Wicked Secrets

by Anne Marsh

  “Trust me.” Another command. Okay.

  He kissed her neck, her ear, and the whole time his hands covered hers, holding hers in place. She could get free in a heartbeat, but his fingers threaded through hers were a reminder. She’d agreed he was in charge. She’d let him take control of her body, but she wanted fast, not slow.

  “Tag—”

  “I’m going to make sure you get exactly what you need.”

  Please.

  He transferred her left hand to his right, braceleting her wrists with one hand. With his other, he worked her shorts down, leaving her in just her tank top and panties.

  “Pretty.” He ran a finger down the back of her panties until he circled her entrance. “But not as gorgeous as you.”

  She groaned. “You talk too much.”

  “And you need to learn to take your time.” Gently, he slid her panties down her thighs. “These are too lovely to ruin. I’d like to see you in them again.”

  He pressed small kisses against her shoulder and down her spine as he worked her tank top up. Her bare, heated skin brushed the slick marble and she hissed.

  “No bra. I like it.”

  She liked it, too. She arched back against him, trying to capture his erection between her thighs.

  “Nuh-uh. I’m not done playing with these.”

  He thumbed her nipples as if he had all the time in the world, and she shuddered. His warm palms cupped the soft, tender swells, while his mouth explored her ear. “You remember our deal?”

  “You’re going to have to remind me.”

  She bumped against his erection again, hoping to hurry him up some.

  “I’m setting the pace tonight. You’re taking orders, Sergeant.”

  “Well, you might want to consider picking up the pace some, sailor, because parts of me are plotting mutiny.”

  Her suggestion might have sounded better if she hadn’t gasped at the end. He leaned in closer, his dog tags brushing against the sensitive skin of her throat.

  “Wider.” His leg pressing against her wet core made his next order shockingly clear. There was no hiding the sounds of wetness, because she was slick and needy for him.

  He fingered her opening, spreading her juices around and then pushing inside.

  “That feels so good.”

  Oh, yeah. She gasped out something, and he added a second finger, pumping himself slowly in and out.

  “More.” She needed more. His fingers weren’t enough.

  “Greedy.” He nipped her ear lightly, and she bucked against him, taking him deeper. His thumb swept across her clit, and this touch felt even better, good enough to make her moan. He liked it just fine, too, because his erection was iron hard, rubbing against her butt, and the steam in her bathroom sure wasn’t all from her shower.

  She could feel the spasms building low and deep, her clit starting to throb beneath his thumb. She pushed her fingers into the hard marble. She couldn’t touch him—or herself. Her skin was damp, her core tightening as he drove her closer to the edge.

  He was killing her. “Now.”

  And he was feeling merciless, because he chuckled, the raspy sound shooting straight to her core. “Mia, sweetheart, I make the rules tonight.”

  * * *

  MIA WASN’T A small woman, thank God, but his big hands nearly swallowed up her hips as he held her in place for his first thrust. Her skin was soft, her hip bones a tempting line he traced beneath his fingertips. Fast or slow—he didn’t know what he wanted, just that he wanted it all. With her.

  She canted her butt out, the smooth globes brushing his erection. Oh, she knew what she did to him. She might have agreed to let him be in charge, but no way he was in control. Yeah, he lost it for this woman every time, and they both knew it. His cock ached for her, and his hands trembled as he tore open the condom and smoothed the latex down.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Come back.”

  He tapped her butt with his palm, enjoying her small outraged hiss. Her butt flexed, but she didn’t let go of the counter and she didn’t move. “Someone needs to learn to ask nicely.”

  “We’ll work on that another night,” she gritted out. “Otherwise, I might have to kill you.”

  He pressed against her opening. She was slick and wet, pure heaven fisting him, first one sweet inch. Then two.

  “Is this payback for the paint?” Her question was more moan than complaint.

  He grimaced against her throat. “This is me slowing us down.”

  Bracing himself on either side of her, he teased her with just the tip of his penis, loving how her folds parted around him, her body trying to take him deep inside. She rubbed herself against him, and suddenly going slow was a whole lot less attractive.

  “Fuck.” He needed to make this perfect for her.

  “Yes. Now.” She groaned, arching back, a woman on a mission.

  “Watch me.” He tapped the mirror in front of them, clearing away the steamy fog. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted. When her eyes met his, he thrust slowly. Stopping when her eyelashes fluttered closed was pure torture.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Watch us.”

  Her eyes snapped open and she groaned again. “Now you’re just being mean.”

  He fisted her ponytail. “Your hair drives me crazy.” He wrapped the long strands around his hand. With his other hand, he gripped her hips. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to anchor her as he pushed slowly inside.

  She pushed back against him, taking him deep. “Faster.”

  “Slower,” he commanded.

  She squeezed him deep inside her, but she was at his mercy. Wide open. And they were both loving every minute of it. He could feel her coming, her body clinging to his. She climaxed, and her pleasure pushed him over his own edge. Not holding back, he thrust deep. His hips slammed into hers, skin slapping against skin in a sweet unmistakable bark of sound as he spiraled out of control. His harsh breathing filled the bathroom, and, damn, now he was the one not looking in the mirror, because he’d never felt like this before.

  She slowly pulled her hands away from the countertop. “Let me go?”

  Absolutely. He really, really needed to let her go, before he got so used to holding her that he couldn’t not. And he would—just as soon as his legs would hold him. He’d spent a lifetime catching people who were in one kind of a free-fall or another and then letting them go once they were back on their feet. He was good at the rescue, but he sucked at the next part. When the chopper landed, he handed over his rescue in the basket and moved on. He wasn’t the EMT or the doctor. His part was important, but it was really only the start of something bigger. And he’d never stuck around to see what something bigger might entail. Starting now couldn’t be part of his plans.

  He dropped a kiss against her throat and then he let go.

  See? Easy as hell.

  15

  MIA HEADED DOWN to Pleasure Pier for a simple beer after work. She’d been invited by her not-quite-fiancé on a double date with Piper and Cal. Both the beer and the date were perfectly normal activities, she reminded herself. She wanted normal in her life, and that meant getting out there and doing things like this.

  Nevertheless, her feet slowed to a crawl as soon as she reached the start of the pier. There were too many people, too close. Which was silly. She needed to get over this. Now and not some indefinite day in the future. Tag was waiting for her at the pier’s far end, which should have been motivation enough. He’d looked particularly hot and kissable at work earlier, and she had definite plans to get her hands on him.

  More than a few people greeted her as she power-walked her way down the pier toward the swing carousel. She nodded and smiled, but kept on going. If she stopped, she might not start again. It was nice, though, feeli
ng like she belonged here a little. People knew her name and her face. When she reached the carousel, Piper was shrieking as she rode past, Cal by her side. It was downright cute, the way he stole a kiss when the swings arced out over the ocean, Piper’s brown hair flying around them, her hands grabbing Cal’s shoulders and hauling him close.

  Maybe Tag would be up for a ride, and she’d have the perfect excuse to get handsy with him, too. She would have suggested it, except she could imagine how that would end—not with erotic hanky-panky, but with motion sickness–induced nausea. Really sexy. Plus, right now she needed just a moment of peace and quiet.

  Before Cal and Piper could spot her, she stepped into the shadows lining the far side of the pier. An almost painful awareness hummed through her body, as if she’d touched a live wire and invited ten-thousand volts of electricity to course through her veins. Kids screamed and it was happy noise, she reminded herself. Good. She’d make it her self-appointed mission to retrace her steps to the end of the pier, buy a beer, and then fall back. Three hundred yards. One thousand steps. She could manage that.

  A pop and a sharp noise on her six.

  Flash bang.

  No.

  Sand rippled in front of the Humvee and exploded in front of the windshield in a wild, shifting column as the too-quiet pop-pop-pop of machine-gun fire filled the air, and something underneath the vehicle exploded, driving the front half of the Humvee up. Win rock-paper-scissors and ride shotgun—and live. Sit in the backseat and die. They’d laughed as they played for their lives.

  And she’d won. She’d gotten out. She’d come home.

  Or most of the way. She’d worried she wouldn’t know what to do with herself stateside, that maybe she couldn’t shake her training or the traumatic memories.

  Home. She forced her eyes open, drinking in the boards of the pier and the distant slap of the waves. Not the desert. She was crouched on the ground, back to the railing, because that way no one could come up behind her. And yet she must have been completely out of it, because strong arms wrapped around her, anchoring her to the present, and she hadn’t heard him coming.

  “Sergeant. Mia. Snap out of it.” The rough-tender tone of Tag’s familiar voice rumbled in her ear made her name sound so much like mine. “Just a kid with a balloon,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Evac,” she ordered. It was always better to be safe than sorry.

  She felt rather than saw his nod as Tag scooped her up in his arms and started sprinting. Going somewhere, anywhere. She didn’t care as long as that somewhere had plenty of space. Quiet. And Tag.

  Home.

  * * *

  TAG’S HEART POUNDED and not because he’d sprinted the length of the pier with Mia in his arms. He exhaled raggedly, carrying her down the steps onto the beach. Jesus. He’d almost had heart failure when she’d dropped to the ground, lost in her own world. He couldn’t fight invisible ghosts, couldn’t stand between her and the nightmares in her head.

  Which, by the way, would only invite a verbal butt-kicking from her because Mia had made it perfectly clear she neither wanted nor needed rescuing. She’d tell him she had this, which made her the sweetest, prickliest liar he’d ever kissed or held.

  “Hey,” he said, looking down at her as he crunched across the sand, because he was positively on fire in the conversation department. She ignored him, sucking air in like a dying woman. Between each breath, she counted. Onetwothree. The numbers ran together in a mumbled litany and didn’t seem to be doing the trick, because her fingers twisted the back of his T-shirt.

  He tried again.

  “I realize you like to do things by yourself, but I’m hoping you can make an exception tonight.” He laid in a course for the older pier, the one locals used for fishing. Unlike Pleasure Pier, which was lit up like a Christmas tree, the old pier was dark and silent. He figured she’d like that.

  She nodded, more than a little desperately, so he took that as permission to proceed with his rescue mission. He took them beneath the pier where it was dark and shadowy in the best kind of way, cutting out the light and noise from the Pleasure Pier.

  She unburied her face from his shoulder and looked up at him. “Just so you know, I’m seriously considering becoming a hermit.”

  He knew she saw the small smile that touched his mouth, and not just because she halfheartedly dug her elbow into his side. This close, she couldn’t miss a thing. There wasn’t any space left between them. No distance. He had a feeling it wasn’t just a matter of inches anymore. Nope. He was falling for Mia, and it could only end badly.

  “Discovery Island’s short on everything but sea caves. The accommodations would be wet.”

  Her lashes fluttered. “I can handle a little water.”

  He’d bet she could. His knees felt a little wobbly just remembering the terrified expression on her face, though, so he sat down on the sand, cradling her on his lap while he reached for his boots. She wriggled, but he pinned her in place with one arm, working on his laces with the other.

  “Just not people.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Sometimes they drive me crazy.”

  “Yeah.” She settled in against him, so he slid his hand up to rub the back of her neck. Her hair clung to his fingers, smelling like coconut shampoo. She’d left a bottle behind in his shower and he might have used it himself. Once. Or twice. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not in a million years,” she said, which just made him more determined to hear her story.

  “I think you should tell me.” He kneaded the back of her neck gently. “And I’m willing to wait ten minutes, not a million years.”

  “You’ve heard war stories,” she prevaricated. “I’ve got nothing new to add.”

  “I haven’t heard your story,” he said. “Although I can guess. I’ve had missions head south. I’ve lost guys.”

  He figured she heard the unspoken too because she nodded her head. He’d never seen her this vulnerable or open, like the flashback had wiped out all of her defenses. She was good at closing off her emotions and keeping her reactions hidden, even when they were having sex and she was coming. He was no open book, but no matter what the circumstance, Mia always kept a little distance between her and others. Sometimes, it was just more obvious, like right now when they were beneath the old pier, two hundred yards of sand between them and the Pleasure Pier.

  “I’d like to hear your story,” he said again.

  “Okay. Have it your way,” she huffed impatiently, clearly feeling better. She fingered the edge of his T-shirt, stalling for time, and he was, actually holding his breath, hoping she’d open up to him. Because, just possibly, he had feelings for her. It was an astonishing truth. Especially because when he thought about it a little bit more, sitting underneath the old pier and holding her in his arms, he did have a name for those feelings.

  He loved her.

  That scared the hell out of him. Still, he didn’t have to tell her. They had plenty of secrets, so if he had one more, that was okay, and not just because she was vulnerable and trusting him to keep her safe. He’d do that. It went without saying. But this was Mia.

  Then she looked up at him, eyes angry and scared, and he lost a little bit of his heart all over again.

  * * *

  MIA WASN’T ENTIRELY clear on how she’d ended up where she was. The sitting on Tag’s lap part was good, but she wasn’t happy the details of the journey from the Pleasure Pier to their current refuge were fuzzy. Or, more accurately, nonexistent. She’d checked out.

  “I hate this,” she said. “Being broken. Freaking out over a popped balloon. I handled incoming fire, and now I can’t handle a kid’s toy?”

  Tag was smart enough to ignore the rhetorical question.

  “Sucks.” He rubbed her back, his big hands warm through her thin shirt. She’d picked out
a pretty, loose tank with little blue ribbons for straps for their date. She might have had a fantasy—or six—about Tag undoing those ribbons. She had a new bra, too, a black lace number pushing her girls up. She’d wanted them to have a good night together, a normal night double dating with Piper and Cal. Instead, they were sitting underneath a pier.

  “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “I think I do.”

  It hadn’t been her fault, and there was nothing she could have done. She wasn’t omniscient. Was, in fact, damn good at her job, but the insurgent had concealed the IED in the middle of the road—where anyone, not just GI Jane and her team, could have driven over it—and...boom.

  She hadn’t even been the driver. That had been Dylan. She’d been riding shotgun with J.T. and Frankie in the backseat. One minute, they’d been bumping down the highway, and, in the next moment, the IED detonated in an all-too-familiar roar of sound. The whole world spun as dirt exploded upward, small stones falling in a pitter-patter-like rain in the summer as the blast ripped the Hummer apart. Metal and other parts—parts she wasn’t thinking about ever—crashed down, smoke and dust rolling away in a cloud of brown. Usually, she saw the telltale column from down the road. Usually, she was the one running to pick up the pieces. Not that day.

  Her ears had rung in a world gone strangely silent. Later she’d learned the IED they’d driven over had been a shoddy piece of crap and had detonated a second too late to take out the entire Humvee. Instead, when it had gone off, it had caught the rear end of the Humvee.

  “We weren’t even on a mission. We were headed back to base and some R & R. The guys were in a good mood. We’d be shipping stateside in another two months, and we were almost done.”

  “You were ready to go home.”

  Base had been home of sorts, but she’d been ready for a change.

  “We did our job and we did it well. If we were needed, we’d have stayed. You know how it goes.”

  The waves rushed in by their feet and then retreated. Other than the occasional voice passing by, they were alone. Most of Discovery Island seemed to be on the Pleasure Pier. The newer pier ran parallel to this older, smaller one. During the daytime, it attracted fishermen. After dark, however, it belonged to the lovers. At least they were quiet. No one overhead was having wild wall-banger sex. Just the occasional murmur of voices and then the longer pauses. Somewhere above them, people were kissing. Touching. She wanted the same kind of contact.