by Tara Quan
He scowled. “Now look who’s getting ahead of herself. Jobs can change, if it comes down to it, and we’re eons away from that conversation.”
Men, in her limited experience, lacked self-awareness. “I’m trying to let you off the hook. I grew up with workaholic parents, so I’m a pro at setting low expectations. You won’t find a more Zen fuck buddy.”
After a log moment of silence, he chortled. “I would never have imagined a chick saying that.”
Filling her mouth with meat and potatoes, she shook her head. “How sexist.”
“May be. And you’re full of crap.”
She gaped. “See here—”
“If you thought sex was casual, you’d have had more of it.” Taking another bite, he chewed at an agonizingly slow speed.
“Who’s to say I haven’t?”
He grunted. “It’s written all over your face. I might not be a smooth talker, but I can read people fine. Your little ‘I don’t give a damn’ routine only fools one of us—and it’s not me. You want to pretend this isn’t serious because you’re afraid it is, and it scares you shitless.”
For someone who couldn’t string together compliments without sprinkling in a few insults, he had a talent for dropping verbal bombs. He’d been right on the mark, too. “Fine. You win. Where do you see this going?”
Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he pushed away his empty plate. “Do I look like I know? We had our first date yesterday.”
“You,” she growled, “were the one who insisted on this conversation.”
He chugged the rest of his coffee in one long gulp. “I needed to make it clear this isn’t a wham-bam-thank-you-Ma’am deal, which I did. As for what we are, I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”
The man’s mind worked in mysterious ways. Having lost her appetite, she rose and started ferrying the remnants of their meal to the sink. “Anymore pearls of wisdom before I kick you out?”
He stared at her from across the island. “We’re going to have sex—lots and lots of sex—by the time today is through.”
She drummed her fingers on the edge of the counter. “Oh yeah?”
“I’d bet my life on it, although the next thing I say will have your panties in a wad.”
“Has it occurred to you to not blurt it out?”
“I like to pre-define rules of engagement, so let’s get it out of the way.” He crossed his arms. “I have no idea when I’ll be in town again, I can’t write or call, but I will be back. I expect you here waiting for me.”
Unsettled, she fell back on sarcasm. “Too bad. I’m moving to Bermuda.”
“Are you always such a smart-ass?”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“As far as I remember.” His amused tone set her teeth on edge. “Okay, next up—neither of us sleeps with anyone else until I say otherwise.”
“Until you say otherwise?” Needing something to do with her hands, she rinsed their plates.
“Fine. We.”
One by one, she placed the dirty kitchenware in the dishwasher. “I’ll take this moment to go issue a blanket invitation to the line of hunks hovering at my doorstep.” Noting the knot between his thick brows, she heaved a sigh. “Fine. We’re exclusive. Anything else?”
Pulling a small tin out of his pocket, he popped a white lozenge into his mouth before sliding it over the counter. A set of keys followed. “You’ve got girly shampoo. If you could grab mine along with a few sets of clean clothes from my place, I’d appreciate it.”
She wished the man were kidding, but his grinning mug suggested otherwise. Not certain how to proceed, she reached for a mint. Crunching the hard candy, she kicked her brain back into gear. “I’m not an expert on these things, but I’m sure giving me your keys skips a few dozen steps.”
He rose to his feet and walked to her side. Crouching, he reached under the sink and grabbed a pellet of detergent. “We’re both excellent judges of character.” After tossing it in the dishwasher, he shut the machine’s door and turned it on. “And taking things slow is for wimps.”
“You asked me out yesterday.” Her words served as a reminder to them both.
He sprung to his feet and circled around her. Closing in from behind, he placed his palms on the island, bracketing her waist. “I know what I want.” His gruff statement didn’t leave much room for argument. “And I always go after what I want.”
Staring at the empty sink, she struggled to reboot her muddled brain. His chest warmed her back. His breath grazed her hair. The scent of her own soap, laced with something distinctly male, wreaked havoc on her ability to focus. “You might not get what you want.”
He bit her earlobe. “The odds are in my favor.”
Her mind went blank. He kissed her neck, his tongue lingering over her pulse. Her abs clenched, her fingers curling into fists as flames seared her from the inside out. His biceps brushed her shoulders, his arms forming a cage of pure muscle. His teeth scraped, and he sucked hard enough to leave a hickey.
“You were saying?” A teasing question, one broadcasting masculine superiority.
“I…” The throaty rasp seemed alien, as if it had come from somewhere far away, from someone other than her.
His low chuckle vibrated her back. “Want to stop talking?”
An optimal plan, seeing as how her brain now functioned at reduced capacity. Before she could signal agreement, his lips grazed the sensitive spot behind her ear. With a ragged breath, she jerked forward, her hands slipping over the granite ledge toward the sink.
Grabbing her wrists, he moved them both one step to the left. With unexpected gentleness, he flattened her palms against the glass topping the dishwasher. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
“That,” she managed to murmur, “is sort of the problem.”
He shifted his grip to her hips. His zipper pressed into her butt, the hard bulge sending a shiver down her spine. Catching one of her tank-top straps between his teeth, he tugged it off her shoulder.
The dishwasher whirred. Steam drifted over the tops of her legs. She shifted away from the building heat, her bottom pressing against his crotch. Murmuring a curse, he nudged her legs apart with his knee.
She remembered owning a bed—two to be precise, along with a comfortable sofa and plush carpet. Before she could bring the array of more comfortable surfaces to his attention, he picked her up by the waist. Ignoring her yelp, he yanked her against him, positioning her to ride his thigh. Gravity brought her down on hard muscle, the exquisite pressure at the juncture of her legs eliciting a moan.
He slid his hands along her torso, his fingers drifting to the tips of her breasts. Closing her eyes, she abandoned her tenuous hold on coherent thought. His presumed intimacy drilled home her vulnerability. Any attempt to escape fueled the languid heat between her legs, leaving little recourse but to remain still.
He seemed to interpret her inaction as permission to touch her as he pleased. His mouth trailed down her nape, searing a path as he continued to fondle her. The gentle whisper of teeth and tongue contrasted with the strong fingers kneading her flesh, the warm muscular prison holding her captive. When she reached for his wrist in a weak attempt to slow him down, he clamped his teeth over her shoulder. His thigh ground against her in the same moment, the dual lance of pain and pleasure sending a burst of white light over the back of her lids.
He hiked up her top, his rough palms scalding her ribcage. Steam dampened her skin as he peeled the thin cotton over her head, unhooked her bra, and tossed her clothing to the side.
Bared from the waist up, she shivered as his T-shirt slid along her spine. When the dark fabric dropped to the floor, coarse hair and firm muscle replaced soft cloth against her back, the sensual abrasion making it near impossible to breathe. She clenched her hands into fists on the warming countertop, driven to near madness by the callused fingers brushing her arms.
He caught her hips, and it took the slightest of nudges to get her to rock them. Arousal and desire had twined into
a voracious hunger, the pressure at the apex of her legs building in an inexorable crescendo. Molten heat consumed her as he claimed her breasts. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, his mouth roaming over her bare skin. Her neck, the arches of her shoulder blades, every inch of her back became his playground. He kissed and nibbled until reality fogged, until harsh pants echoed around them, until needy pleas parched her throat.
Before she hurtled over the edge, he pulled back and spun her to face him.
Her feet hit cold tile, jerking her out of the sensual daze. Annoyed, frustrated, and needing to combat a belated pang of insecurity, she licked her lips and struggled to find fault with his physique. But the array of defined muscle lured her to touch, an impulse she indulged with shaking hands. She traced the shape of his pectorals, explored his abs, and watched his stomach tighten as she followed the line of dark hair down to his belt.
He yanked her hands off the moment she tugged the metal buckle. Surprised by the rejection, she lifted her gaze. The barely-formed question never made it past her throat.
Fusing his lips with hers, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. She tasted mint and a hint of coffee. Threading his fingers through her hair, he repositioned her head to ease his assault. For the first time in her adult life, she understood the true meaning of surrender.
Left with no recourse but to close her eyes and follow his lead, she gave in to the madness. He was inside her, around her. His scent, the warmth of his body, the cocoon of sweat-slicked muscle, became her only reality. He relinquished her lips to claim her neck, his shifting grip curving her spine.
She reached behind her in search of an anchor. Her hands met heated glass, but her arms buckled when he kissed his way over her shoulders down to her cleavage. He explored every inch of uncovered skin, whether it be the sensitive underside of her breasts or the soft swell of her belly.
Smoothing one hand up her back to support her nape, he circled his other arm around her waist. His lips hovered over her nipple, his breath hot against her. She writhed, uncertain if she meant to move closer or inch away. Tightening his hold, he forced the choice out of her hands.
Her hips bucked, her hands clawing his upper arms as he took possession. When she tried to twist free, he lifted his head and blew over her moistened flesh. The sudden temperature shift peaked the nipple. Before she could process this new torment, he bit lightly down, cutting off circulation for a few torturous moments. Easing off, he circled his tongue until her muffled whimpers morphed into high-pitched cries. When he relented, it was to switch to her neglected breast.
By the time he lifted his head and unwound his arms, he’d reduced her to a limp trembling mess. He hooked his finger under her waistband. With a swift tug, her shorts and underwear slid to her ankles.
Lifting her by the waist, he seated her on the warm vibrating counter. Pulling her to the edge, he spread her legs and positioned himself between them. With a brush of his thumb, her clit fired to life.
He splayed his free hand over her collarbones and pushed her back. To support her weight, she placed her palms behind her and straightened her arms. The position lifted her breasts. A possessive grip on her waist, he lowered his head.
Her nipples had grown so sensitive the slightest brush elicited a shudder. When he ground his arousal against her naked flesh, her inner muscles clenched in a demand for more. Every nerve-ending over-stimulated, she writhed. Until this moment, the dishwasher’s rumble was background noise. With his tongue laving the tip of her breast and denim abrading her clit, her body responded to every vibration.
Sensory overload dragged her to the precipice. Her eyes drifted shut. Harsh pants echoed in her ears, accompanied by throaty moans. “Karl…Please…”
He shoved his hand between her thighs, roughly probing as she cried out. His thumb circled. Flashes of red and white erupted behind her eyelids. She screamed.
When she regained the ability to process her surroundings, she found her forehead and palms resting against his broad chest. His hands shifted between their bodies, unzipping his fly and pulling his waistband down to his hips. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his erection as he unearthed a square packet from his jeans.
When the empty silver wrapper drifted to the floor, she licked her lips. He appeared much larger than previous experience led her to expect. Tensing, she reached out to measure him with her hand, hoping his perceived size might be an illusion.
He caught her wrist. “I can’t. I’m not going to last much longer as it is.”
Moving with surprising speed, he smoothed the condom on before lifting his hands to cradle her face. His kiss was surprisingly gentle. His teeth scraped her lower lip as he traced the shape of her mouth with his tongue. One by one, her tight muscles relaxed.
Massaging his way down her spine, he rested his palms on her lower back and pulled her to the edge of the counter. His lips continuing to tease her, he nudged her legs apart.
He shifted closer. Searching her folds, he exposed her clit. She almost leapt off the counter when the tip of his cock brushed over the throbbing nub.
He closed his hands around her waist. “Hold onto me.”
Trembling, she looped her arms around his neck.
“Good girl.” He nuzzled her cheek.
He surged into her, his breach relentless, stretching her more than she’d thought possible. The sting, the slow burn as he pushed, blurred her vision with tears. She dug her fingers into his back, clamped her teeth together to stem a cry. He stopped only once he was buried to the hilt.
Panting, she tilted her head to look at him. Moisture glistened over his forehead and chest. His hair was damp. She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips and felt the taut muscles on his face. Realizing the physical cost of his restraint, she brushed her lips over his jaw. “Don’t stop.”
Growling, he looped one arm around her waist and reached between their bodies with his free hand. She whimpered as he pressed down at the apex of her opening. Waves of pleasure cascaded, distracting her from his impalement.
His intense gaze on her face, he pulled out and slid back in, truncating his penetration with flicks of his thumb. Her clit pulsed, and with each slow thrust, slick moisture gathered, easing the subsequent entry. Soon, pain turned into pleasure.
Liquid heat gathered where their bodies met, the burning rope of hungry need winding with each harsh panting breath. Swearing, he pumped his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, and clung to his shoulders as he rammed her hard, fast, and deep.
The molten coil snapped. Spasms raked her body. Her inner muscles gripped his arousal in a flurry as she bit down on his shoulder to mute her scream. His hands clenching around her waist, his rhythm turned erratic. His frenzy drove her to a higher crest, her perception narrowing to the inexorable drive of his hard flesh. Then thought ceased, awareness obliterated by an explosion of red and white.
Chapter 4
Present Day (six years from where they left off…)
The bitter taste of bile coated Karl’s tongue as he reached his unit mate’s side. The hospital waiting room smelled of latex and disinfectant. He wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans before placing it on the Master Chief’s shoulder. “How is he doing?”
The battle-hardened soldier sat with his elbows on his knees. Scarred hands covered the man’s weathered face, his answering rasp bearing little resemblance to his usual jovial voice. “He’s out of surgery. The doctor thinks there’s a chance he might walk again.”
Karl released a pent up breath. “What did Command say about a protective detail?”
“What you’d expect. The military can’t operate on U.S. soil, and the FBI doesn’t have the resources to protect all our family members. They’re on their own.” The man’s blue eyes bloodshot, he clenched his hands into fists. “I’ve put in my papers. As soon as it’s safe to move him, we’ll disappear until this blows over.”
Who could blame him? Their cover had been blown sky high. Some defense contractor wit
h a top-secret clearance had leaked an entire database of classified documents. While most of the information now on the public domain might be inconsequential, it brought to light Delta Force’s missions in Syria. Even worse, it identified the handful of servicemen assigned to the elite joint services special operations unit. Tasked to carry out covert missions, they’d fought the terrorists most of the world didn’t know existed.
Two years ago, his unit had been ordered to retrieve man-portable air-defense systems that had made their way into the Middle East during the Arab uprisings. These shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles were a threat to low-flying aircraft, and the porous border between Syria and Iraq made them of interest to the U.S. military. His unit had tracked the MANPADs to an empty warehouse near the eastern city of Deir el-Zour. After lining the targeted area with C-4, they’d been in the process of high tailing it out of Dodge when a small cadre of Syrian Secret Police showed up to crash the party, hoping to get their hands on the munitions. Too late to disarm the explosives, the blast killed a handful of police officers.
The Syrian government had blamed the rebels for the attack and vice versa. No one suspected American involvement. But then some jackass decided to become a whistleblower, and Karl’s name along with details of the operation became a matter of public record.
While diplomacy had prevented any official demand for reparation, the brother of one of the dead officers happened to be part of Syrian Special Forces. He, along with a handful of other disgruntled operatives, splintered off to form a rogue criminal cell that recently broadcasted its intent to avenge the two-year-old blood debt.
While every member of the unit was more than capable of defending themselves, they hadn’t expected their families to become targets. Master Chief Frost, one of the most senior members of Karl’s Delta unit, hadn’t talked to his ex-wife in ten years and rarely saw their teenage son. The last thing he’d expected was a frantic call in the middle of the night.