by Casey Hagen
“You’re mocking me.”
“I am.”
“You’re going to pay for that,” he said, tossing the napkin and advancing on her like a predatory cat.
She backed up with each of his steps, but after the fourth he sprang at her, making her squeal and take off in a run right past him and down the hall to the living room. She wedged herself between the couch and coffee table, her heart rate racing as she listened to the ominous, almost sensual, rhythm of the thud of his shoes approaching her.
He turned the corner and pinned her there with his piercing, hooded stare. The look took her back to a hot summer night so many years ago. He’d held her captive with that same gaze, and she’d secretly wished to feel just an ounce of the passion in the years since, but no one could even come close to being in the same stratosphere.
“Do you have any idea…” he began.
The low hum of his voice sent shivers over her skin, from head to toe.
“…how many days I made it through with nothing other than memories of you tethering me to this world?”
Her muscles turned to jelly. His words rendered her immobile. “You thought about me?”
He flattened his palms on the coffee table and hunched over it. “Every single day.”
She slid her fingers through his waves and held his head that loomed just inches in front of her chest. “I thought about you, too. Every day,” she whispered.
He leaned in, angled his head, and took her lips in a hot, frantic kiss. Sliding his hands under her arms, he plucked her from where she stood and lifted her clean over the coffee table.
Her legs naturally coiled around his waist and her fingers clasped behind his thick neck as she kissed him back with the longing that had built up since their one intense night of uninhibited passion that most people fantasized, but she’d experienced firsthand with Dylan, a man who’d taken her body places she’d never seen again.
His massive hand cupped her ass, his fingers wandering over the seam of her jeans running between her cheeks. He sank the other hand into her hair, knotting his long fingers in her waves and giving them a firm tug. With every slide of their lips and swirl of their tongues, glimmers of that night came back. She clutched at the opportunity for escape and reached for the memories.
Their gasps filled the silence of the house, giving her a fraction of relief from events beyond her control. Her brother’s addiction, protecting her parents from his weakness, and what that protection might have cost—what it already had cost thus far.
Wrenching her lips from his she held his cheeks, the five o’clock shadow rough against her palms. “Tell me I’m not a bad mother for doing this. She’s in trouble and we’re—”
“Shhh,” he said, silencing her with a fingertip to her lips. “You’ve done everything you can for her. So have I. Tomorrow, I have every intention of getting our girl, but tonight…tonight I need the release. And so do you,” he murmured before fitting his lips over hers again and kissing the air from her lungs.
She greedily grasped for the offer of release and clenched her legs even tighter, thrusting against him before sinking her teeth into his plump lower lip.
The answering growl burst from this throat as he pinned her against the thick wood of the entry to the living room.
He tilted his hips and held her there with his pelvis and that thick, long cock that she remembered, pressing against his jeans and into her.
She curled her fingers around the bottom of his shirt and yanked it up over his head, exposing his hard, tan chest. She dragged her fingertips over the puckered scars that marred his beautiful body, their color more pink than tan.
His eyes grew dark and searched her gaze for something. Disgust, maybe? As though he suffered from a pinch of self-consciousness. She couldn’t know for sure, but the urge to reassure him took over. “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said as she feathered over the scar just above his heart.
“Yeah. I’ve had a few close calls.”
“Chicks dig scars,” she said with a reassuring grin.
“I don’t care about chicks. What about you? Do you dig scars?”
“You’re perfect, Dylan. I wish you hadn’t had the pain, but they’re a part of you and you’re one hell of a fantasy come to life.”
“A fantasy, huh? I figured I was good for a memory maybe.”
“That’s how incredible the memory is,” she said, locking gazes with him. “I want to make another.” She peeled the soft fabric of her t-shirt over her head and held her breath.
She’d skipped the bra, as she did at every opportunity. But now, under his avid gaze, she wished she had put one on as an additional level of protection to ease into where they were about to go.
She had never had a whole lot in the breast department, and they were working breasts that had nursed Ashton for almost a full year. They weren’t to her knees by any means, but they weren’t quite what they were when she was eighteen, and his interest in them only highlighted the fact. It was probably all in her head; the problem was it was in the forefront right at the moment.
“These,” he said, thumbing her nipple before pinching it between his fingers, “have gotten even prettier. Fifteen years ago, I would have sworn it impossible. But are they as sweet?” he asked before sucking the tight bud into his hot mouth.
The pulsing sensation drove straight from her breast to between her legs, slicking her folds. She dropped her head back against the wood with a thud, and reached back to soothe the throb.
“Ouch,” she muttered.
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” he said against her fevered skin.
“That involves putting me down, so, no.”
“Or, I could kiss it and make it better like this,” he said, sucking her other nipple into his mouth and biting down just enough to send a sweet sting through her.
“Oh, that’s good.” She clutched his head to her chest and fought for breath as his tongue swirled over and over. “Dylan, I love what you’re doing, but I’m going to have to ask you to get on with it. I need you inside me.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“Involves putting you down. I’m under strict orders.”
“And you always do everything you’re told.”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” he hummed as he nipped and laved her sensitive breasts.
“Then I’m telling you, Dylan,” she said, clutching his hair and yanking his head back, forcing him to meet her gaze, “I’m going to take off my pants, you’re going to drop yours to the floor, but not step out of them. And then you’re going to lift me onto your thick cock and fuck me until I come all over you. Understood?”
He clenched his teeth and growled. “I’m not going to last very long if you keep talking like that. I thought you were a good girl,” he said, leaning in to nip at the edge of her jaw.
“The good girl is still in there. She’s just starved of good sex and knows that the man with his fingers digging at the seam between her legs, making her pussy wet, can deliver. I’ll be ashamed of my brazen talk later, but right now I’m too desperate to care.”
He loosened his hold and let her slide down his front until her feet hit the floor. He wasted no time, his hands going straight to his belt. “This is going to be like my first time all over again. I’ll be lucky if I last a minute,” he muttered, a flush staining his high cheekbones.
She laughed—she couldn’t resist. “I’m not asking for long. I’m asking for hard and fast. If you do that, I promise to not watch the clock and hold your duration against you.”
She shimmied out of her jeans, the cool air hitting the inferno brewing between her thighs offering a hint of relief.
With his jeans around his ankles, his hard cock jutting up, the tip wet, he lifted her again, his hand going right back to where he had it before, his fingertips grazing between her legs before sliding against her asshole, hot and wet.
She gasped, the sensation unfamiliar, but maybe the single hottest fee
ling shooting straight through her, heightening her sensitivity.
She grasped his shoulders, her eyes crossing, a groan slipping from her throat.
“You like that,” he whispered against her ear before sucking the lobe between his lips.
“Yes,” she gasped, wiggling against the tip of his cock.
He thrust into her, all the way, with a grunt. “Fuck, there’s nothing like being inside you,” he said. “Later, I’m going to kiss that hot little ass of yours, right where my fingers are, but for now I need this. Just this.”
“Take it,” she said, her voice choppy. She thrust her hips against him, needing friction, needing him deeper, needing to feel alive for the first time in a man’s arms.
She could only claim one hot night in her history. One meshing of hot bodies that had obliterated the possibility of remembering anything else.
Until this.
He pulled almost all the way out of her and slammed back in.
She shivered with the force of it, the orgasm already starting its slow build inside her, coiling tight and threatening to rob her of breath.
She kissed him, needing to feel his grunts against her mouth. Their tongues clashed with no finesse, just blind desperation as he pummeled in and out of her.
Tears ran down her cheeks as he crested and hit that sharp moment right before the peak. That point where the pleasure bordered on pain, and if you didn’t know what waited on the other side you’d shrink away.
She dug her nails into his ass and sank her teeth into his shoulder as the sharp sting of release pulsed inside her and her wet folds drenched him.
“That’s it, baby. Keep coming on me,” he ground out, thrusting hard as he slapped his hand against the wood over her head. His fingers dug into the flesh on her hips, holding her as he increased his speed, for three, four, five thrusts before coming inside her with a lusty shout.
She wrapped her arms around him and held on while he kissed the top of her head. “Come on. Lead the way to the bedroom. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll be ready to do that again. But we’re slowing it down.”
“Deal,” she said on a laugh.
They left their clothes were they lay and she took his hand, leading him to her room. She flicked on the switch and bit her lip as his gaze roamed over her space.
“Is that a queen-size bed?” he asked.
“Yes, why?”
“That’ll have to go.”
Her jaw dropped and then she snapped it shut. “Go? What’s wrong with my bed?”
“It’s not big enough for me in the long term,” he said, giving her a smirk.
“Who says this is long term?” She never planned on him forever. She’d figured that ship had sailed when she didn’t tell him about his daughter—but here he was, offering it up, wiping the slate clean.
“I do. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you do, too,” he said quietly.
“We’ve only been back in each other’s lives for six hours,” she said.
He laid his hand over her heart and took her palm, placing it over his in return. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve been in each other, here, for fifteen years.”
She’d felt the same way, but didn’t dare say it. Now that he had, something in her broke free. She swallowed the tears that clogged her throat and made her way over to her bed. Peeling the comforter back, she slid between the crisp sheets and patted the spot beside her.
Sliding in next to her, he traced his fingers over her cheek. “I have a question, but I’m afraid it’s going to ruin things.”
“No more holding back.” She shook her head and huffed. “I don’t have any right to say that, but if we want there to be a shot there needs to be total honesty. From here on out.” She took his palm in her hand and kissed the skin there, amazed to know that he’d used that hand for combat and her pleasure.
“What did you tell Ashton about me? About why I haven’t been here?” His gaze flickered over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye as she gave him the answer.
She cupped his chin and turned his face. “Look at me, Dylan.”
His eyelids drooped as though tinged with sorrow over whatever she might say. Well, this one she had gotten right.
“I told her that you wanted to save people who didn’t have the power to save themselves. That they needed to borrow you for a while, and hopefully, one day, they’d be strong enough to let you come back to us,” she said.
His eyelids slid shut and he tipped his forehead against hers, letting out a relieved breath.
“So, did you mean what you said before? Have you really come back to us, Dylan?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“Back, and never leaving Ashton’s and your side again,” he said as he took her into his arms.
Chapter 7
Dylan lay on his back in the predawn light crawling in through the window casting a faint glow, with Harlow tucked up against him. He’d slept for about three hours; not unusual even if he didn’t take into account the time he’d spent making love to Harlow. The scars on his body carried painful memories that kept him awake most nights.
A scraping sound broke the silence, like a branch scratching against a window in a storm. Only, the noise held a certain man-made rhythm that had his ears perking up and his feet sliding out from under the sheet and hitting the floor as he untangled himself from Harlow, careful not to wake her. With a one last glance, he grabbed his jeans, his gun off the nightstand, and headed for the kitchen.
He untangled himself from Harlow, careful to not wake her, grabbed his jeans, and headed for the kitchen.
He heard it again, just outside the back door where his team had arrived the night before. With his gun ready, he pulled back the curtain covering the window, and there, looking in from the other side, was Wolf’s ugly mug while dragging the end of a branch against the window.
Dylan flipped the lock and opened the door. “You’re one sick son of a bitch. You know that?” Dylan said.
“Is that the kind of thanks I get after gathering the team?” Wolf stepped inside, followed right behind by Abe, Cookie, Dude, Benny, Mozart, and Tex.
Dylan set aside his gun and gave Wolf a hard hug. “Man, I don’t know how you got everybody, but I’m grateful as hell. Jesus… this is more than I could have hoped for.”
“Yeah, well, it’s rare that we’re all available at the same time. Took it as a sign. I burned up every favor you were owed and we all traded in a few of our own to get private flights out here. Only our wives know where we are, but we’re here and ready to get your daughter back,” Wolf said.
Dylan greeted them all with hard hugs and handshakes, trying to conceal the emotion that choked him. He talked a good game about getting in and getting Ashton but, the fact of the matter was, the chances of it all going wrong were far more likely than it going right if they didn’t pull in some more manpower.
A low rap sounded on the back door, and in minutes Evan, Cole, and Slyder poured in to join them.
“Thought we’d find you guys here. My buddy at Copeland Airstrip said they’d had a sudden influx of landings and not a whole lot of information coming from management about the flights.”
“There’s another coming in three hours—that’s our gear,” Wolf said with a smile before returning his attention to the group as a whole. “So, why don’t you give us the lowdown on what you’ve got, and we can put together a plan.”
Dylan, with Cole’s help, ran through the blueprints with them and the details his team had reported the day before about the bodies in the warehouse.
“So, we’re still outnumbered three to one, but I think it’s manageable. Hell, if that group is there against their will and just workers for these assholes, they’re likely to try to cut and run the minute we pour in, leveling the playing field,” Abe said.
“And if they’re not?” Dude asked.
“Well, that’s where I come in handy,” Tex said, popping open his Mac. “I’ve been working with Evan all
night, doing a little research. The building has been owned by Carson Industries for about twenty years. They bought it at twenty percent of the value with the plan to turn it into an assembly location for their modular home division, only the housing market crash happened before they could even get their plan off the ground. With little hope of resale, they’ve let it sit.”
“And they’ve kept the utilities on all this time?” Mozart asked.
“They have, but just the basics. The building has electric, but the tanks to the back-up generators are empty. And, just to be on the safe side, I’ve got a couple of technicians going out to service those tanks at first light. By service, they will discreetly detach and cap lines. I’m sure our little friends on the inside will take no issue with that since they’re trespassing. They’ll assume the owner is just having routine service,” Tex said as he clicked away at his keyboard.
Dylan nodded to Cookie. “You’re the infiltration specialist—what do you suggest for storming this building without it turning into a total shit show that gets my daughter killed?”
Harlow gasped in the doorway and their gazes all snapped to her. She clutched her robe tight, her eyes wide, her mouth parted in surprise. “Dylan?”
Dylan winced. He stepped up to her and took her hand. “I called in a friend to help put together a team. He came in with the best.” Dylan introduced her to each of the guys, hoping to put her at ease since, one minute, she had been sound asleep and the next, seven strangers filled her kitchen.
He wondered what she thought when she saw the guys with their various scars, prosthetic limbs, and even missing fingers. He saw men he would lay his life on the line for and who’d do the same for him. He saw men who had been chipped away at throughout their years of service, leaving them with permanent visual reminders of what they’d gone through, who’d traveled in the night and stood in this tiny kitchen ready to do it all over again for no other reason than he was a SEAL brother.