I shake my head, not taking the bait, even as an inexorable smile rises to my lips.
“It’s crazy that somebody slashed his tires,” she says, the forest enveloping us, the snowfall getting heavier now. “I get it that people around here have that small-town mentality, but that’s taking it way too far.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, thinking of the west coast, thinking of the way he stared at me with blood-red fury in his eyes.
Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll find you, Millie. I’ll always find you.
“It’s sort of freaked me out,” I admit. “I mean, first somebody leaves the back doors open, and now this? Do you think it’s connected?”
I silently will her to say no, no freaking way.
But she nods slowly as if musing on it.
“It’s possible,” she says.
I sigh and we drive the rest of the way in silence, both lost in our thoughts, perhaps both thinking about our dates later this evening.
No, I correct myself, maybe she’s thinking about her date. But there’s no date for me to think about.
It’s just a friendly meal, nothing more.
Yeah, sure, a voice whispers within. Keep telling yourself that.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Markus
I pull up outside the house at the edge of the forest in my Chevy, the wheels restored. It turned out the guy was in and for a price that seemed way too damn high to me, he was willing to come down and sort it out. But the money wasn’t a problem. I’ve made a fair amount of it over the years and I’ve never lived extravagantly.
A nice nest egg to start a family, I hear Johnny murmur in my head. Maybe start a family right here in Stone Harbor, eh?
I push that voice down and stare at the house, framed in the moonlight. The snow has stopped now and the sky is clear, the stars brilliantly bright out here away from artificial light.
A rectangle of electric light in the front window shows Millie, leaning over a dish with a spoon, bringing it to her mouth and tasting it. I’m too far away to make out all the details, but of course, my savage mind replaces the spoon with my manhood, her lips opening to take in my end, her eyes wide in pleasure.
I swallow and glance at the passenger seat, at the bouquet of flowers, roses I picked up after getting my car fixed. There are chocolates, too.
It must say a lot about me that this is the first time I’ve ever bought either flowers or chocolates for a woman.
No need to in the SEALs. And no need to after. You hadn’t met her yet, the woman who’s going to change everything, who’s going to tip your world upside down.
Millie looks up and waves her hand, spotting me. I wave my hand back, ignoring the drumming deep within, the drumming that tells me this might be the most important night of my life when I either make or break what could be our future.
I still feel that old niggling desire to flee, to be a nomad, but then she opens the door and I see her standing there in that form fitting apron, steam rising in wisps in the air around her.
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
That apron looks so beautifully domestic, so much like a mother, creating beautiful dishes for our children … and then singing lustfully later when I tear it from her and lay her on her back, pry those thighs apart and licking greedily at the tanginess between her legs.
I take the flowers and the chocolates and step from the car, something in me flaring when I see her reaction. Her eyes settle on the flowers for a moment, and then a smile breaks across her face, her whole expression becoming bright.
“Whoah, somebody pushed the boat out,” she giggles.
“Do you like them?” I ask, handing them to her.
She takes them, our hands brushing, flesh on flesh this time. She’s warm from the kitchen and the sensation moves through me, a direct line to my manhood, already rock solid but now feeling as though it could explode out of my pants at any minute.
She glances up at me, biting her lip in a way that makes me want to turn carnal and beastly right here.
Part of me is glad when Lava comes bounding down the hallway, tail wagging. I reach down and give him a hello rub, and then stand up to find Millie with her face buried in the flowers, inhaling.
“Beautiful,” she says.
“Yes,” I growl, eyeing her and leaving no room for confusion about what I mean. I gesture with the box of chocolates. “I got these as well.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” she mutters. “I don’t think I need anymore though.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to puzzle out the statement. “You don’t like chocolate?”
“Yeah, I do. I love it. Maybe too much.”
I stare, dumbfounded. “I’m not following you.”
She shoots me a sassy look, taking the chocolates.
“Hey, I thought you SEALs were supposed to be smart.”
I smirk ironically.
“Some are smarter than others, I guess,” I tell her, still with no idea what that chocolate comment was supposed to mean.
She leads me into the house, Lava loping at her feet. But my eyes are glued to that fine ass. She’s wearing jeans and a frilly sweater. It just makes it all the sweeter that the jeans aren’t tight, the fabric falling naturally onto her skin, letting me imagine that it’s my hands pressing down, feeling her bare curvy flesh.
We amble into the kitchen, which has a little seating area off to the side. Beyond the night dark window, a light wind whistles. Lava takes off somewhere into the house, leaving us alone in the warmth of the room, the smells of her cooking making my belly rumble and my mouth salivate…even more than she does, somehow, with those mind-fucking hips and that juicy grab-me ass.
She puts the flowers in a glass vase and gestures at the stove. Something’s bubbling and more spice-laden scents drift over to me.
“I hope you like chili con carne,” she says. “I know it’s not the most exotic dish, but—”
“It smells incredible,” I cut her off. “I can’t remember the last time I smelt anything so damn good, truth be told.”
She thrills visibly, her cheeks turning red, but perhaps that’s from the heat of the cooking.
Or maybe it’s because her mind is as full of carnal thoughts as yours.
Fine, maybe that could be true—maybe she’s also thinking about where this date could go.
But is she thinking about where the rest of our lives could go as well?
If I told her how certain I was that she’s the woman for me, now and always, would she laugh or run away?
“You can sit down if you want, soldier,” she says. “There’s no need to stand at attention.”
I smirk, realizing that she’s right. I’ve been standing at the entranceway with my hands behind my back as though waiting for a fight to break out. I walk over to the table and sit down, feeling absurdly large at the rustic style furnishing, the chair creaking beneath me.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she says.
“No problem,” I mutter, my eyes scorching into her, those thick legs trapped in those jeans, begging to be freed.
“Would you like a drink? Wine? Beer?”
“I’ll take a water,” I say. “I’m not much of a drinker. Don’t let me stop you, though.”
“Two waters it is, then,” she says. “I’m not much of a drinker, either. I mean, I’m not a teetotal or anything, but I’ve never much liked the feeling of not being in control, you know?”
My gaze burns into her, those rosy red cheeks, the singsong quality to her voice. It grapples with something deep inside of me, taking me down and pinning me there irresistibly, as if any second I’m going to snap and give into the primal beast within and charge across the kitchen, palm that ass, palm those tits, make her beg for a release and—
Cool it, man, I try to order myself, even if I know it’s downright impossible where Millie is concerned.
She gets us two glasses of water and brings them over. I reach over and take mine, and again our hand
’s touch, the sensation shimmering through my hand and up my arm, causing my muscles to tense.
She catches my eye and a smile lights up her face, the sort of smile that tells me she’s struggling to believe this is happening.
You and me both.
“Dinner will be ready in a few,” she says, returning to the stove.
I’m happy to just watch her at her work, leaning back and never once taking my eyes off her body, the way her hips swish from side to side as she moves around, setting out plates and sieving the rice, washing the starch off, all the while with this look of complete concentration on her face.
Fuck it. I’m only human.
I find myself climbing to my feet and stalking up behind her, moving with the SEAL quietness and fluidity that often meant the difference between life and death when I was overseas.
I pause when her scent begins to override that of the food, rising like an imploration inside of me, a jagged need that spikes and touches every part of me.
Closer, and closer, I move, and I see in the reflection of the steam and night shaded glass that she’s watching me.
Her eyes widen when I loop my hands around her waist, squeezing, savoring the feel of her body.
“Oh,” she whimpers cutely, wriggling against me, her ass cheeks brushing against my manhood.
Whether it’s by accident or intentional, I can’t tell. All I know is that the sensation has me all fucked up inside, my manhood going rock solid… well, even more, rock solid than it’s been since I stepped foot in here.
I lean down and brush my lips against her cheek from behind, pressing against her more firmly. She grips the edge of the counter and pushes back, even as her cheeks bloom shyly.
Now that I know she’s doing it on purpose my desire flames even fiercer.
I grab her—turn her.
I palm that meaty beautiful ass and I press her against me, my manhood brushing against her belly through my pants.
I can’t stop.
I don’t want to stop.
I lean down and push my lips against hers, feeling the texture of them, tasting their sweetness. She gasps, all muffled through the kiss, and I bury my hands in those ass cheeks, knowing I could spend fucking years just squeezing and massaging them, giving in to my every carnal impulse.
I slide my hands around over those sweet childbearing hips, but now all I can think about is what sensational handholds they make, fleshy and beautiful, made for gripping as I ram like the beast I am into her.
Smoothing my hand down her jeans, I hunger to feel the wetness between her legs.
To tease a goddamn river of wetness out of her.
She whimpers, gripping onto my shirt.
But just about when I’m going to touch her sex, she breaks the kiss.
“Wait,” she whispers.
I stop, withdrawing my hands slightly.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I just …”
Hesitation swims in her eyes, warring with the lust there. I can read it all, which is crazy since we met so recently.
But it doesn’t matter.
She’s a tapestry I’ll never stop being able to decipher, a code I’ll always be eager to crack.
Because she’s mine.
Her taste flurries around in my mouth.
“I don’t want dinner to be spoiled,” she says a moment later, even if we both know that’s not what she was originally going to say.
“Okay,” I say, leaning down and kissing her again briefly, a brush of shimmering lust blazing through both of us.
Then I step away and return to the table, inhaling the scent of Millie and the chili con carne.
Even if every primal instinct in me is roaring at me to take her, to dominate her, to make her ache and shiver with her release, I’ll never be one of those bastards who sulks when a lady needs more time.
And yet I can’t help but wonder why she wanted to stop when I could feel the desire in her, a mirror of my own.
I watch as she turns back to the chili con carne with a visible effort. In the reflection of the window, I see her licking her lips, as though tasting our kiss, reliving it.
Her tanginess swirls around me.
My manhood gives a pulse.
But for all that, dinner does smell goddamn incredible.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Millie
I dish out the chili con carne and the rice, my heartbeat still not calming down even though it’s been minutes since the kiss.
The way he grabbed me, the freaking animalism of it, as though there’s this crazy sexy beast inside of him just waiting to break out … It makes me shiver, despite the heat of the house and the steam in the kitchen.
I wanted to sink deeper into the kiss, to let his hand slide up between my legs and ply the pleasure there. I wanted to squirm against him, to drive the pleasure deeper, longer until my lust was off its leash and I was crying out with release.
But then what? a voice whispered inside of me. What happens when things go further and he finds out just how inexperienced you really are?
Markus sits at the table in his steel blue suit, the jacket hugging him snugly, outlining the shape of his powerful body beneath. He’s shaved and a light smirk plays on those oh-so-kissable lips as he watches me dish up the dinner, his savage eyes lingering on my ass more than once.
Despite the nerves rioting inside me, a flurry of celebration goes up to.
I have proof now.
He’s attracted to me.
Or it’s a trick—
I stamp down on that part of my mind, remembering the way he thrummed hotly against me.
I carry over our plates and cutlery, and then take a seat next to him. The table is so small that our legs touch beneath it, and I must be going pretty crazy because even that subtle contact sends shimmers up my thighs. They dance over my sex, still wet from our kiss, my clit pulsing and my womb screaming at me from within.
Why did you stop? Kiss him, fuck him, take every single drop of his seed he’s willing to give you.
“Jesus,” Markus says, closing his eyes for a moment after he’s swallowed his first mouthful. “This is incredible.”
Delight sparkles through me at the compliment, our eyes locking for a moment. Giddiness whelms within me as time seems to flit forward, and for a second it’s like we’re a couple sharing a meal, and maybe our children are asleep upstairs, safe and sound, and everything’s going to be okay, always …
Talk about getting ahead of yourself.
I bet he’d sprint straight out of the door if I shared any of those thoughts with him.
“Where did you learn to cook?” he says, after swallowing another mouthful.
Alarm blares through me at his question, but I find myself not wanting to lie to him, even if I should lie to him considering we hardly even know each other.
But it feels like we do.
Talk about making no freaking sense.
“Growing up, I guess,” I murmur.
“You guess?” he smirks, with a playful note in his voice, his eyes teasing with an undertone of pure beastly hunger.
“Growing up,” I say firmly, shooting him a sassy look, unable to stop myself.
Bantering with him just feels so sweet.
“It was my escape, in a way,” I go on. “Where I lived, we didn’t really have money for books. I love reading now. And once I got my library card, that was it, I was addicted. And my Kindle? That was like a drug to me. But that came much later. The library was far away and I could only go there so often. But what we did have was this whole collection of cookbooks. I sort of lost myself in those, dreaming up all the dishes I’d make one day. Then when I finally had a kitchen and a chance to try my hand at it, I realized I’d already learned a bunch of this stuff in my head. I made mistakes along the way – I still make mistakes – but I really care about improving. I want to be a head chef. One day. But I’m trying to be realistic about it, too.”
I break off, stunned that I just
unloaded like that, I stare down at my food, I realize.
Markus reaches across and touches my chin, bringing my eyes to meet his. I shiver with the desire I felt when he kissed me, the almost unstoppable chorus of it rising inside of me, screaming, yearning.
“If this meal is anything to go by,” he growls, “you’re going to be an incredible chef.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
We both go back to eating, Markus clearly loving the food, savoring the taste of it with each mouthful.
When his eyes swim like that, I can’t help but want them to swim for me, for them to fill with hunger when he strips me bare, covers every inch of me in kisses and bites, and then …
And then what? And then you try to compete with the women he’s been with before? Good luck with that.
“So you lived rurally growing up?” Markus asks.
“No,” I say. “Why?”
“Just the comment you made about living far away from the library.”
“Well, we sort of lived far away,” I murmur. “The library was technically only four miles away, but the city we lived in had terrible public transport and it wasn’t exactly the sort of place you want to walk around on your own, especially late at night.”
Markus nods, listening.
“It was an orphanage,” I say, shocked at myself for sharing this, for even speaking about this. “My parents died when I was five years old. I can’t even remember them. It was a house fire and I was the only one to survive because the door to my room was closed and kept the fire out long enough for the fire department to save me. Apparently, the dryer overheated and it just tore through the house and …”
I cough back a sob, the old sadness rising up with a vengeance and embarrassing tears start streaking down my cheeks. I try to push them away, knowing that this is the last thing I should be doing on a date, after a kiss, if I want him to keep being attracted to me.
But on and on, the tears come, punching sobs in the back of my throat.
It’s as though the closeness with Markus has awoken something inside of me, and now it won’t stop. Jagged and cutting, the sadness comes, it attacks.
Taming Her Beast Page 4