t supposed to get worse. They’d just bought a house. They were supposed to get married. They had plans.

  And they’d just painted the baby’s room. They’d just started trying. Sure, the wedding wasn’t until the summer, but they weren’t too fussy about formalities. They’d been together a long time already. Lauren had just turned thirty, and she’d told Carrick she was ready to be a mom.

  But then they’d found out she was sick. Really sick.
r />   The lining of his throat started to stiffen as he looked down on the woman he loved, wishing she would just fucking wake up, that he could see any sign she would turn the corner and come out of it.

  “Everything okay in here?” A nurse with pink scrubs and a reassuring, motherly feel walked in with a handheld scanning device. She walked up and started doing her checks on her unconscious patient.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It doesn’t seem fine,” the nurse replied, keeping a calm voice.

  “She shouldn’t have stopped taking the meds.” He lashed out, his fist tightening on the IV pole. “I told her not to fucking stop taking them—and look what happened! How long is she going to be out for?”

  The nurse reached over to the side table, grabbing a tissue from the box, walked around the bed to where Carrick stood, and handed it to him.

  “What’s this for?” he demanded.

  “Your face.”

  Frowning, he reached up with his hand and realized his face was wet.

  “Why the fuck is my face wet?” He pulled his hand back, feeling clear liquid on his fingers.

  “You’re crying.”

  Carrick gazed back at Lauren. She seemed so small. So white. So sick.

  “When is she going to wake up?” he asked.

  The nurse reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it in a caring way.

  “I don’t think she is,” she said.

  His eyes shifted to the nurse and his stomach convulsed. Lauren isn’t going to wake up? What the hell? His mind tried to process it, but he just couldn’t.

  “She stopped chemo because she knew she was almost there,” the nurse explained, holding on to his arm and looking up at him empathetically. “She just wanted her last days to be… well, without any drugs except those that keep her comfortable. Those were her wishes. We are still with her—right up to the end.”

  The end—the words pierced Carrick’s mind and he felt something snapping…something changing. He’d lost a lot of friends through the years in the war, but he’d never expected to lose his girl in a fight that he couldn’t do anything about.