by Anne Marsh
Bob and Bobette are totally onboard with my plan, too. The kittens Finn gifted me with scamper over my back and butt, exploring the afghan I’m wrapped in, chewing on my hair, and trying to bat anything that’s not tied down. They’re actually kind of cute.
I’m lying on my stomach, wondering if my Mami will accept fur babies instead of people babies, when Marlee, aka Fiend One, bounds up the stairs to my apartment.
She sees the kitten and pauses. “Still keeping those kittens?”
Bobette sticks her fuzzy head out from underneath my hair. She’s decided that my shoulder is the best bed and routinely uses my ear as a pillow. It’s possible I’ll go deaf from the purring.
“For now,” I grumble, and Marlee grins.
“Softie,” she mouths.
“You told me to take the SEAL for a test drive,” I counter and gently shake off the kittens, so I can get up and follow Marlee into my kitchen. Ava is waiting for us, sitting on my counter and swinging her legs. The two bottles of Bailey’s poking out of her tote bag promise good times. “Finn Callahan is dangerous, ladies.”
I haven’t even let him in my panties yet, and I know that.
“You hit a tree and land in a ditch. He pulls you out, you grope him, and now you’re dating him.” Ava flashes me a thumbs up. “I applaud your speed and commitment to the cause.”
“I’m not sure a quick tow counts as a date,” Marlee says doubtfully. She’s wonderfully literal. If you tell her you’ll be just a second, you’d better mean it because she’ll time you.
“We went parasailing,” I point out. “And we’ve seen each other a couple of times.”
I should really focus all of my attention on brewing that coffee. Surely alcohol will make this friendly inquisition easier.
“Details,” Ava announces, “We need details. All the best, juiciest, naughtiest details.”
Ava’s middle name is indefatigable, even if she claims her birth certificate stuck her with “Jane.”
“Absolutely.” Marlee smacks Ava’s hand when she reaches for a pastelito. “You’re supposed to wait for the coffee.”
Which is really just an excuse to drink booze at ten in the morning. I nudge the plate toward Ava. I cook when I’m stressed or worried, so I’ve made two different kinds of puff pastry. The guava ones happened at midnight, while I talked myself out of calling Finn in the middle of the night. An hour later, when I realized I didn’t actually have his phone number and therefore couldn’t call him, I made the mango ones, the ripe chunks of fruit cooked in sugar until they formed a rich marmalade. Just looking at the mounds of rich triangles makes my hips grow wider.
As soon as we’re coffeed up and everyone has a mini pastry mountain on her plate, Ava makes a give it up gesture.
“Details,” she says firmly.
Marlee dunks a pastry in her coffee. “Have you kissed him?”
“Define kiss.” I’m in the mood to tease, and technically Finn and I have locked lips three times. Once after he pulled my car out of the ditch and once for the “engagement” selfie I sent my Mami. And then there was the other day… when he kissed me senseless on our parasailing date.
“Tongue,” Ava says decisively.
“Anywhere,” Marlee adds. She grins impishly. “No one said he had to kiss you on the mouth.”
“Yes.” I’m keeping the details to myself, though. Neither Marlee nor Ava need to know just how good my borrowed SEAL is at kissing.
“On a scale of one to ten?” Ava’s not giving up.
I don’t have to think twice. “Triple digits.”
Ava whistles. “So he’s the kind of guy you’d let eat cookies in the bed.”
“I don’t want to eat with him,” I protest.
Ava shrugs. “Figure of speech. Is he good enough to forgive the usual manly sins?”
Very possibly.
Finn kisses better than any man I’ve ever had the pleasure of sampling. I don’t usually have quickie affairs. Normally, I like to get to know a guy before I play tonsil hockey—or any other game—with him. I’d want to date, to take my time. I’d want to get to know him because you never know when you might run into Mr. Right, even in a bar you’ve visited week after week. Strangely enough, however, I want more of my Mr. Right Now.
“You agreed you’d go for it,” Ava announces, the it here clearly being Finn’s penis and an end to my celibacy.
Marlee’s not far behind with her agreement, either. “Practice guy. Absolutely.”
If the girlfiends have their way, Finn will be pants off and mine by the end of the week. It’s really not a bad idea. Although… while I’m having fun discussing Finn with my girls, the truth is that I’m not really the type to kiss and tell. The way he made me feel and how he did it? That’s between me and him. It’ll be our little secret.
I want a new man, new boobs, and a new life. And if I can’t have all three, I’ll take one. The replacement boobs are looking fine, and that’s the first baby step on the way to the new life and new man part of my destiny. I’m tired of living scared—so now I’m just going to live. Finn Callahan can help me with that.
T-6 days
FINN
Women have all sorts of rules for the dating game, but my only rule? Rules are made to be broken. Instead of calling Vali, I go looking for her in Angel Cay three days after our parasailing date. See, she’s had enough time to miss me. And I’ve had enough time to fantasize about having sex with her about a million different ways. My dick will be raw from the self-attention if I don’t go after her soon. Xander’s also way too close to winning our bet for my comfort.
Intel (also known as the Captain’s inside scoop) places her at the beach, so that’s where I go. I hear her before I see her. Her laughter teases me through the palm trees, the kind of full body laugh that shakes her gorgeous tits and lights up her face. Vali doesn’t hold back—she goes for everything flat-out. One hundred percent. I’m hoping she’s like that in bed, too.
I get out of the Jeep and reconnoiter. We’re about a mile from Bee Sweete, and I don’t see the VW Bug, so she must have walked—or paddled. A splash echoes through the trees, followed by more laughter punctuated by curses. I haven’t heard that many swear words strung together quite so creatively since Uncle Sam parked my ass in Colombia on a covert op. You try keeping it clean when you’re fending off vampire mosquitos and wet boots. Those two weeks in a South American jungle were the longest of my life.
As soon as I step onto the beach, however, I understand what my folks tried to teach me about patience being its own reward. Vali is balanced precariously on top of a paddleboard. She rocks a pink-and-white striped bikini and a baseball cap. A velcro strap around her ankle ties her to the board—or the board to her. Since she’s paddling in about two feet of water, her odds of drowning are acceptably low, so I rock back on my heels to enjoy my view. God, she’s pretty.
She’s confident, too—another turn on. I know who I am and what I do—or do not—have to offer. When Vali says yes to me, when she lets me all the way in, I won’t have to worry about broken hearts or other surprises. She’s a woman who could use a good orgasm or six, and I’m the guy to lend her a hand in that department. A fucking Boy Scout, that’s me. I’m laughing at my own bad joke as I lean back against a palm. Strangely enough, I’m in no rush to strip the bikini off her and move on to the next step in my seduction plan. I kind of like just spending time with her rather than in her.
I spot the moment she shifts and loses her balance. It coincides, not accidentally, with the moment Rex One bounds into the water and tries to scramble onto her board. She goes over with a shriek that pierces my eardrums and then comes up spitting curses and laughing.
God, she’s cute. I kick off my boots, toss them into the back of the Jeep, and stroll closer to the water’s edge. Rex One shoots me a doggy look, but I don’t call him back. He deserves to have a little fun, too. “Are those suggestions, darling?”
She stands up, knuckling water out of her eyes. Hel
lo. Wet is a good look for her.
“You wish,” she says, and she isn’t wrong.
“I always deliver,” I promise her. “And I take direction well. I can also work with begging, screaming, and any dirty fantasies you’ve been repressing but would now like to bring to life.”
She snorts, pats her head, and realizes that she’s lost her hat.
Rex One proves that he’s smart, because he paddles after her ball cap and brings it back to her. She pats him on the head, rubbing his ears and crooning his name. Lucky mutt laps it up, too.
It’s stupid, being jealous of a dog. Fortunately, I’ve got two arms that work. The dog may be good at fetching hats, but I can do better. I wade in and scoop her up, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that she’s sun-warmed and wet from her spill off the board. Logically? I’ve held hundreds of women. She’s got the same parts: two shoulders, two (spectacular) tits, and an ass made for holding. I don’t know what makes her so different—but she is. Maybe it’s because she’s temporarily mine thanks to Xander, her mother’s matrimonial plans, and a twenty-five cent ring. That has to be it.
I lean in and lick the salt off her skin where her ear meets the soft curve of her neck. Maybe it’s the taste of her on my tongue that’s so goddamned right? That makes me want to start at the top of her and work my way down. She’s perfect.
Perfectly addictive.
I press soft kisses over her even softer skin. I love women, but I love them hard. Fast. I give it to them good, and maybe I last the night, but there’s never been a time for the soft stuff. I imagine emotions are like an octopus, wrapping its sticky tentacles around me. Making me want to hang on. Making me want more. I tease the deceptively fragile curve of her ear, dragging my tongue over the sensitive shell.
“Finn—” She squeals and wriggles.
That’s my name, and she can do all the talking she wants—I’m busy wrapping my arms around her. Holding her just a little bit closer, I wade out of the water. She doesn’t tell me to put her down. I can’t help but notice that.
“Let me make you feel good.” That’s my voice that comes out sounding like a growl as I look into her eyes. Brown’s too simple a word for their color. She has these little gold flecks and the longest lashes. Like always, she meets my gaze head-on, and part of me wonders what she sees.
You know. In me.
“Okay,” she sighs. “But only if you promise to be really, really bad.”
“For as long as you want,” I promise, and I mean every word of it.
I’m a SEAL, not a Boy Scout. I’ve got condoms in my Jeep because they’re part of any SEAL’s go kit (I’ve fired more than one gun wearing a condom on its muzzle—the latex keeps sand and other unwelcome shit out, but it doesn’t keep the bullet in). What I don’t have is a mattress, sheets, or anything else that’s gonna make this a sex marathon instead of a quickie in the backseat of a car. She threads her arms around my neck, tugging my face down toward hers, and I feel her next sigh. Or maybe it’s a little pant, because I’m that goddamned good.
It’s ten steps to the Jeep, and I put each step to good use. I dip my head until my mouth rests on hers. “Tell me you want me.”
I need to be perfectly clear on this. Once I get started, it’ll take a miracle to pull me away from her. If she wants out or a different day or even a different fucking man, she tells me now.
“Good to go,” she whispers back, and I feel those three words everywhere. On my lips and lower, and not just in my dick, although that bad boy’s hard as a rock.
I’m staring into her eyes like a fucking sap. I haven’t got her bikini off, but I already know she’s gorgeous. Spectacular. Rocking my needy, greedy world. Take your pick or just go with all of the above, because the feeling of holding her in my arms is electric. I run my thumb over her tattoo, tracing the vines with their names.
“Right answer,” I growl, and I’ve never stormed a beach faster than I do the sand between the water and our ride. I’ve carried women before. Laid them down and licked them. Feasted, sucked, and enjoyed my way from the first inch to the last. That was sex. This is… different.
I slide her onto the seat She keeps her arms wrapped around my neck for a really fantastic moment, her body pressed against mine. I love that bikini—and those few inches of wet nylon are the only thing between me and her.
She smiles at me, and I kiss her hard, my mouth tasting the impish curve, my tongue teasing her lips to open. To make room for me inside her. She groans and yanks me closer, on board with the get close plan. So I kiss her deeper, harder, and I don’t need to think to know this moment is better than any fantasy I’ve played out in my head.
When she finally eases back, I’m panting and she’s whimpering. I’m not ashamed to admit I need her, either. She’s special, and I can’t believe she’s letting me taste her. Touch her.
Gonna take her next.
Rex One bounds around us, barking happily. He’s a damn smart dog—he knows he’s looking at the best thing to ever happen to us.
“How fast can you drive?” My dick about explodes at Vali’s throaty question. Maybe sex in the back of the Jeep could work. I actually look as I hotfoot it around the back end of the vehicle for the driver’s seat. Unfortunately, the back’s loaded with training center crap, and it hasn’t grown a mattress or any other amenities. So not happening.
“I’ve got one question.”
She looks at me, and I swear to God she pants. Why, why, why am I talking now?
“Would you say we’re in a committed relationship?”
Vali narrows her eyes at me. “Get. In. The. Jeep.”
Good enough. I swing into the Jeep and floor the engine. Yeah. Getting her home seems like another great idea. We pull away from the beach, spitting sand, and she curls up on the seat. Her face is flushed, her nipples tight beneath her bikini top. I did that—and that makes me feel like the fucking king of the world.
“My place.” I don’t know if those words are a question, a mission plan, or me getting down on my knees to beg, but she nods.
“Sure,” she says, and then she turns on the radio while I drive like hell. Five to six minutes to reach my place. Another minute to park and get my feet on the ground. I’ll have her naked in ten minutes, and then she’ll be the best all-I-can-eat buffet ever. She sings along at the top of her lungs to our tunes, and it’s silly and it’s so her. I never expected to find that kind of crap cute, but I do.
We reach Search and SEALs in world record time. I’m almost certain I didn’t run over any old ladies, either. Vali hops out, and we all but run into each other. I’m dying to be inside her. To touch her more and learn each sweet inch. Guess she feels the same way. At this point, I’d almost trade my left nut to avoid Ro and Vann. They’re going to give me shit about this, and I kind of… wish they wouldn’t.
“Which place is yours?” She feeds the flames, pressing a kiss against my jaw as she wraps her fingers in the dog tags I wear. I’m no longer active duty, but these aren’t my tags anyhow. They’re a replica of B.B.’s with everything but his name scratched out. I can practically hear him giving me a hooyah from up in heaven. Prudence and sentimentality—I’ve got them both covered.
I point out my place. “You go ahead. Door’s not locked, and I’ll be right there as soon as I’ve taken care of Rex One.”
She grins. “Don’t take too long.”
No danger of that. I’m on fire, and the only thing putting out these flames is Vali. I’m right down by the water, so close I can long jump off my front porch and get my feet wet. I’m not trying to impress her with the view, though. I’m just trying not to get naked in public with my brothers watching. I make a quick detour to put Rex One back in his kennel. Poor dog isn’t thrilled to have his afternoon cut short, but I’ll make it up to him later. I’m not ashamed to admit I double-time it down the path to my place.
When I step onto the porch, I discover that Vali hasn’t wasted time, either. Her bikini top hangs from my open front
door. You’ve got to like a green light like that. Not like she has much clothing to drop, and she’s made a statement.
Grinning, I step inside and yank my T-shirt over my head in the spirit of playing fair. The cottage isn’t big—it’s a one bedroom, with a living room, a kitchen, and an enormous wrap-around porch. Someone decorated it beach style before we bought it, which translates into a boatload of rattan furniture and lots of white. It’s probably girlier than I should own too, but it was easier to use what was here. I did add a big fucking television and about a thousand paperback mysteries. I don’t think Vali’s here for that kind of entertainment, though. You know how I know this?
Her bikini bottom is on the floor.
Christ, I’m lucky.
The sound of water running is my first clue. Vali’s in my shower.
Naked, wet, and steamy? I didn’t think I could get any harder, but turns out I was wrong. My dick points the way to heaven. I drop my cargo shorts. Conveniently, I dressed for our date—I’m commando, and I’m in the shower with her before she even knows I’m there.
“Quick enough?” I whisper the question against her ear while I reach for the soap. Conveniently, my shower’s way too small for two people, so there’s a lot of touching and brushing, plus since she’s here to get clean? I have to get her dirty. I slick every inch of her skin with soap, and then I follow with my hands—and my tongue. She tastes like no one else—like honey and sunshine, the ocean and Vali. It’s that last ingredient that drives me fucking crazy.
And because the shower’s so goddamned small, my dick brushes its favorite places whenever I reach for the soap or adjust the water. I reach out, snag a condom from a drawer beneath the sink, and roll it on. When I slip between her legs, she’s slick and hot for me.
“You’re making me wait,” she moans, and because I’m a gentleman and a SEAL, I make it up to her. She’s ready, so I push inside her, slow and steady, while the water pounds down on us. When I’m seated inside her, I savor the moment. Not for long, because she’s pushing against me, moving in a way that guarantees I’ll come faster than any teenage boy, but just long enough to thread the fingers of one hand through hers and press her hands flat against the shower wall.