The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3

by Rachel Robinson

  “Shut it, Winnie baby, and give me what I want. No one is keeping a scorecard except me in how long you’re making me wait for you.” And she leans softly into me, arms around my neck, fingers laced in my hair, her sweet tongue skirting the shell of my ear. “There we go,” I say.

  “Let’s give you a reason to make this your favorite room, too. Shall we?” Her tone is a sultry whisper.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  She moans softly in my ear as I plunge my fingers inside her wetness and stroke her at the pace she loves. Slow, deliberate—my fingertips moving across the place inside I know will make her scream. All it takes is seconds for her head to roll back, eyes closed with focus and lust. Her mouth opens as a gasp escapes. Using my free hand, I grab her chin with my thumb and forefinger and capture her breath in my mouth. My lips are aggressive against hers, as I grind my fingers into her until her until she bucks off the counter when her first orgasm hits.

  While she’s flexing around my fingers, I pull out of her and grab under her thighs to slip my dick home. I kiss her mouth, neck, and chest as I lift and lower her small body on and off of my steely shaft. Sweat beads on my forehead, but it’s not from exertion. No, I could do this all day long. It’s from trying to contain my orgasm. Trying to keep from blowing my load before Windsor has come again. There’s no off switch once she’s whispering my name into the nape of my neck. Not when she tells me she loves me. Not when she’s rubbing the tattoo that sprawls across my back. We’re existing in a blissful corner we own.

  I tell her to fuck me, but she can’t because I’m holding her thighs and she can’t move her weight. She protests when I slow my pace, forcing her to sink onto my cock inch by inch until she’s filled completely. The dance. The tease. The fucking obsession I have with her and her body. Only her body. For the rest of time.

  “Come for me, Winnie,” I say, exhales harried and the plea strong. It’s been a couple days since we’ve had sex and the buildup and anticipation has been at a fever pitch up until this moment.

  Her hands fist in my hair. “Yeah,” she says, throaty. When we dated, she would beg me for this, implore me to take her. It took me a while to give in because I knew how it would end. When you’re a messed-up man, grace in crazy amounts is terrifying. That’s what my wife is. The scent of her perfume laced with her skin makes my mouth water and my balls tingle. “Come with me,” she orders, bringing my face to hers. I kiss her as a reply. She moves against me, grinding her hips in a circle.

  I explode inside of her when I feel her grip my shaft, a flowing squeeze that is a pat on the back and also fucking bliss at the same time. Her tongue slips against mine as our kiss ends and lips part. I look into her eyes as I catch my breath. There aren’t things I can compare sex with Windsor to. There never has been. That’s the crux of it. From the very first time when she attacked me in red lingerie. I was done for.

  “I missed you,” she says as I pick her up and set her down on the kitchen floor.

  I sigh. “Since when? Two days ago?”

  “Since always. When you’re not inside me, I want you inside me.”

  The delicate balance of feeling the same exact way and needing to live a normal life. “I love you.”

  She readjusts her panties to cover herself. “Those are your three words, huh?”

  “Always,” I say, grinning.

  “Deal.”

  She takes my hand and we grab our clothes off the floor, open the windows, and stand on the threshold, where the glass should be, looking out into the ocean. She slips her skirt on and whispers, “Life is going by so fast, Mav.”

  After I pull on my jeans, I wrap her in my arms. “Only if you’re doing it right.”

  Her phone chimes from the foyer. “That’s probably Morg telling me they’re on their way back early.” Steve and Morganna have their only son, Rocco today, too, so they’re outnumbered. Something they aren’t used to dealing with.

  “Or Gretchen telling you what she thinks you should do with the rooms.”

  I toss around the idea that her work is calling, and give a few more unreasonable explanations for her phone to be ringing. Sighing she slips around me to head toward her bag in the Butler’s pantry off the back of the kitchen which connects to the garages. I remain standing on the threshold, gazing at the skyline. Windsor calls for me to open the gate because Morg is here with the kids. There’s a touchscreen panel that controls everything in the entire house on a wall in the foyer. I tap the button to open the gate and unlock the front door.

  Windsor fusses with her hair. “No one will know what we just did,” I say, peering over her shoulder to where a sliver of the kitchen is visible. “They’ll assume, but you know, they won’t actually know.”

  She’s giving me her lecture face when Marley blows through the front door, chattering on about a panda duvet, a bobo tea cup clutched in one hand and her iPhone in the other. She’s only ten, but she begged me for a phone to film YouTube videos, promising me a lucrative business endeavor in unpackaging toys. Mostly, it was me buying her toys “for her channel” and her playing with them. Luke walks in next, a moody fourteen-year-old who is a bit more teen angst than he is straight and narrow.

  He mutters something that resembles “Hey Dad.” As he walks past to the exact spot Windsor and I were just standing. On second thought, he probably said “so bad” because everything these days is awful when you’re a teen and can’t drive yet.

  Morganna and Steve walk in with Rocco last and begin the house tour. Steve gives me knuckles as he brushes by. Morganna will give herself the tour. She has never needed permission for anything. Steve follows behind, happy to be in her proximity. Sort of the way it’s always been. He’s the Yin to her Yang. Windsor and Marley call out to Morganna from the kid’s bedroom wing, ostensibly to show them exactly how many pandas they plan to fit in one living space and I walk out to the pool deck where Rocco and Luke are standing in front of the infinity edged pool. Rocco makes an exclamation about how cool the house is and darts for the rock stairs that lead down to our private beach.

  “I like this place,” Luke says. He’s only seen it in listing photos because he’s too cool to do visits with his parental units. “It’s going to be chill to have friends over.”

  “That is quite the high praise, Son,” I counter, nodding.

  Luke clears his throat. “Hey, Dad?” This time I’m confident of his words.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  Oh God. This can’t be good. This is close to sharing feelings. Something he does maybe once a year with Windsor. What has he reserved for me? My stomach tightens as I wait for him to finish. With a teenager, he’s either been thinking about a tiktok video, illegal drugs, or tits. Maybe all three, but surely that’s not what he’s about to tell me. Right?

  He turns to look at me, and grins when he sees the fear in my eyes. “I want to be a Navy SEAL. Like you and Uncle Steve. And Stone.”

  I’m his father. I have influence. What I say next could shuttle his life in one way or another. Agree or disagree? I don’t want the bad things that come with my life for him. I have shielded him from most of the bad, he knows the good, the joy. He is my flesh and blood and I want the very best of everything this world has to offer. I’d do him an injustice if I told not to follow his dreams.

  Because it brought me to this moment in time. Windsor and Marley’s laughter carry to us as they make their way outdoors. A warm reminder of everything I’ve obtained after I thought I’d lost it all.

  Luke is still looking at me, his eye color and smile a carbon copy of my own. “You’ll change the world, Son. Nothing would make me prouder.”

  His eyes get a little teary, and I realize he might have thought I wouldn’t approve of his decision. In his emotion, I see relief. Validation. Pride. “You’re one of the very best things I’ve been given in this life. I’ll love and support you no matter what you decide to do.”

  “No matter what?”

 
I grin and pull him against my side. “If you get rolled up on murder one charges, I might be a bit upset you got caught, but other than that, we’re good,” I deadpan, then wink.

  He tells me not to worry about him becoming a villain. I lean down, a little less than I used to because he’s catching up to my height, and kiss the top of his head. Windsor and Marley smile at us while taking selfies on the other side of the pool. I envision my family years from now, grown. Maybe even grandkids, and the mood gets melancholy.

  “If you fly, I fly,” I choke out.

  He squeezes my hand and replies, “Let’s jump.”

  SET IN STONE

  PROLOGUE

  Morganna

  I WAS ALWAYS aware some things are more permanent than others. I grew up in the south, so I know how easily things perish in the dry heat. Don’t leave dogs or babies in hot cars, always drink plenty of water, and if that tomato plant doesn’t get the hose turned on it every night? It will wilt away in ten seconds flat. I’m also acutely aware that almost all marriages end. My job as a divorce attorney gives me a front row view of that non-permanent state of bliss. One thing is true: they all end differently.

  The permanence of objects and people fluctuates daily. Granddaddies die and tiny baby bundles are born at the exact same time. I think I always knew Thomas Stone Sterns wasn’t permanent. His otherworldly beauty and wisdom were destined for me, that much I know for certain. But I remember falling for him and realizing the volatility of his permanence at the exact same time.

  “Damn baby, you’re so beautiful like that,” Stone hollers over the whipping wind. We’re bumping down a half-paved, half-rocky road in my hometown. The hot, torn leather seats of the beater truck stick to the backs of my thighs and my bare feet are propped out the window, my porn star pink toenails glistening. As I turn my head toward Stone, I grin. Yes, the mere sight of him makes me giddy. His biceps and forearms are tanned, muscular perfection as they clutch the oversized steering wheel. Here in the south we like to call it good ol’ boy appeal.

  Sensing my gaze and probably my thoughts, he laughs, his sugar sweet smile flashing at the road in front of him. I ask, “What? In my redneck certified uniform, sitting in my daddy’s truck? You know he’s probably as good with his shotgun as you are with your menagerie of weapons?”

  Stone wanted to meet my parents so I brought him, without a single warning might I add, to the slice of backwoods I grew up in. You can’t trip up a man like Stone though. I think it’s because he’s a Navy SEAL that he blends in any environment you toss him in. It’s not fair, really. I try to mask my country. It works most of the time. No one wants an attorney who sounds like she could sing a dog dying, best friend crying, country song. Which I can do, by the way, but that’s not an advertised service. It’s complimentary.

  He turns down the warbling radio which is screaming just one of those songs. “Just you. You belong here. I can sense it,” he says, not taking his eyes from the road.

  “I belong where?”

  “With me,” he admits, no hesitation in his voice. He never hesitates with anything. It’s part of his charm—a gift and his ultimate curse.

  I cross my ankles and adjust them by the side mirror, completely blocking his view. “That’s still up for debate. I mean, you’ve hardly convinced me,” I challenge, eyebrows raised.

  We’ve been exclusive for quite some time, but we like to play a proverbial game of cat and mouse. We’ve both already been caught—by each other. Stone and I have balance—my divorce attorney cynic versus his optimistic, philosophizing killer position. It wasn’t love or lust at first sight, no. I dated one of his friends first, another one of The Guys before he convinced me to give him a good college try. He’s almost as persuasive as I am. Which is a feat because I’ll be willing to stake my momma’s life on the fact that I can convince you of anything I want. Fact? Yep. Fiction. Heck yes. In fact, that’s my specialty. I call it my intuitive gift.

  Stone pauses, tilting his head to one side and then the other. Something he does when he’s calculating his thoughts, tailoring his words just so. “I’m still trying to figure something out,” he finally says. He glances at me. I motion with my hand for him to elaborate.

  Without breaking eye contact he says, “I’m trying to figure out how to be something you need.”

  That’s when the huge, Morganna intuitive lump forms in the back of my throat. I knew I couldn’t stop us. I didn’t want to stop us. Perfection can’t last forever, though. It’s Murphy’s Law, it’s the way of the universe. It’s one of those things I just know. Come to find out, there was no stopping our future. He’d already asked my daddy for my hand in marriage the day before. Regardless of my underlying uneasy feelings our fate was already sealed. Literally and figuratively.

  “You know I don’t need much of anything, Stone.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “I know of one thing you need. The S word.”

  I clear my throat and explain, “I’ll always need the S word. You’re right.” He nods, happy with my explanation. “I need you,” I confess. His presence does comfort me in a way I’ve never had before. Up to now, my lone wolf status rank was ten. It never occurred to me that some people require someone else to function. Stone makes me undeniably happy. That’s good enough for me.

  “Don’t be afraid of me,” he demands. “Don’t say that you’re not, because I know that you are. It’s okay to need someone, Morg.” He knows exactly what to say.

  “I’m not afraid.” I scoot closer to him on the bench until our legs are touching. He drops his hand to my knee and sighs.

  “Always remember fists and mace will fuck up your face…”

  I groan, cutting him off. “But Stone will never hurt me,” I finish his idiotic rhyme, turning my eyes to the ceiling.

  Stone laughs and the baritone sound drowns out the load roar of the engine. “I love you so hard,” he cackles.

  “I love you hard right back,” I tell him, still smiling.

  “You’re going to stay with me then?”

  “I’ll stay,” I promise.

  He squeezes my knee. “Forever?”

  The lie. The truth. The volatility of permanence. “Forever.”

  His warm, brown eyes flick back to the road, and with one hand on the steering wheel he keeps the other on me, continuing his fast pace down a road to nowhere. I lean my head back against the seat and watch the huge trees fly by, only interrupted by flashes of pool blue sky. I think this might be one of the most peaceful moments of our relationship—just existing outside of everything else.

  He’s magnetic. The positive to my negative. The sun shines on his hair and I’m reminded of fire. Stone Sterns is like a lit match between my fingers. I’ll hold it until it burns all the way down, but I’ll have to eventually drop it. The risk of getting burnt is worth it because for those few burning moments those flames belong to me. Nothing can take them away. Nothing except the fact that the flame dies and that cheap piece of wood will never ignite again. If there’s one thing I know, it’s endings. This is a story about how I ended a man’s life. The man I love.

  Sometimes there isn’t a new beginning after the end.

  Sometimes it’s just the end.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Steve

  “AND YOU JUMPED off the boat with your dick in your hand singing, ‘Hey motherfucker, Steve is superman!’” I bust a hot beat before dropping into the black water, flippers first. I know Maverick will appreciate my sick rhyme. Splashes behind me let me know my teammates are sliding off the side of our matte, dark speedboat into the murky Virginia Beach water.

  There’s only a slight change in temperature when I submerge completely because of my thick wetsuit, which will more than likely cause me to sweat my fucking balls off in a minute flat. Hot is better than cold—always. Hot food, hot weather, hot chicks, hot weapons…all good things. If you can’t turn cold into hot, you’re fucked. Go ahead and apply that to all areas of life.

  My teammates form a line
underwater, grabbing onto a swimmer pole so we know where the fuck we’re swimming in the dark, and so we stay together as we approach our practice target, an old training submarine. Cody is lead so he holds the tac-board with a compass, timer, and depth gauge. The rest of us are just along for the ride. Like fucking water ballerinas…covered in black, wielding limpet mines.

  I smile around my mouthpiece, cracking myself up. Actually, the only thing that lets me know how close I am to the target is by keeping track of my kicks. I know exactly how far one will propel me through the water. It’s down to an exact science.

  You have to be down with the quickness to be a Navy SEAL, but I’ve been quick my whole life. Maybe even too quick that one time in high school when Lily Kline took off her panties and finally let me use my fine motor skills on something I hadn’t conquered yet. From then on out it was just a matter of finding a new task and dominating it. I’m not sure where the drive came from—it was always there. As an only child my parents always encouraged and supported anything I showed interest in. Martial arts, every single sport under the sun…you name it and I’ve probably tried it. When I was seventeen years old and I saw online propaganda about the high fail rate of the candidates that go through the SEAL selection program, I knew exactly what I wanted to master next. With single-minded focus I made it my sole purpose in life and I did it.

  Love it or fuck you, but my sick humor is how I keep things light. Because sometimes shit gets hard. Co-workers that are more like brothers die. They die because even though they have their craft mastered, you can’t predict circumstances. It’s also hard because I’m away from the real world for such long periods that I forget how regular people live. All the fucking rats treading water in a nine to five trying to make ends meet, being miserable assholes, to what end? To live a pseudo life without any extreme life experiences breaking up the monotony. The regular people deserve more credit than I do. I live. Most exist. The risks I take are worth my sanity.