SEAL My Destiny (SEAL Brotherhood)

by Sharon Hamilton

  SEAL My Destiny

  Sharon Hamilton

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  Author’s Note

  I always dedicate my SEAL Brotherhood books to the brave men and women who defend our shores and keep us safe. Without their sacrifice, and that of their families—because a warrior’s fight always includes his or her family—I wouldn’t have the freedom and opportunity to make a living writing these stories. They sometimes pay the ultimate price so we can debate, argue, go have coffee with friends, raise our children and see them have children of their own.

  One of my favorite homages to warriors resides on many memorials, including one I saw honoring the fallen of WWII on an island in the Pacific:

  “When you go home

  Tell them of us, and say

  For your tomorrow,

  We gave our today.”

  These are my stories created out of my own imagination. Anything that is inaccurately portrayed is either my mistake, or done intentionally to disguise something I might have overheard over a beer or in the corner of one of the hangouts along the Coronado Strand.

  Wounded Warriors is the one charity I give to on a regular basis. I encourage you to get involved and tell them thank you:

  https://support.woundedwarriorproject.org.

  Copyright © 2014 by Sharon Hamilton

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. In many cases, liberties and intentional inaccuracies have been taken with rank, description of duties, locations and aspects of the SEAL community.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Author’s Note

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  About the Author

  The SEAL Brotherhood Series

  Other Books by Sharon Hamilton

  Chapter 1

  ‡

  NAVY SEAL LUKE Paulsen had that dream again.

  Her red lips felt like succulent pillows against his cool mouth. Though he was huddled in his Afghan dugout bunk, he could feel the delicate vibration of her moan as her lust for him whispered things. Unmentionable things. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall her words. He could only remember the heat washing over him while she breathed life into him. Again. Like she did every night.

  A sharp crack of gunfire forced him to open his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Carson’s frightened face in profile just before the young Marine caught a round in the chest, ripping through him between his shoulder blades. In a graceful dance Luke had seen all too often, Carson fell into his arms, and he watched the youngster’s life bleed out onto the sandy pit and all over his boots. He held Carson’s clear blue gaze, and, without saying a word, told him he’d see him again one day, while he witnessed the young Marine’s passage from his arms into the arms of death. The boy’s eyes remained open and fixed after his soul had departed.

  A split second later, Luke remembered who he was and why he was here. A day’s ride by donkey from anywhere. He lifted the tiny mirror on a wire, the sun to his back.

  Still clutching the body of the lifeless Marine, he traced the trajectory of the round that had killed his young apprentice, and caught the glint of dark blue steel disappearing into a blackened doorway. Laying the Marine down gently, he picked up his H&K MP5, counted to five while he clicked the safety once. Before he saw the barrel of the ragman’s rifle again, he fired off several rounds which landed exactly ten inches above the protuberance, and then saw the red spray of a kill.

  Was it wrong that the color of the spray reminded him of her crimson lips? That he died a thousand little deaths with each of her kisses?

  His dreams were stealing his present.

  A WEEK LATER, SO Luke Paulsen watched the sun pour itself into the horizon from one of San Diego’s white sand beaches. The afterglow felt good. So did the flush on his face from the three beers. He usually drank with the rest of his SEAL Team 3. But this last DT, Disassociative Tour, in Afghanistan had teamed him with cadres of young Marines eager to prove themselves, including Carson, the medic-in-training.

  But Carson had drawn a different card and had taken the short flight to heaven while his body took the long flight home. Luke raised his long-necked IPA to the sunset and toasted the kid.

  “To all the young hearts you won’t break,” he whispered to the soothing waves and the sunset.

  It was a damned shame. Carson would have made an excellent doctor.

  Luke heard laughter as two lovelies in shorts ran past him to splash in the surf. Slender, tanned legs kicked droplets of white foam into the air. He loved watching the girls’ carefree spirit, just being goofy and lacking an ounce of self-consciousness. He couldn’t help but smile.

  The dark-haired girl, the one with the cut off, inside-out sweatshirt that showed her muscled midriff, stopped and turned to face Luke. Her brown eyes were set wide apart over a thin nose that led to full, bright red lips. She licked those lips and pushed her mahogany brown hair from her forehead, exposing a delicious ridge of little worry lines on an otherwise smooth and flawless forehead. She cocked her head at a tiny angle and waved in that embarrassed way her mother must have told her never to do. Especially to a strange sailor sitting alone on the beach with empty beer bottles at his feet.

  Luke waved back, using the same twiddled fingers she used, sending his communication off with a shy smile. He imitated the angle of her head and felt the dangerous curiosity and wonder of their chance meeting.

  He wanted her in the worst way.

  The blonde was pulling her friend, gesturing to a spot down the beach, but the dark-haired girl wasn’t having any of it. Luke’s unspoken message clearly had reached her, and the golden tethers of his thoughts drew her to him, just as if he had special powers. It was lovely when that happened. He could almost believe in the supernatural, like those paranormal guys his sister read about in her romance novels.

  The exquisite young thing with the well-defined legs came to within striking distance. If he wanted to—and hell, yes, he wanted to—he could reach out and bring her into his arms. And he could tell she wouldn’t resist. But it would be so much better if he showed a little restraint.

  Those who wait? What was that saying?

  No matter. Luke
felt the confusing enchantment, like vamps did in those books. It was a pleasant fantasy. Let her have her way with him. Yes. He could tell she believed she had a date with destiny.

  I can be your destiny for one night, darlin’.

  She disposed of her friend with a sharp command and, alone now, stepped closer to Luke. “You look like you could use some company,” she said as she swung her upper torso from side to side. Her feet were planted in the sand and he watched her pink nail polish peek out from beneath the grains.

  Lady, you have lovely toes.

  But she’d asked a question that needed an answer.

  “That depends,” he was stunned at the joy it gave him let his eyes walk slowly up her body, every lovely inch, heightened by the knowledge that she let him. He watched the tops of her breasts quiver under the cotton sweatshirt.

  He’d learned to assess subtle changes in body language and heart rate. He noticed the blush in her cheeks and the red blotches on her chest just below the delicate V at the top of her breastbone. His eyes roamed over her quivering chest again and he smiled. He couldn’t wait to hear her response.

  “Depends on what?” she asked. Her brown eyes mirrored truths he wasn’t sure he’d divulged to himself.

  “If it’s complicated,” he said. “I like uncomplicated.” He was telling her something he was trying to convince himself he believed.

  She took a sudden brief inhale, her gaze quickly diverted to the ocean, giving him a full-pour look at her upper torso, every curve and dip, until he thought perhaps he could even taste her skin. What Luke saw in profile was a strong, handsome woman with a body made for hard loving, and who was unafraid.

  Then she turned back and faced him fully. She sunk to her knees in front of him so quickly he thought perhaps she’d suddenly gotten ill. “I don’t do uncomplicated,” she whispered. “I like it complicated, and rich. I like entangled. I like feeling everything and being sorely missed when I’m gone.”

  She didn’t physically touch him, but she had mated with a part of his body that was rarely visited.

  His soul.

  The next few minutes flew in a blur of erotic fantasy, his body working on autopilot. He asked her the question without speaking a word. Keeping her eyes on his, but raising an eyebrow, she smiled softly, waiting for his response and then focused on his mouth. He stood, held out his hand, and they raced for the parking area.

  He walked around the front of his red Mustang, watching her squirm to get comfortable, crossing those impossible legs on his leather front seat. His pants were tight from things springing to life. Yup. He had the brass band, the pom-poms, and the whole fucking cheering section working on him now. It was going to be an effort to take it slow.

  He realized he wasn’t going to be in charge when he opened the driver’s door and tucked his stiff torso carefully around the steering wheel. When he looked at her face, she was staring at his lap.

  So much for secrets.

  Now that she knew he knew that she knew, it was going to be fucking impossible to move any slower than the speed of a bullet train.

  “I’m between places…” he began by way of an apology.

  “I have a roommate, and she’s home tonight,” she said as she frowned. “But I’m okay with a motel.”

  They were magic words. He leaned across the center console and planted a long, languid kiss against her hungry lips, lips just like the girl in his dream. She wore her perfume subtly, somewhere behind her ears or between her breasts, because the mild fragrance hooked his chest until he found himself with his arms wrapped around her, pressing her into him, feeling those firm, perfect breasts.

  Her delicate fingers slid down his thigh and traveled over his erection. She squeezed him, and his package stiffened to full attention. He didn’t want her to stop, but he’d make a mess right there in the front seat of his Mustang if they didn’t get to a motel quick.

  He managed to separate himself but held her fingers in his right hand while he turned the ignition with his left. After the car roared to life, his fingers began seriously having their way with her smooth skin and the dimples above her bottom, just inside her waistband, working down. She leaned forward to allow him access to anything he wanted. His forefinger had just discovered the warm cleft at the top of her derriere. She inhaled and leaned back onto his hand. Her voice was ragged as she whispered, “Hurry.”

  He clumsily shifted into drive, again with his left hand, and drove one-armed, with his dick stiff enough to handle the steering wheel all by itself. The Pink Slipper Cottage motel came into view just in time.

  He thought about saying something like, “I wish I could take you some place nicer,” but that would draw too much attention to his meager military salary. Maybe she didn’t like sailors. And saying something like “You’re probably used to more expensive places,” might indicate he thought she slept around a lot.

  Fuck. No, it was safest to just say nothing.

  She was all over him while he signed the guest register. The college kid with thick, round glasses tried hard not to notice, except he kept clearing his throat and swallowing hard. She slid a hand down the front of Luke’s pants, which made him do a reverse whistle with his mouth.

  “Luggage?” the clerk asked, and then snapped his eyes shut after stealing a look at her. The young man was in pain and couldn’t control his shaking.

  “I’ll get it later,” Luke answered.

  Room 428 was tiny, not that it mattered. As soon as the door closed behind him she was removing his shirt, her hands riding up the muscular ridges of his chest. The feel of her warm flesh against his, her hair brushing gently against the underside of his chin, the way she shimmied herself out of her shorts with the help of both his hands, were driving him wild with anticipation. He couldn’t get them properly naked fast enough.

  She stepped back and sat on the bed, allowing him a full-length view of her nakedness, her shaved pussy, and the lips of her sex dipping down like his thirsty tongue. She propped herself on one hand, her knees spread, as she let him come to her, while she twirled a bit of her dark hair around the fingers of her right hand. It was his turn to drop to his knees.

  He looked up at her while his hands reached out and touched her, barely at first, then with a lazy forefinger that circled her nub and slid up and down her moist passage. He loved looking at the fire building in her eyes when he made her wetness coat first one finger, then the other one, then a third until she accepted him fully. She leaned back enough so that he had all the room he needed, in case he might want to bring his face to her peach and drink.

  Which of course he did. Happy to oblige. He saw the pink flesh of her lips parted as his tongue darted around the little button that made her jerk, while he sucked the lovely, tangy moisture from her like he needed it to survive. While his fingers smoothed over her ass and tested a slight press against her anus. She didn’t shy away. His cock got so stiff he had to adjust himself with his other hand. And he let her see it.

  He was feeling more alive than he had in days. He’d held death, but now he was holding the promise of an evening of spilled seed, sweat, and anything else they could think of. She waited for him to taste his fill, her long hair falling down to touch the tops of her buttocks as she arched back and moaned.

  He took his time with her, which he knew was what she wanted. She said she liked entangled. Complicated. Well, hell, he’d give her intense, then he’d worry about the entangled later. Right now it was all about keeping himself in check long enough to keep from exploding all over his knees.

  Finally, he stood, looking down at her, cupping her face between his hands. With his fingers reaching into the mahogany strands behind her ears, he brought her to his mouth, still wet with her arousal. Before they could meet, she closed the distance, pressed against his hunger, and fed from his lips. His tongue found hers and caressed it as she plunged deep.

  Slowly she wrapped one leg around his and slid her wet sex against his thigh. Her breathing was ragged, te
lling him she couldn’t press hard enough, couldn’t get enough. He lifted her with both hands seated below her butt cheeks, and slid her over his erection until her opening got snagged on him.

  At this she tensed. Out of nowhere she produced a foil packet. He didn’t want to set her down, but she was determined he wear something, so he obliged her. He let her lead him over to the bed, where she pushed him down, climbed on top, and slowly ripped the upper edge of the foil packet. It was one of those fancy pink gizmos with ridges.

  Holy Goats, how am I going to last?

  As if she heard him, she smiled. She pulled on his hand where it rested under his head on the starched white pillow, and made him help her. Used his fingers to lubricate her opening, then lubricate him, and then cover him with the pink latex. In tandem, they massaged his rock hard cock up and then down slowly.

  Two of his fingers were still inside her when his cock entered her and she took a quick, deep inhale, and then settled herself down on him, laying her legs back and to the side for full penetration. God, he was deep.

  They began a rhythmic pattern. She rode him, and she raised herself and then crushed into him while her muscles contracted around him and he started to feel a loss of control.

  He’d been clutching one of her butt cheeks so hard while he rammed up into her, he felt welts on her skin. She removed his hand and showed him she wanted to change positions. She rolled to her side, then on her stomach, raising her sweet little derriere.

  He got to his knees behind her as if in worship. He could fully enjoy her little nude opening, the red glistening folds that beckoned to be touched, kissed, pressed to move aside.

  He kissed her there, from behind, tilted his head and watched his fingers dip into her again. She closed her eyes, and then turned her face into the pillow, arching up even further. He tucked one of the pillows under her belly and smoothed his fingers over her ass, massaging the cleft between her cheeks. With one finger on her anus button, he positioned himself, ready to enter from behind. He rooted at her opening. His granite cock had no trouble navigating the lubricated soft tissues of her sex. He plunged deep again, deliciously burying himself to the hilt.