Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)

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Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Page 12

by Victoria Paige


  She puffed a short laugh and the smile on her face made him want to snatch her in his arms. Fuck, this was torture.

  “So what’s on your mind besides eating this delicious Italian dinner I brought home?”

  She looked at him critically. “Do you still use a straight edge razor?”

  “Hell yeah.” Drake grinned, beginning to see where she was going with this.

  “Have it with you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then let’s give you a shave and a haircut.”

  “Gina suggested we engage in familiar activity that’s also personal,” Izabel said as she tested the sharpness of the razor on a section of his hair. She used to cut his hair and sometimes give him a shave. “I kinda like this longish style on you. Mind if I trim just a bit?”

  Drake shrugged. “Whatever you want, babe.”

  They were in the master bathroom. Izabel told him to take a shower to make it easier for her to cut his hair. Drake was seated on a round swivel stool that was part of the vanity table with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His oversized frame probably looked ridiculous on it, but he didn’t care. Izabel was behind him, running her fingers through his scalp, and, if he were a cat, he would be purring right now.

  Holding out a section, she began to shave off the edges. Clumps of hair fell to the tiled floor as awareness and heat flicked against his skin with every brush of her body against his. His cock began to tent his towel and Drake forced himself to think of Brick in a pink dress because it made him more squeamish than thinking of blood and guts. He played this game with his erection while Izabel moved around him.

  “Do you like this length?” Her eyes met his in the mirror.

  “Looks good to me.”

  “Great,” she breathed and situated herself in front of him. He widened his legs to allow her to move between them, the towel precariously gaping open. A hitch in her breathing told him she was as affected as he was. She worked on trimming his beard, their eyes would meet briefly, and Drake fought the urge to steal a kiss, but he didn’t want to risk the razor slicing his cheek open. He remained as still as a statue.

  After Izabel finished, she moved back behind him and cupped his jaw. “I’m gonna work on your beard line.”

  Drake chuckled. “You don’t have to.”

  “Oh, but I want to.” Izabel smeared some shaving gel on his cheek.

  “Want to find your husband beneath the scruff?”

  “You can say that. Now, hush before I cut you.”

  Drake closed his mouth, because the back of his head was more or less cradled on her tits.

  Fuck.

  Torture. Fucking, sweet torture.

  His lids slammed shut.

  Brick in a skirt.

  Brick in a tutu.

  Fuck. It wasn’t working.

  Izabel let go of his jaw and backed away and then a warm wet towel wiped the gel from his face.

  Drake opened his eyes and stared at his reflection—and recognized a man he hadn’t seen in three years. He raised his eyes to Izabel and the watery smile on her face told him what he needed to know—his wife had found him.

  “Drake …”

  A growl escaped his throat as he swiveled on the stool and grabbed her hips. Her laughter was cut short when he lifted her and planted her ass on the counter. The towel falling away exposed his fully erect cock.

  He moved between her legs and squeezed his eyes shut just as Izabel’s hand wrapped around his throbbing erection.

  “Fuck, Izabel …” Eyes popping open, they drilled into her fevered ones. “Are you sure?”

  Her “yes” was needy and Drake was a slave to her every need.

  He framed her face and kissed her, devouring her lips like the starved man he was. Their tongues tangled and he was acutely aware of her soft hands sliding up and down his cock, squeezing.

  He knocked her hands from his cock. “Enough.”

  She protested and tried to grab him again but he foiled her attempt.

  “Too much,” he growled. He yanked at the drawstrings of her sweatpants as she took off her shirt. He tugged her pants down her legs, and moved between them again, pressing close, claiming her lips and dug his hand behind her lace panties. Finding her wet and hot, he plunged a finger into her and she moaned into his mouth.

  “Fuck, Iza,” he mumbled as he kissed down her neck and slipped the strap of her bra down so he could get to her gorgeous tits. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking as he plunged another finger inside her. She was fucking tight as her slick channel grabbed at his digits.

  “Inside me, Drake!” she whimpered.

  Drake looked up from eating her tit—“don’t rush me”—and resumed feasting on her body. She cried out as she came on his fingers and he continued to wring out every shudder of her orgasm as he sucked on her skin. He couldn’t wait to taste her, to have her juices in his lips.

  He plucked her from the counter and her legs automatically wrapped around him. Walking to the still-dark bedroom, he planted a knee on the bed and dropped her ass near the edge of the mattress. At the same time, he dropped to his knees, yanking her panties off her as he went.

  “Spread,” he growled even as he yanked her thighs apart and he dove in, his tongue greedily lapping, the taste of her pussy turning his cock rock hard. Izabel squirmed as he continued to fuck her with his tongue. He brought her to the brink, withdrew, and then brought her to new heights.

  “Drake.”

  He knew that keening moan, relished that he still knew how to pleasure her, how to drive her mad with need and bring her to orgasm … he sucked on her clit.

  “Drake!” She exploded on his tongue, gushing warmth coated his mouth and he swiped every last drop of her honeyed musk. Crawling up her body, he began pressing the crown of his cock inside her.

  Izabel was going to be tight and he didn’t want to hurt her.

  “Let me know if it’s too much, baby,” he whispered to her in the dark, seeing the gleam in her eyes, but not her clear features. The bathroom fixture was their only source of light.

  Her breathing fractured as he continued to inch inside her.

  “Okay?” he gritted his teeth. Jesus, her pussy was tight.

  She nodded vigorously, but her eyes squeezed shut.

  Drake started to withdraw.

  “No!” Her ankles hooked behind his ass and pulled him forward.

  He slid home, anchoring himself to the hilt.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned. He struggled not to rut into her like a deranged beast and, instead, stayed planted. Drake needed to see her. Staying connected, he shifted them until he could see Izabel’s face in the dim light. The blissful smile on her face made his heart soar. He was getting his wife back. He pressed gentle kisses all over her face before capturing her lips in a long deep, searing one.

  “I love you, Izabel.” He raised his head to stare into her eyes. “You’re in my heart every moment.”

  She drew him close, bracketing him with her arms and legs. “Love me, Drake,” she whispered against his mouth. “Love me like you’ll never let me go.”

  “Never again,” he growled. He withdrew and then thrust in. Slowly at first and then he pumped faster and faster. Izabel’s nails dug into his shoulders as an expression between anguish and ecstasy crossed her face.

  And when she gasped, “harder,” Drake let loose with feral intensity and he fucked her like a caveman. He pounded her hard, wild, and fast. Her nails scored his skin and he relished the sting as their mating culminated in blinding pleasure as he spilled into her. Drake shoved his face into the curve of her neck as he shuddered with the waves of his climax.

  He was crushing her and yet she held on tight.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her.

  Their eyes locked and the angst of their years apart melted away in that moment.

  It was midnight when Drake let Izabel up for air. He couldn’t stop touching her, afraid it was a dream and she would
disappear. She tensed when he kissed down her belly and lingered on the scar across her bikini line.

  “I had a C-section,” she whispered.

  “I know, baby.” He grazed his mouth on the mark one last time before crawling up her body. He braced his elbows on either side of her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “I’m not self-conscious about it.” She managed a watery smile. “Especially since …” Her words faded and, instead, she let her fingers communicate what she wanted to say. Izabel stroked the healed ridges of tissue on his back—her soft touch, a balm to his invisible wounds.

  “Our scars are our story,” he said softly. “The bad, the good. Our heartbreaks and our triumphs. It’s up to us to decide our ending.” Drake brushed her hair away from her face. “Don’t know about you, babe, but I’m hoping for a pretty damn good one.”

  Her eyes glistened. “Me too.”

  Izabel shifted beneath him and winced. “I’m sore.”

  Drake hid a grin of satisfaction. “Want me to run you a bath?”

  She smiled up at him. “I’d love it.”

  Izabel stepped into the tub and Drake got in behind her. They sat, huddled together and enjoyed the soothing warmth of the water. His wife was quiet and Drake thought she had dozed off. As for him, he’d never felt this elated in the past three years. There was truth in that you never know what you’ve lost until it’s gone. There was no way he was going to do this to their marriage again. He had to assure her that he was not re-enlisting with the SEALs nor was he continuing with the Task Force after they fulfilled their current mission.

  “Do you think we slept together too soon?”

  His fingers stroking her arms stilled. “Are you regretting that we did?”

  She was silent for three heartbeats. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t overthink it.”

  “Maybe we should have talked before we slept together.”

  Drake smiled against her hair. “We communicate better when we fuck.”

  She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Be serious.”

  “I am, baby. I know there’s a lot we need to work through—”

  “And there’s the elephant in the room … I’m technically no longer married to you.”

  “That can be corrected with a few keystrokes.”

  Her hands glided back and forth through the water but she didn’t say anything. Drake gave her a gentle nudge. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t shut me out.”

  “It still angers how easy it is to mess with people’s lives.”

  “Are you referring to the terrorists or the Task Force?” he asked.

  “Both,” Izabel huffed.

  He massaged her shoulders. “I took care of the first and I’m working on the second. Trust me on this.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Hey …” Drake gently turned her head so he had her eyes. “I have a good feeling we’re gonna make it.”

  He flashed her a roguish smile.

  Izabel rolled her eyes knowing what he was up to, but he was relieved how easily they seemed to be falling back into each other.

  “I’m meeting with Doc G again in a couple of days,” she said.

  “So she’s helping?”

  “I guess.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you know when Marcus and I can go back to work?”

  Drake sighed. “Let’s talk about that over dinner.”

  “It’s midnight.”

  “I’m starving. You?”

  She grinned at him. “I am.”

  Half an hour later, Drake was in the kitchen in a good mood and whistling as he popped the take out containers of pasta in the microwave to reheat. Though his stomach was grumbling for food, all he could think about was taking Izabel back to bed. Three years of celibacy finally ended and it was fucking amazing.

  Sinking into Izabel’s tight heat was every bit the heaven he remembered. His poor wife might not be able to walk the next day.

  He chuckled at the thought.

  “Iza!” He hollered from the kitchen. “Food’s almost ready.” His wife and her beauty routines … she mentioned something about putting on a face mask. Drake guessed having had a mother whose business dealt with beauty ingrained in her certain habits. Not that he was complaining. He remembered how ridiculously unreal her skin felt whenever she did one of her “sandpaper spas” as Drake called it, although Izabel insisted it was called exfoliation.

  His spine tensed when his ears picked up the sound a vehicle before he saw headlights sweep over the window. Dropping whatever he was doing, he opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out his Sig.

  He headed for the door and peeked behind the curtains. He had an inkling of who their midnight visitor was, but one couldn’t be too sure. The porch lights were on and shown on two familiar black SUVs.

  Viktor stepped down from the driver’s side of one vehicle and Drake could feel his eyes lock on to his location. The legend of Viktor Baran transcended all special ops circles. Some say the man wasn’t human and maybe a closet superhero. Drake was inclined to believe it. He’d seen the man in action more than once. But every superhero had a weakness and, if Viktor ever had one, it was his wife. She made him human. Which was why Drake suspected that in his gruff way, Viktor had a stake in him winning Izabel back.

  The woman in question chose that moment to make an appearance.

  Footsteps scraped on the porch steps followed by a rap on the door.

  “Who is it?” Izabel stayed by the bottom of the staircase, looking apprehensive.

  “It’s Viktor.”

  Drake opened the door. Edmunds, Brick, and Marcus were with him.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Marcus!” Izabel gasped as she rushed forward. Drake blocked his wife before she could get past him and out the door. She was wearing damned sleeping shorts for Christ’s sake.

  Brick gave Izabel an appreciative once over.

  “Hey, eyes to me,” Drake growled at his friend who gave him a lecherous smile.

  Motherfucker.

  “Overprotective much?” Brick teased.

  “Fuck off.”

  Traces of amusement flashed through everyone’s faces.

  “Shit’s gonna hit the fan tomorrow,” Viktor informed him. “Wanna invite us in?”

  Drake glanced over his shoulder at Izabel. “Throw on a robe.”

  Izabel nodded, her face scarlet. She wasn’t wearing a bra either.

  The task force team and Marcus entered the house.

  “Man, your wife is a looker … uhm … wow … that … ” Brick’s gaze followed Izabel’s hourglass figure up the staircase.

  “Brick, if you say another fucking word …” Drake started menacingly.

  “What? Just saying … know where you’re coming from, bro.” The ginger-haired operator said. “Why you fought so hard to get back to her.”

  “Okay, so let’s cut the bullshit and tell me why this can’t wait ’til tomorrow,” Drake muttered.

  “Because tomorrow, the world will know that you survived the massacre of your team,” Viktor said. “The public will not be privy to classified information, but your return will certainly cause controversy and I imagine your relationship with Izabel will be under scrutiny.”

  He crossed his arms. “I get to be Drake Maddox again in public? No more sneaking around?”

  Viktor nodded.

  Drake’s mouth thinned. “Wouldn’t that put Tierney and whoever she’s working with on alert?”

  “That’s the idea. We’re sure Tierney is involved, but someone’s holding the leash.”

  “She’s been in contact with Exetron Oil’s CEO, Lawrence Mitchell, through official channels,” Brick said. “The news breaks at oh-six hundred. We’re monitoring both Tierney and Mitchell’s signal clouds. If they’re using another way to communicate, we got them.”

  Brick’s eyes shifted beyond Drake’s shoulder and he knew Izabel wa
s back. Drake cleared his throat and glared at his friend. Brick shrugged and looked at the floor with a secretive smile that Drake wanted to wipe off his face.

  “Marcus,” Izabel whispered and this time he didn’t stop his wife from greeting his commander. After their quick hug though, Drake pulled her back to his side.

  “What’s going on?” Izabel asked.

  Drake gave her a quick summary.

  “No more hiding?”

  “No more hiding,” he affirmed, then cut a glance to his team. “I’m concerned with how this will affect Izabel’s safety. There were no event triggers when Hamza was killed, correct?”

  “That we’re aware of,” Viktor murmured.

  Drake narrowed his eyes.

  “We can’t be a one hundred percent, Maddox, and you know it. Why we took Izabel the same time we needed to bring Marcus in.”

  “Okay, then I’ll be Izabel’s bodyguard,” Drake said.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I believe that’s my job.”

  “Not sure I trust you after Brick and Edmunds got the jump on you.”

  “Drake,” Izabel chided sharply.

  “If Mitchell or Tierney is going to make a play, we need to keep everything business as usual,” Viktor said.

  “Sorry to contradict you, boss … press is gonna have a field day with this story,” Edmunds spoke up for the first time. “Nothing’s gonna be business as usual.”

  Viktor shot the Guardian a look of irritation. “Agreed.” He turned to Drake. “But you can’t be in your wife’s space all the time.”

  “I am not risking Izabel.”

  “He can play the devoted husband,” Brick suggested. “Totally understandable, right? Some might question why Drake doesn’t whisk her away after having been gone for three years.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic idea,” he muttered.

  “She can’t abandon the Solace project. It’s high profile and at a critical stage,” Viktor turned to Izabel. “Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she responded slowly. “But why do you care?”

  Viktor’s face was bland, but he was watching Izabel in an assessing way Drake didn’t like.

  “No,” he growled.

  Viktor raised a brow.

  “You’re not using my wife as bait.”

 

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