Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3)

by Sabrina York

  “Like what?”

  “Like going out in public.”

  “I have a business to run.”

  “Is that what they call it? Partying all night with entitled socialites like Monique Dupree?” He didn’t mean to snarl it as he did. But it hardly mattered. She was utterly unaffected by his ferocity.

  “Those entitled socialites are my customer base. More than that. They are my influencers.”

  He had no idea what that meant. “Too many people. Too many blind spots. We need to keep you in controllable environments.” Like this hotel. Like this suite. That bed…

  “Controllable environments?”

  Again with the pouting lip. God. It was driving him crazy.

  With a grunt, he pushed to his feet—ignoring the sharp string of yips this elicited from Ratacus—and prowled to the wall of windows, pulling back the curtains and peering out at the night in a pretense of assessing any potential hazards. Her suite was on the thirtieth floor. Doubtful anyone would enter from the balcony. Still, he checked the lock on the door. Probably wouldn’t hurt to install a door brace on the front door. He strode back to the foyer and jiggled the handle. Yeah, definitely a brace. He made a mental note of other upgrades the suite needed, of the things he needed to check. First order of business was to sweep for any bugs and check for hidden cameras.

  He glanced over at Pansy and immediately revised his priorities. She was leaning back with her head resting on the sofa, her eyes closed. Her face was a cameo of perfection, but it was wreathed in exhaustion. First order of business was to get her to bed.

  Lust lanced him.

  Shit.

  No. Get her in bed.

  Alone.

  By herself.

  So she could sleep.

  Aw, hell.

  His gaze skated over her and he took in the rips in her dress, the scrapes on her legs and the dirt smudging her cheek. He should have tended to her wounds right off the bat. He should have seen to her comfort. He should have—

  An ominous clicking sound and a sudden riffle of movement near his ankles captured his attention and he glanced down.

  Lola, in her pink tutu glared up at him, her lip curled over impressively pointy teeth. Mason tipped his head to the side and met her challenging gaze with one of his own. It said: Really? Whatcha gonna do, Ratacus?

  He probably shouldn’t have.

  She lifted her leg.

  And peed on his boots.

  “Son of a bitch.” He didn’t mean to boom as he leaped back, but he did. Pansy shot up, her eyes wide. “What?” she cried. “What is it?”

  He shot her a contrite look. “Your dog peed on my boots.”

  “She does that.” Pansy huffed a sigh and headed for the powder room to grab a hand towel. “One of the reasons I don’t date.” She knelt before him and mopped up the puddle.

  He should have stooped to help her, but honestly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t move to save his life. Because there she was, kneeling before him, with her head so close…

  A scintillating thought, a captivating vision, a scalding need rose like the hydra. That, and a lowering realization.

  He was a pervert. A goddamn pervert.

  She was cleaning his fucking boots for God’s sake.

  “You need a shower.”

  Right. No idea why he blurted that.

  Well, maybe one idea. He desperately needed her to stand. To move away, before he lost his mind and did something insane and necessary, like pull her closer.

  She looked up at him. He forced himself to step away, he had to. Or his erection might have brushed her cheek.

  And that would have been a disaster.

  “Yeah. Um. You’re all banged up. We should get some antiseptic on those scrapes. Do you have a first aid kit?”

  She said nothing so he glanced at her. That she was staring at his crotch sent a bolt of lightning through him. Her tongue peeped out and she lifted her gaze. He could have sworn he saw something simmering there. He tried mightily to ignore it.

  Surely it wasn’t what he thought. Imagined. Ached for.

  “Do you? Have a first aid kit?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.” Nearly a whisper.

  “I’ll call the concierge.” This was a penthouse suite. Surely there was a concierge. “Why don’t you go…um, clean up and I’ll call down for something.”

  She stood slowly, holding his gaze. Something about her, her energy, her intensity, had shifted. It made him antsy. It made him restless. It made him hungry. She turned around—his heart sank—but then she said, softly, with a tentative quiver to her voice, “Could you unzip me?”

  Holy. Fuck.

  She peeped at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, so beautiful and blue, bore into his. “I can’t do it myself.”

  He was certain she could. She was a grown woman. She’d been dressing—and undressing—herself for years. But he couldn’t refuse. Not when she asked so politely. “S-sure.” Hopefully she missed the stutter.

  She could not have missed the fact that his fingers shook as he tried to grasp the tiny teardrop at the top of her zipper. Why the fuck did it have to be so tiny? It took forever for him to make the long journey down her spine, partly because the damn zipper kept catching and partly because he really wanted to savor the journey. As it advanced, more and more of her creamy skin was exposed. He wanted nothing more than to place his palm on her, to stroke her. To feel the heat of her skin against his.

  But she’d asked him to unzip her. Not make a move.

  It was a damn good thing he’d developed indomitable willpower as a SEAL. Denying himself things crucial to his being—air, water, food—was par for the course in their training.

  This was by far the most difficult denial of all.

  When he reached the bottom of the zipper, when a hint of a crease at the base of her spine was exposed, he stepped back. Though it cost him. “There,” he said.

  Jesus, God. He was going to heaven for this.

  He fucking better.

  His restraint was nothing short of a penance.

  But then…

  Holy God.

  But then…she shifted her shoulders and the scrap of material drifted to the floor. She shot another glance at him, something that was too much of an invitation to be misunderstood or misconstrued, and, wearing nothing but her skimpy bra and panties, padded into the bathroom.

  Please, let him follow.

  The wordless entreaty to God, the universe, and everything wailed through her soul.

  Please, let him follow.

  It wasn’t in her nature to seduce men—she’d never had to do it before—so Pansy wasn’t certain how such things were done, but stripping almost naked before them was probably a good start. She’d never realized how nerve-wracking it could be. The niggle of doubt that he might refuse her, was agonizing.

  She nearly collapsed in relief when she sensed, heard, felt him follow.

  The bathroom was large and lavish. Still, he seemed to fill up the room. He was huge, hot, and stared at her with an intensity that made her belly seize.

  He kicked the door shut before Lola could skitter in and then he faced her. His gaze scorched its way down the length of her body and back up. “Are you sure about this?” His low rumble rippled through her.

  “Yes.” Yes. Oh, God yes. She’d wanted him since the moment she’d seen him. It had built in her, this craving, this longing, this need, all night.

  Her heart stuttered when doubt rippled over his features. “I shouldn’t—”

  She silenced his demur by removing her bra. His jaw dropped. His eyes glazed over. He fixated on her breasts. His bemused attention thrilled her.

  He swallowed heavily and tried again. “It’s probably just reaction, what you’re feeling.”

  “Mmm hmm.” She stepped closer to him and did what she’d been wanting to do all night. She found the waistband of his jeans and slipped her hands up under the hem of his shirt. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Glo
ry be. His skin was hot and smooth and so fucking perfect. His abs were a panoply of enticing ripples and hard ridges. A light sprinkling of hair scraped her sanity.

  She wanted to lick him all over.

  Well, after the shower.

  “Take it off,” she commanded, tugging on his shirt.

  His nostrils flared and he yanked it off. The play of his muscles mesmerized her. She raked his chest with her nails and he shuddered. He garbled something that sounded like “God almighty.”

  “Get undressed,” she said. “You need a shower too.”

  Ah. And he obeyed. As he sat and yanked off his boots, then peeled off his jeans and briefs, she turned on the shower and eased off her panties, but her gaze didn’t leave him. She wanted to memorize this, every moment.

  Her love life had not been terribly scintillating, mostly because she was too busy to give it much thought, but the times she had indulged, or had a boyfriend of note, it had been with a different kind of man. Someone stylized and sophisticated. Someone urbane. Someone who wanted something from her.

  This man was different.

  For one thing, this was a man not of her world. He had nothing to gain by being with her. No collaborations to propose, no franchise pending, no designers to peddle, no movie to promote.

  All he wanted—at least at this moment—was her.

  For another, he was a wild beast, not tame in the slightest. She had the sense he didn’t give a shit what he wore as long as it did what it was expected to. Most specifically, cover his body. Which was, all things considered, a damn shame, because he was exceptional in the nude.

  But there was something more about him. Something she couldn’t name. A rightness, an energy, an anticipation that met and tangled with hers.

  It was a mutual desire. And for the first time, hers was equal to his. It was a dizzying experience.

  He stood and her attention snapped to his cock. Drool pooled in her mouth. Ah, God. Rampant and ready, it stood against his belly. A tiny pearl glimmered at the tip, a sign of his readiness.

  She held his gaze as she stepped into the shower. It was practically a room on its own—a large tiled enclosure with a rain shower featuring twenty-five spigots and a cushioned lounger built into the wall. As she stepped back, the multiple showerheads pummeled her in a glorious torrent and warm rivulets sluiced over her sensitized skin, washing away the tension and the horrors of the night leaving nothing but this. Nothing but him. Nothing but want.

  His eyes glowed as he followed her in; he stepped close and sealed them together. But he didn’t stop there. He pressed her deeper into the shower until he backed her up against the wall. The cool tile on one side and his hot body on the other were a shock to the senses. He pressed closer still, closing her in, but making her feel safe, protected, desired. His cock, that splendid cock, pressed against her belly with a damp insistence. She felt in it each thrum of his heart. She rubbed against it. It was meant to be a playful tease, but his response was feral. With a snarl, he cupped her chin in his big hand and tipped it, held it, just where he wanted it. And then he took her mouth.

  His kiss was more than she could have imagined. Dizzying, yes. Mind-numbing and alluring and addicting. He tasted delicious, like mint and musk. His lips were soft and firm at the same time. And they molded to hers. He nuzzled her, a gentle exploration, but ah, it was not gentle for long. When his tongue eased in, and she met it with her own, she might as well have touched him with a live wire.

  He went wild. With a groan he shifted his position and deepened the kiss, bringing his hands into play. Her skin shivered as his rough palms took her. Rampant, wild, he was everywhere. Her neck, her arms, the curve of her back. When he found her breasts, encircled them, scrubbed at a nipple with the pad of his thumb, she nearly collapsed. But she wouldn’t collapse, couldn’t. Because he was holding her up.

  He continued to kiss her as he explored her. But it was more a consumption than a mere kiss. She met his intensity—strafing his back with her nails, gouging into the firm cheeks of his ass, tangling her fingers in his hair—urging him on to higher heights. It was a flurry, a frenzy, a senseless, mindless conflagration and she loved it.

  When he rounded her hip, when he came close to a spot that was howling for his attention, she nearly melted.

  He did not make her wait.

  He leaned back and stared at her rain-splattered face and touched her. Nudged that nub, circled it. Teased it until she shook.

  And holy God, it was good. He knew. He knew just what she wanted. How she needed it. He knew—

  “You’re wet,” he murmured, dandling his fingers at her slick entrance.

  Ah God. She was. Soaked with need. “You make me wet.” Nearly an accusation, certainly a tease.

  His eyes flared. The muscles of his face tightened. He made a sound at the back of his throat, something savage and needy.

  And he plunged.

  Deep.

  Two thick fingers

  Filling her, taking her, making her whole.

  It had never felt so good, this possession.

  And this was not even the main event.

  She tried not to come. She did not want to appear so easy. But something about this night—the wildly swinging emotions, the fear, the exhilaration, the relief and the joy of being alive…and this unruly lust—had worn down her reserve, eroded her walls. The moment took her. Simply took her.

  He held her as she came. Held her and stroked her, and stoked her to further madness.

  When she thought she could bear no more of such bliss, when she thought her heart might cease to patter and her lungs could no longer feed her blood, he lifted her into his arms and sat on the bench and held her as she gasped for breath, scrambled for balance.

  Because what he’d done to her here and now in this wet little room had shifted her world off its foundation.

  She did not know how she would recover herself.

  Or if she wanted to.

  Chapter Five

  Mason buried his face in Pansy’s hair, drawing in the scent of her. Good God. What was this? This insanity? His blood was still hot, his cock at full mast. Kissing her, touching her, watching her come had been the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced.

  He wanted more. Desperately needed more, but somewhere in the deep well of his soul he found a crumb of self-control.

  He could not fuck her here in the shower. Like a beast.

  To his surprise, his reserve had little to do with the mission, and the fact that she was his client, although that concern was hovering as well. Emotional entanglements created blind spots. They made men careless, caused them to lose sight of the big picture. And that was dangerous—for everyone involved.

  No. it was much more than that. Aside from the fact that he had absolutely no protection—and what the hell had he been thinking to even go this far without it?—he could not unleash the dark desires of his soul. Not on her. She was far too fragile for that. Too delicate and fine.

  And, if he were being honest, he was afraid of what she might think of him, of losing whatever regard she had for him, when she discovered the truth.

  And if they continued this way…she would. He couldn’t keep it from her.

  But ah, he wanted.

  She stirred in his arms and peeped up at him. Her lashes were damp and speckled with raindrops. Her hair was wet and snaked over her breasts in undulating coils. He brushed it over her shoulder, and because he couldn’t resist, pressed a kiss on her collar bone. And then on the provocative dent where the fragile bones winged out.

  Fragile.

  She was. The thought pained him.

  It also pained him that she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He hissed a breath at the pleasure, the pain her touch evoked.

  “That was amazing,” she said, giving him a tug.

  His eyes crossed. He should push her away, but he found he didn’t have the strength. It was much easier, far more exquisite to allow her to tortur
e him.

  “Your cock is so beautiful.” A murmur.

  He resisted the urge to put out his chest, but her praise made him glow.

  “So hard. So firm.”

  Yeah. It was—

  “I want it in me.”

  His heart stopped. His gaze snapped to hers. “Pansy—”

  She seemed to sense his restraint, taste it maybe on the damp air. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want it.” She dandled her finger in the sensitive tip, then danced it around the head, spreading the evidence of his need.

  “I…do.”

  “I know.” She tipped her head to the side and stared at him. Her playful smile melted away as she studied his expression. He loved that she could read him. At the same time, it scared him to death. “But?”

  “But we…can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  So many reasons… “I’m your protector.”

  “I know.” Her brow quirked. “Is it against the rules?”

  Rules? No. But it was one of the unwritten ones. One everyone knew instinctively.

  She frowned, but it was more of a pout. “Then why did you…do that?” She waved to the wall where he’d pinned her, stroked her, made her come.

  He brushed her hair from her face. “You needed it.”

  Her grip on him firmed. “I need this too.”

  Holy hell. “We…don’t have any condoms.”

  Her lashes flittered. She nibbled her lip. Then whispered, “We can call the concierge.”

  He huffed a laugh. It wasn’t very convincing. “We’re both dirty. We need a shower.” A total and complete lie.

  “All right.” Her minxish grin reappeared and she leaned over to grab the designer body wash off the shelf. And then—ah horrors—she made lather in her palms and reached for him again and God…

  God.

  God in heaven above.

  Preserve him from women with minxish grins.

  Her salacious touch, combined with the slick lather of the soap was un-fricking-believable. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tile and allowed the bliss to suffuse him as she worked his cock. Up and down, around. Faster. Slower. Then light, enticing brushes. As his tension rose, he fisted his hands and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, begging for mercy perhaps.