by Sandra Hill
But he was distracted, his mind racing with all he would have to do before going wheels up. He didn’t know where they would be heading yet, but that didn’t matter. The security force his father had hired for him would continue to watch over his home, and a female guard would stay inside. Sammy wouldn’t be a happy camper, but he would be safe. Zach kept his weapons in good condition…broken down, cleaned, and lubed on a regular basis. No problem there. His will and other legal documents were stored at his lawyer’s, just in case.
They were almost to his car. He hadn’t realized it was this far back. He would drive Britta around to the front when he left. No way would he let her go back alone, not with a tavern full of half-drunk horndogs.
He noticed her staring at him then…and that she was especially quiet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I am just thinking.”
“Uh-oh.”
She didn’t smile…or smack him upside the head. “Where you are going tonight…will it be dangerous?”
“I won’t know till I get back to the command center, on a need-to-know basis. But yeah, there’s always a risk of danger on any mission. You know that.”
She nodded. Still serious. Still staring at him in the strangest way. “Dost know how long you will be gone?”
He shook his head, frowning now.
Suddenly, he knew.
Holy shit! Britta is planning to offer me a pity fuck. Or more precisely, a good-bye fuck. He shouldn’t be surprised. Women got all teary-eyed and softhearted when a soldier was about to deploy. Yo-yo panties were the norm on any military base the night before the troops went off to war. Men had been taking advantage of that perk since the beginning of time.
But this was Britta.
Should he take her up on the offer…when she makes it? Or should he be noble and not take advantage?
But then she surprised the spit right out of him. She didn’t make the offer. Nope. Before he could say “Hallelujah” or “No thanks,” like that was ever gonna happen, she slammed him up against the trunk of his Firebird, bent him backward, and began to rip off his shirt, buttons flying everywhere.
He was laughing and protesting, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” at the same time.
“What?” She stopped.
His chest was bare, his shirt pushed back over his shoulders and halfway down his arms. Man, she’s strong. Her blouse was off. When did that happen? He grabbed her upper arms to hold her in place. “Wait just a minute, honey.” I sure hope I have a condom in my wallet.
She went still, even before he released her arms. “Are you not feeling lustsome tonight?”
Oh, yeah. I’m feeling lustsome, all right.
But she didn’t wait for him to answer. She put her hand over his erection, checking for herself.
Talk about a kick-start hard-on. He went from mild interest to full-blown boogie in a nanosecond.
She smiled and stroked him several times.
He was pretty sure he gurgled something out. And in that split second where his eyes were rolling back in his head, she’d begun caressing his chest with her breasts, back and forth.
“I like how that feels. Do you?”
Are you kidding? “I don’t know. Do it again.”
She did. Again. And again. Then she plucked at his nipples, which had a direct line to sex central. “Now your nipples look like mine,” she murmured.
“Huh?” I don’t think so.
“They’re all pointy and hard.”
Okaaaay. “Let me see.” His fingers played with her breasts then, fluttering the engorged peaks, twirling them between a thumb and a forefinger, then fluttering again.
She moaned and arched her back so her breasts stuck out even more. What a picture! Like a hood ornament. Which gave him an idea.
He sat up, then stood. Picking her up by the waist, he carried her to the hood, which faced the woods behind the lot, and placed her on the cool metal so that her head was almost to the windshield. “Don’t move.” He pulled off her high-heeled sandals, tugged her jeans and bikini panties off, then put the high heels back on, spreading her legs slightly in the process. “Raise your arms.”
“Like this?”
His you-know-what gave a mental shout of “Hoo-yah!” He, on the other hand, was unable to speak at first. Then, “Don’t move,” he repeated.
Damn, he wished he had a camera. This was a picture he’d like to have. But, no, he didn’t need a photograph. This image was imprinted on his brain for life.
He shook his head to clear it, which was almost impossible with testosterone barreling through his body, sizzling his gray matter.
In the blink of an eye, he was nude, covered, and ready for action. He crawled up and over her, kissing his way, till he was on his elbows facing her, and they were belly to belly, with his cock pressing against her clit. Sex heaven.
She lifted her belly, trying to make him enter her. “Not yet.” He panted for control, sweat beading his forehead.
He kissed her softly, once he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself. “You didn’t have to do this for me, you know.” Am I nuts? “But thank you anyway.” I’m carrying on a bleepin’ conversation on the hood of my car with a naked woman. How amazing is that?
I better be careful, or there’ll be a dent in the bodywork.
Hah! Who the hell cares?
“Do what for you?”
“Make love.”
“Oh, I am not doing this for you.”
WHAT? his brain squawked. “For the team then,” he joked.
“Do not be a lackbrain. I am doing it for me. I want to have another orgasm.”
“In case I don’t come back?”
“You better come back. I am not being stuck here in the future without you.”
“You sweet talker, you.”
“Nay, I need a comparison.”
“With what?”
“Other men?”
“You’ve been with other men?” This is unbelievable. She’s having sex with me so she can rate my prowess.
“When would I have time to be with other men? Nay, ’tis just that I felt nothing when Dylan touched me, and I wondered—”
Okay, so it hasn’t happened yet. “Dylan touched you? I’ll kill him. Where?”
“In the tavern.”
“I meant, where on your body? He copped a feel, didn’t he?”
She tilted her head in confusion. “You speak in riddles. I just meant that when he touched my hand or danced with me, I did not feel that tingle that I do with you.”
A big ol’ smile started to spread across his mouth, and he didn’t even try to hold it back. “I make you tingle?”
“Hah! All you have to do is look at me, and I tingle.”
“I tingle, too,” he admitted, though that wasn’t quite the word he would use. “Are you tingling now?” he asked as he rocked against her clit, then thrust inside in a long, slow stroke.
She gasped out, “Like a bell.”
He started to tell her that bells tinkled, not tingled, but stopped himself. Actually, he liked the comparison. “How do you like my gong?” He moved from side to side.
“Nice.”
“Nice?”
“That was a compliment.”
“No, babe, nice is not what a guy wants a woman to say about his favorite body part. More like, ‘Wow!’ ‘Huge!’ ‘Yikes!’”
She started to laugh, then stopped abruptly as her inner walls began to clasp and unclasp him in a hard rhythm. She closed her eyes and stiffened.
“No, open your eyes. I want to see your orgasm. I want you to see me enjoying your orgasm.”
Meanwhile, he was still embedded in her, to the hilt, trying his best not to move, because to move would mean instant, way-too-quick ejaculation.
When her body stopped its delicious squeeze on him, he leaned down and kissed her parted lips. “Babe” was all he could manage to say.
But she said nothing.
He soon found out why.
She spread her bent knees wider. “If you do not start moving, I am going to smack your arse to get you moving.”
He would have laughed if he could have. Instead, he began long, slow strokes against her friction. Sweet torture. He kissed her as he moved. He caressed. He murmured his appreciation of all she did to make this better for both of them. When he came, she came with him. They shattered apart but at the same time seemed to melt together.
Every time he made love to Britta it was different.
Every time he made love to Britta it was better.
When he was able to breathe without gasping for breath, he raised his head, still half limp inside her. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, with parted lips. She looked stunned.
“That’s what I call ringing your bell.”
She remained dazed, gazing at him. “Is it always like this betwixt a man and a woman?”
“No.” He traced her lips with the tips of his fingers, then kissed her softly. “No, it’s not. It seems you and I have something special going on. I’m not sure what it is. Chemistry. Emotion. Probably both.”
She frowned, not understanding a word he’d said. “Can you do it again?”
“What?”
“Ring my bell.”
“Oh, Britta, you are priceless. No, we don’t have time. I’ve got to get back to the—”
She rocked her hips against him, which of course caused his half-limp cock to come to life inside her again and protest in manly sign language, Who doesn’t have time?
Then she did something so uninhibited, even a little kinky, that caused him to almost swallow his tongue.
He checked the glowing face on his watch.
“Maybe a little ring,” he said.
A short time later…a really short time later, Zach was dropping Britta off in front of the Wet and Wild.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back to the base when I report for duty?”
She shook her head. “Nay, I must needs return with my comrades. We made a pact afore coming here that we would stick together. Unless one of us got lucky.” She was deep in thought for a second. “What does ‘getting lucky’ mean?”
He was about to say, “Getting laid,” but figured she wouldn’t understand that, either. “Getting their bells rung.”
Her mouth formed a perfect O, then she giggled. Zach realized then that he’d never heard Britta giggle. Hell, with the childhood she’d had, she’d probably never ever giggled before. He put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.
“Don’t go away, Britta,” he blurted out. Where did that come from?
“I must go back to the base.”
He shook his head. “Not there.”
“Oh. I see. Well, I may not have a choice about going back.”
“Just don’t. Please. Wait till I get back, and we can talk.”
Her friends were coming out of the tavern now. Britta called to them out of the open window, telling them she would be with them in a moment. Then she turned to him, and there were honest-to-God tears in her eyes.
Tears? From Britta? What next?
“Be safe,” she whispered huskily, kissed him quickly, and was gone.
Zach sat behind the wheel, unmoving, trying to fathom what had just happened. His heart felt funny, sort of achy. There was a buzzing in his head. He wanted desperately to call her back and ask what she’d really meant, because what he was thinking was impossible.
One thing he did know. There was no way that little sexercise in the back parking lot was Britta taking notes to com-pare him with other guys. Nope. Britta had been telling him in her own way that she cared about him.
He had a lightbulb moment then, the kind that makes a guy wonder how he could be so dense.
As he drove home to pick up his gear and make last-minute arrangements, he was alternately smiling and frowning about this particular epiphany. And it wasn’t related to Britta turning the tables on him sex-wise, or not entirely.
I’m falling in love.
No, no, no! I can’t be falling in love. Falling in love is a bad thing. Bad time. Bad in every respect. Bad, bad, bad!
Like love waits for the right time. Like love is bad.
I. Am. Not. In. Love.
But what if…what if, for the first time in my friggin’—literally friggin’—life, I’m falling in love?
It’s just lust, and some mind-blowing sex. That’s all.
Ha, ha, ha!
MEMO
From: Captain Lenore Feldman
To: Commander Ian MacLean
Subject: WEALS
Fraternization between Navy SEALs and WEALS is to be discouraged.
Commander Ian MacLean glanced at the memo in his hand and passed it to Floyd, whose face immediately turned red.
“This is just great! Now they expect me to be the sex police.” He glared at Floyd, who didn’t have the sense to keep his skivvies under lock and key. Too bad the Navy didn’t make chastity belts…for its men.
“It’s not really fraternization. It’s just that I’ve known Britta for a while, and I feel responsible for her. Like a brother…or something.”
“That doesn’t even pass the giggle test, boy.”
“Yeah, it was pretty lame.”
“What next?” He threw his arms out in disgust.
He found out the next day, just before the team went boots up, when he got another blasted note from his female ombudsman.
MEMO
From: Captain Lenore Feldman
To: Commander Ian MacLean
Subject: WEALS
Sexual encounters between SEALs and WEALS in the parking lot of the Wet and Wild are expressly forbidden.
“WHAT?” His outraged exclamation could be heard down the corridors of the command center.
Luckily, a certain SEAL was out on assignment and was not expected back for several days. Otherwise, a certain SEAL might be minus a certain body part.
Chapter 17
From the Dennis the Menace book of tricks…
Samir was bored. He was scared. He was pissed. And, yeah, he might be five years old, but he knew what pissed meant.
His father had been gone for almost a week. And he had had eight…EIGHT…babysitters so far. Not family members like his grandmother or Uncle Danny, not even family friends, except for once in a while the witch Madrene. Nope, these were big ol’ scowling giants with arms the size of Frisbees and grumpy voices…even the women. They didn’t let him do ANYTHING…not anything fun, anyhow, like play blood-and-guts video games…or play catch outside. The only thing they would let him watch on TV was Sesame Street or Noggin. Like I’m ever gonna play with someone like Dora the Boring Explorer! Or Ernie the Dork! They wouldn’t even let him have Pepsi and Twinkies for breakfast. They probably give prisoners that shredded hay stuff with milk and no sugar.
The only visitor he was allowed to have was a tutor…that was the name for a teacher with bad breath who forced him to read silly books, like See Jane Run. If I was Jane, I would run, too…right out the door. And numbers! My brain hurts from doing all those numbers. He liked studying geography, though, especially when he could see on a map how far away Afghanistan was. And history, he liked that, too. That Ben Franklin was a cool guy; he wrote a book called Fart Proudly. Farts are awesome.
Mostly, though, he was scared. They wouldn’t be having all these big goons watching him if they didn’t think that his grandfather was close by.
What would Grandfather do if he got me? Would he lop off my head like I saw him do one time to Taj’s cousin’s uncle? Probably not. But he would beat me. I am certain of that. Maybe with a whip this time.
And he was scared that his father would not come back. Just like his mother. She had gone on a mission, too. And got killed.
Samir needed to do something, but he was only a little boy. He needed help. From someone who could be coaxed into stuff.
Suddenly, he knew.
Britta.
From caterpillar to babysitter, a
ll in one day…
A week had gone by since Britta had made a harlot of herself…and, yea, that was how she increasingly viewed her performance on the metal frame of an automobile with Zachary.
Not that she had not enjoyed herself.
Not that she would not repeat the exercise, if given the chance.
But Zachary and some of his cohorts had been gone for almost a sennight now, and not a word about their whereabouts, or even if they were still alive. She’d tried to ask the commander about the mission on several occasions, but he’d merely glowered at her, muttering something about stupid men and stupider women.
“Okay, snuffies, I think it’s time for a new game,” the chieftain named F.U. said with an evil glint in his eye, mostly directed at her.
For some reason, he had taken a dislike to her and picked on her constantly. No doubt because she had dumped him on his arse that first day, but he had more than deserved his comeuppance. Since Zachary and some of the other instructors were away on a mission, Chieftain F.U. was in charge, backed up on occasion by Commander MacLean.
The performance that the WEALS had given for the visiting law persons five days past had gone well. In fact, one of the female governing persons—a senator, just like the ancient Romans—had taken her aside and asked, “How are they really treating you?”
Taken aback, she replied, “Our training is difficult, but less so than SEALs. No need for complaint.” Britta was being generous. She would have liked to tell her of the incessant running, the incessant surf passages, and all the other incessants, but she had held her tongue. “Choosing battles” was a tactic she’d learned this week in battle theory class, and a good lesson it was, too.
“I like your attitude,” the white-haired woman had said. Then she had put a small parchment item in her hand. “That’s my telephone number. A private line. If there’s ever a problem, just call me.”
Now, five days later, they were deep in physical training…again. Incessantly.
She and the other WEALS had just returned from a five-mile run on the sandy shore carrying that heavy rub-her boat. To say they were hot, tired, dirty, odorsome, and in pain would be like saying that boars had bad breath…a large understatement.