Forged in Smoke (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel Book 3)

by Trish McCallan

  A raspy sound, almost a purr, rumbled in her ear. A surge of giddy excitement shot through her, and her smile grew wider. Wicked.

  Slowly her hand stroked its way down his abdomen to curl around his penis. His hips arched with each pump of her hand, and the rumbling turned guttural. She lifted her head long enough to scan his face. His eyes were still closed, but the lines in his forehead and bracketing his mouth had tightened even further and there was an air of expectation about him, of breathless anticipation. She was almost certain he was awake.

  Bracing her palm against his right shoulder, she pushed. He gave easily beneath the pressure, rolling over to sprawl out on his back.

  Perfect . . .

  Still grasping his penis, she squirmed up and over him, and went back to work with her mouth and her hand. Only this time she started her downward trek at his nipples—circling one with her tongue and then the other, before suckling.

  A groan broke from him, and the arm around her waist shifted, sliding down to her bare bottom. As his hand slid between her legs, it was her turn to catch her breath and freeze. The warmth in her belly tightened and heated. When his hand went still, simply lying there, a thick, burning presence tucked between her thighs, she started moving again. Squirming against him, she trailed a line of nips and wet suckling kisses down his abdomen. With each nibbling caress along his torso, her fingers tightened around his penis, sliding down and then up in a lingering caress.

  The rise and fall of his chest increased, so did the thud of his heart. This time when she lifted her head long enough to glance at his face, his eyes were open and locked on her, fiery with hunger. The heat in his eyes burned into and through her, liquefying her muscles and spiking her temperature. She jumped from hot to scorching in an instant.

  Avoiding those blazing, intense eyes, she returned her attention to his abdomen, lingering over the flat washboard length of his belly. Her teeth scraped, followed by the soothing swipe of her tongue and suckle of her lips. With each caress, his flesh twitched beneath her mouth. Imperceptibly, the hand between her thighs gravitated upward until it pressed with flaming insistence against her wet, throbbing core. With each swipe of her tongue or nip from her teeth, a corresponding series of tingles spread from her core, into her belly, and down her legs.

  Instinctively, she opened her legs wider and rocked against his fingers, silently encouraging his exploration. But his hand just lay there absolutely still, a sizzling, erotic distraction.

  Scraping her teeth down his belly to suckle at his hip, she tightened her grip around his erection and increased the up-and-down slide of her hand. A groan broke from him, much thicker and raspier than before. The sound shot off an avalanche of satisfaction throughout her. He didn’t try to hide his reactions from her. Didn’t pretend her touch didn’t affect him, deeply. He was so completely open about the way she made him feel.

  A sense of power flooded her—of confidence. It was a heady combination and one she intended to explore in length and depth . . . after she finished idolizing his body.

  By the time she reached the rigid jut of flesh claimed by her fingers, he’d stopped breathing entirely. The hand melting the flesh between her thighs sat there absolutely still, as though he didn’t want to distract her.

  Nibbling her way across his hip and up his penis, she replaced the long, firm slide of her hand with the long, wet glide of her mouth and tongue. He tasted salty and earthy and absolutely delicious. She managed two lingering trips from the bulbous head down to the thickened trunk and the soft, warm globes before he broke. Dragging her up and over him, he nudged her legs apart until she straddled him.

  The hand between her thighs stroked up, delicately parting the folds of her sex to rub repeatedly against the wet, swollen folds. Her breath clotted in her chest. Quiver after quiver shook her as his finger rubbed its way to the little knot of nerves. Her pussy tightened and swelled, moistening with urgency.

  Straightening, she arched her back and clenched her legs as fever exploded through her, rippling through muscles and veins, cinching every nerve tight, feeding the urge to bear down and take him inside.

  She needed him inside her, filling her, completing her.

  A finger slipped into her, stroked her once, and pulled back out. She felt the bulbous head of his penis replace his finger. And then he was pushing inside her. The hot, thick length of him filling her, stretching her, binding her to him in the most primitive way possible.

  She froze above him, straddling his hips, savoring the hot thickness of him stretching her. The sense of fullness. Of throbbing heat. Of coming home.

  The brilliant blue eyes holding her gaze flashed as he stirred restively beneath her. His face tightened with urgency. “Come on. Darlin’, you’re killin’ me.”

  She stared down at him, at the primitive hunger stamped so clearly across his face. And a dense molten pressure settled just below her belly. Tingles prickled up her spine and down her legs. Slowly she pushed herself up with her knees, rising steadily until the thick length of him almost slipped out of her, before bearing down again, taking him back inside.

  He groaned, arching his hips to meet hers, his head pressed back against the pillow. Rough hands latched on to her hips, lifting her and then dragging her back down. The liquid pressure in her belly coalesced, contracting into a tight ball of raw throbbing. She moved faster, her breath trapped in her chest, her eyes blurring, the heat rising so fast and stifling she felt ready to burst into flames.

  Vaguely, she was aware of an infinite litany of guttural groans echoing in her ringing ears, but she wasn’t sure whether they came from her or the man arching into her.

  One of his hands dropped from her hips and slid between her thighs. It found the tight bud of her sex and rolled it between his fingers. White-hot lightning speared from his fingers into the throbbing ball in the pit of her belly. She arched and bore down, screaming as the pressure exploded. Tingles swept up and out, morphed into shudders that ripped through her body from toes to scalp.

  As the tingles and shudders engulfed her, liquefying muscle and bone, she was vaguely aware of movement, of rolling. And then Rawls was above her, the heavy muscles of his shoulders bunched, his face taut, neck corded as he thrust into her.

  She focused on the flushed rigidity of his face, the blind urgency in his eyes, and the tingles exploded again, sweeping through her with even more force than before. As the tingles reached her head, white static took over her mind and then she was flying and crashing, his raw, breathless shout echoing in her ringing ears.

  What might have been a millennium later, she returned to awareness under the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

  “What?” she asked.

  Since opening her eyes was too much effort and her limbs had fallen into that post-gratification lethargy and refused to move, she sighed with contentment and cuddled into the sweaty masculine body splayed out beneath her. He must have rolled them again while she was out of it. As beds went, he was hard and narrow and hot and altogether perfect.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice raspy and strangely solemn. Fingers slid through her hair, untangling the strands before trailing down her face to cup her cheek. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  A smile threatened. Since it was a stretch of the imagination to call her the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he must be in what was generally referred to as the postcoital glow. Why that tickled her, she had no idea.

  “You find that funny?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

  “No.” She opened her eyes, letting the smile spread across her lips. “I think it’s sweet.”

  “Sweet?” He shook his head and leaned down, brushing a soft kiss across her lips. “There’s nothin’ sweet about it. It’s pure fact, darlin’.”

  Sure it was . . .

  But she let the statement pass unchallenged. If he wanted to see her that way, who was she to contradict him?

  He brushed another, slightly firmer, k
iss across her mouth before pulling back to scan her face. “You.” He leaned in and brushed another kiss across her mouth. “Are.” Another kiss. “Beautiful.” This time he pressed the kiss into her forehead, his lips lingering. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” Pulling back to study her face, he absently stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

  She laughed, turning her head to kiss his fingers. “Aren’t you the one who told me, and I quote, ‘You’re too damn thin’?”

  “You are, and we’re gonna do somethin’ about that.” He trailed his right hand down her side until he reached her midriff, where he stopped to stroke the indentations between her ribs. “But that does nothin’ to distract from how beautiful you are. Hell, once you get some meat on those bones, you’ll be the most gorgeous woman in the world. Every other poor female on the planet will fade into the woodwork by comparison.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes, but that light, fluffy blanket of contentment filled her to overflowing.

  “You don’t see it, do you? How special you are.” His arm slid around her waist and tightened. “That’s just one of the things I love about you. Your complete lack of ego.”

  Shaking her head slightly, she smiled up at him. “My ego’s as healthy as the next girl’s. I guess I’ve just been more worried about my insides than my outsides. So I’ve never paid much attention to—” Abruptly the rest of his words kicked in and she froze.

  Did he say what I think he said?

  “Wh-wha—” The question was strangled beneath a wave of giddy anticipation. “What did you say?”

  “That you don’t see how special you are?” The hand on her face slipped down to her chin and lifted her head. “That you don’t have an ego?”

  The smile he laid on her was full of bland innocence.

  “Not that, the other.” She breathed shallowly, a sense of stillness rising from within her. Expectation swelled, along with the certainty that her life was about to change irrevocably.

  The expression on his face shifted from innocent to grave.

  “What? That I love you?” The admission emerged as solemn as a vow.

  The breath left her in a rush. “I think I love you too.”

  He fell back to the bed, chuffing out a breath that was half laugh. “You think?”

  “It’s just that we’ve only known each other ten days. And we’ve really only talked during the past few days. And everyone knows that extreme danger and adrenaline can mess with a person’s emotions. And—” Laughter burst from him. “Why are you laughing?” she asked, eyeing him with disgruntlement.

  The blue eyes that locked on her face gleamed with amusement. Periodic ripples of laughter shook his torso, which in turn rippled through her body since they were pressed so closely together.

  “Because none of that matters and you damn well know it.” He threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair and held her gaze. “Love doesn’t subscribe to a set schedule. It happens when it happens. Sometimes it’s instant, sometimes it takes years. And sometimes it takes ten days and twelve hours.”

  Ten days and twelve hours.

  The words resonated with her. He’d listed the exact length of time they’d known each other. And she knew he was right. The knowledge that she loved him sat warm and solid in her heart, even if her mind insisted on analyzing and second-guessing.

  “Besides.” He nuzzled the side of her neck as his hands slid up and down her back in a soothing caress. “I reckon we’re not in an almighty hurry to move things along. We’ll give that scientific mind of yours plenty of time to examine and adapt and climb on board.”

  It was the oddest thing, but the simple fact that he’d realized her brain and heart were at odds was an immense relief. If he knew her well enough to know that, maybe he did know her well enough to love her.

  She studied his relaxed, certain face.

  And maybe she knew him well enough for love to bloom too.

  It felt right to lie there in his arms, pressed so closely against him she could feel the beat of his heart against hers, the warmth of his cooling skin.

  It felt real, this emotion connecting them. It felt strong. It felt reciprocated.

  Which was more than enough to hold tight to and build on.

  Mac’s coffee mug froze midway to his mouth. He watched in disbelief as his corpsman, at the table to his left, set two plates piled high with eggs, bacon, hash browns, and French toast on the aluminum table in front of Faith Ansell.

  Who in the hell did he expect to eat that heap of calories? While Rawls might manage to wade his way through one of the plates—eventually—his woman ate like a picky bird. She’d polish off a tenth of that mound at best.

  When Rawls stepped over the bench seat and sat next to Faith, settling so close to her they were practically sealed together from hip to shoulder, Mac shook his head in disgust and lifted the mug to his mouth. Another good man down for the count. This falling in love shit had become an epidemic.

  “Benji,” Amy said to his right as she neatly sliced her son’s fried egg into pieces. “If you spent half the time working on your breakfast as you do talking, you’d be finished eating by now.”

  Her youngest, sitting across the table next to Cosky, turned to scowl at her. “But Mom, it’s important. I’m helping him get a dog.”

  A dog?

  Mac caught Cosky’s dry expression. Yeah, Cosky wasn’t the one interested in dogs.

  He studiously ignored the heat blasting him from hip to shoulder thanks to the damn woman sitting so close to him. Why the hell couldn’t she have chosen a different table, hell, a different room—although he suspected a different cafeteria wouldn’t have lessened the effect she had on him.

  Suddenly Cosky’s amused voice echoed in his mind . . . haunting him.

  “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you look at her, Mac. Fuck—you look at her the same way Rawls looks at his doctor.”

  He shuddered and banished the memory of Zane and Cosky’s uproarious laughter when he’d denied having feelings for the woman.

  Just because they’d formed their own personal pussy-whipped club didn’t mean he had any interest in joining them. His hand tightening around his mug, he avoided the woman on his right by concentrating furiously on the couple across from him.

  Cosky and Kait sat directly across from him, while Marion was a bit more to the left. Empty plates were pushed to the middle of the table and half-full coffee cups sat in front of them. Their heads were tilted together as they quietly discussed something—probably wedding plans. Assuming they managed to extract themselves from this Goddamn mess and waltz into a new life together.

  With a sour shake of his head, Mac glared down into the black depths of his coffee as though the bitter liquid held all the answers to their current predicament.

  The failure the night before had been a blow. No, he hadn’t expected much, considering the intel had come from a Goddamn ghost. But there must have been some hidden kernel of hope lodged deep in his moronic brain, because the frustration and disappointment when the insertion hadn’t yielded even one fucking clue was so thick he could almost taste the bitterness on his tongue.

  “You look like someone just shot your best coon hound,” Rawls said, pointing his fork toward Mac.

  While Rawls’s head was turned away, Faith stealthily forked three slices of bacon on top of his plate.

  Mac watched her fork an egg over as well and considered ratting her out on general principle. But hell, his lieutenant had to know she couldn’t eat that mountain of food. And from the way he’d demolished half his plate within seconds, maybe he’d planned on using her leftovers as a second course anyway.

  With a grumpy yawn, he scrubbed a hand down his face and grimaced. “We need to recover that damn prototype of Dr. Ansell’s. It’s too dangerous to leave in enemy hands.” He paused to scowl. “And I’m getting damn tired of coming up empty-handed.”

  He didn’t glance at Amy, but he could clearly imagine he
r tight, haunted expression. This moratorium on progress hadn’t just bit them squarely in the ass. It had bit Amy and her kids as well. As it stood, based on the doc’s latest round of tests on Brendan and Benji, Amy’s kids were well and truly fucked. That shit they’d been injected with wasn’t coming out anytime soon.

  The combined pressure of frustration and fury pushed against his chest, threatening to smother him.

  “At least we know who has it and who’s behind all this, which is more than we knew a couple days ago.” Cosky straightened, shooting him an undefinable look. “We’ve got actual names now.”

  Rawls shot his buddy a surprised look. Mac knew just how he felt.

  “Yeah, we got names”—he reminded Cosky sourly—“from a ghost.”

  Cosky shrugged. “Rawls says the names are legit. Wolf says they’re legit. The lab, with the missing scientists, was exactly where they said it would be. That’s good enough for me.”

  “James Link is our best bet,” Amy suddenly said from beside him. “Manheim will be harder to reach. He’s got the security to go with all that money. Link’s smaller potatoes. He’s accessible.”

  He was also the current CEO of Dynamic Solutions. If anyone had a shot at helping Amy’s kids, it would be that tech-savvy company. Mac could hardly blame her for fixing her sights on the opportunity with the best odds of curing her kids.

  Zane straddled the aluminum bench next to Mac and took a sip of his coffee only to blanch and gag. “Son of a bitch.”

  What the hell? Mac watched his lieutenant commander’s face turn green.

  “Beth tossing her cookies again?” Cosky asked with dry amusement.

  With a grimace, Zane stood back up. “I need something to settle her stomach. Coffee seems to be her biggest trigger.” He paused to scowl, a world of frustration on his face.