Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1)

by Rachel Robinson

  With no family of my own and the evil ghosts from my past plaguing me, this afternoon was a reminder of what will never truly be mine. Smith lost a lot, but he still has so much. My hope is that I can be a part of it for as long as he’ll let me. I open my eyes once more and the blue digital clock reads 12:07 a.m. I close my eyes for the final time, turn off my brain, and finally fall asleep.

  First, sunlight peeking from the blinds wakes me. Next I’m acutely aware of the heavy arm slung across the middle of my body and his chest pressed against my back, creating a heat that warms me from the outside in. When I stir, Smith props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. “What time did you get in last night?” I roll over to face him. The smile comes without my permission. Waking up to this sight makes me happier than anything in my past.

  “This morning,” he replies. “A few hours ago.” A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s 7 a.m. “I didn’t want to wake you when I came in. You looked so peaceful in your drool filled slumber.” He smiles and it melts my insides. I suck in a deep breath.

  “I do not drool,” I say, furrowing my brow. “I sleep like a Disney princess. Don’t suggest anything to contradict that.” I wipe at my bottom lip. It’s currently dry. “You should go back to sleep, Smith. You can’t possibly be ready to wake after only a few hours of sleep.”

  Shrugging, he pulls me into his warm, shirtless body and yanks the quilt back up to our necks, his hands now wandering over my body. “Sleep is the very last thing on my mind right now.” His gaze burns into mine and his hands find the hem of my nightshirt. His lips twitch. “You wear so little to bed. I can’t help myself,” he says. With a featherlight touch his fingertips stroke the side of my thigh up to the string of my panties. He hooks a finger in and drags his finger underneath it, teasing himself. Teasing me, too. “It took all of my self-control to go to sleep with this much of your bare skin in touching proximity.”

  I blush. Big time. Everything below my waist cries out for attention in one wild rush of excitement. It’s been too long. But it’s more than that now because everything before this has been lukewarm. “What did you do at work last night?” I ask before all important thoughts flee my mind in favor of his touch—something that scrambles my brain cells. “Why did it take so long?”

  His face changes. His hand stops on my hipbone and he grabs it, his fingers encompassing the whole side of my body. Breathing in and out makes his hand move with me. It’s warm. It’s demanding. “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Smith replies.

  I shake my head. “When people say stuff like that typically there is almost always something to worry about, but you don’t want to worry the person. Do you see how counterintuitive that is? Now I’m worried because you told me not to worry.”

  He sighs and then pulls the covers over his head and disappears under the blankets. In a fast maneuver that tickles and makes me pull away in mock protest, he makes his way between my legs. With the edge of the quilt in my hand I lift it to see his smiling face between my knees. “You’re trying to distract me,” I say. Pressing my lips into a firm line, I try to hold a serious face. “Smith Eppington. You better tell me what I want to know.”

  Smith takes the sides of my panties and pulls them down and off my body with one fierce tug. It’s playful, but so damn hot at the same. Some noise exits my mouth and it makes him smile, his good side wider than his bad. I shake my head. “Is it working?” he asks, then kisses the inside of my right thigh. “Are you distracted?” His warm breath on my skin clenches my core. He drags his lips up and down, inching his way higher.

  I adjust my legs and try to calm my breaths. “I don’t see how I can’t be distracted with my underwear on the floor and your head between my legs. I don’t forget,” I say. Tapping the side of my head, I finish, “I’m like an elephant.”

  He licks the inside of my left thigh and runs his hands under my nightshirt up and down the sides of my rib cage. I shiver. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes.

  “An elephant isn’t what I want to think about right now,” Smith growls. “I’d ask you how you like this, but I honestly don’t care. I’m starving for you. You’re wet. I smell you.” With his lips pressing against my skin, and the disappearance of my panties, he’s turned into a lust crazed man. A man I’ve wanted to meet since I first laid eyes on him.

  Taking the quilt, I throw it back so he’s fully exposed and not lacking oxygen. “Don’t think about an elephant. Think about me,” I say, breathing in and out in a panic as I realize what’s about to happen. His tongue traces lazy circles where my leg joins my body. “And whatever you do, do not stop doing that,” I moan.

  Smith finally moves his head where I want it. My own head, which feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, swims in sheer bliss. His mouth is warm and his fingers stroke me deftly, slipping inside to rub just the right spot, the place most men don’t even know exists. I moan out as the sensations—the connection—envelops every nerve ending. Smith is aggressive in his maneuvers, pushing my legs out to give himself better access, holding my hips down when I try to arch my back.

  Knowing I won’t be able to hold out much longer, I give in completely, as if I had a choice, and let myself grab his hair and ride the sensations. The noises coming out of Smith cause a riot of emotions. The dominant one being lust. There’s no calmness or leisurely pleasuring happening. It’s animalistic, complete loss of control. I guide his head into me when I feel him slip another finger inside. He strokes a few more times, without halting his flicking tongue, and I lose it. The orgasm hits my body in waves, from my tingling thighs to the warm flush of pleasure cascading every square inch of skin on my body. The waves go on and on, my muscles tense, and my eyes closed tight.

  When Smith is sure I’m finished he rests his chin on my lower stomach, but doesn’t remove his massive hands from my thighs. The heat from his palms keeps me in a fog of bliss, unsure if more is coming. “And that is how it’s done,” I say, sighing. I haven’t had an orgasm in months. I haven’t had an orgasm that strong and body consuming in my lifetime. He’s smiling at me, his eyes lazily wandering over my face and exposed stomach. “I still can’t catch my breath. No elephants in this room, huh?”

  He kisses the flat plane of the skin stretched across my hipbones. “Who needs to breathe when you can have orgasms?” Smith smiles. It’s predatory and full of promise. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of doing that? Of hearing your screams, seeing your face knowing I’m responsible for making you feel good, tasting your sweet pussy?” He shakes his head and licks a trail from my stomach back down between my legs. He presses a soft kiss at my wet entrance. “Feeling you clench in release around my fingers while I envision it being my dick instead?”

  I take a deep breath as my muscles contract from his mouth. “Probably as long as I’ve dreamed about reciprocating the favor?” I ask.

  He stops kissing and fingering me. “You mean sucking me off?” Smith’s gaze flicks up to meet mine and I can tell it’s painful for him to take his attention away from where he really wants it.

  “Or a blow job. Your dick in my warm, wet mouth,” I say. Tracing my lips with my thumb, I continue. “My lips wrapping around you as I lick and suck, taking you all the way back into my throat until you come.” I smirk. My confidence is bolstered by the adrenaline and the pure power I feel being in his presence. He continues staring, a blank, unreadable expression playing across his features. “Unless you don’t want that,” I amend.

  Smith doesn’t take his eyes off my mouth as I speak. I’m unable to read his feelings on the subject and regret speaking in such a manner. He started the dirty talk, so I assumed it would be okay for me to reciprocate. “That’s not your thing. It’s okay. Sorry for mentioning it.” I blush every shade of red and I’m tan. I try to lean up, but he places a hand on my stomach to hold me in place.

  “She’s never done that,” Smith says, voice so low I almost don’t make out the words. “I’ve never had a blow job. Don’t be sorr
y for mentioning it. I’m celebrating internally. I needed a moment to process what you said.”

  He’s joking. He has to be. A full-grown man who looks like Smith gets blow jobs whenever he wants. He told me Megan was the only woman he’s ever been with. I believed it, but I also assumed their sex life was top-notch. Look at her. Look at him. I never saw this coming. Not by a long shot. “Don’t joke right now, Smith.” My eyes are wide, confused.

  “Say my name again,” he growls.

  I grin. “Smith.”

  Leaning up on his knees, he pulls down his black boxer briefs. His erection springs free and I can’t take my eyes from it. I haven’t seen such anatomy in too long and I’ve never seen Smith’s. Envisioning it was my favorite game. Feeling it through his pants, pressing against my stomach when he hugged me gave me a pretty good idea what he was packing, but it’s nothing like seeing it in the flesh right now. It’s long, a rigid nine or ten inches, with a girth much wider than I’ve ever encountered in my sheltered years. Nothing compared to Roarke. I have no comparison. It’s beautiful.

  When I finally pull my gaze up to his eyes, he bites his bottom lip. “One thing on my body didn’t get fucked up,” he says. “Still game to show me the ropes?” he asks. He lifts and lowers his thick, broad shoulders.

  I sigh. The butterflies in my stomach threaten to rise into my throat. It’s an odd sensation. A little bit of stage fright mixes with absolute passion. I’ve never been a fan of blow jobs, honestly. It was something I had to do because men like them and it’s how you return the favor. Right now my mouth is watering for Smith. I want to taste him. I want to own this first—something that no one else can say. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” I say, my gaze still taking in the lower half of his body. “Well,” I stutter.

  With his hands perched on his hips, he says, “Finish that thought, please.”

  His command draws my gaze up to meet his. Smith’s warm voice is gritty with desire. It twists my insides into knots. “It wasn’t really a thought,” I reply. Taking his hand, I guide it back to my core. “It’s more of a given. I want to have sex with you.”

  Smith sucks in a breath, bites his lower lip, and closes his eyes. His eyebrows knit together. He’s holding himself back. It’s a look I’m not familiar with. In my previous relationship holding back wasn’t ever on the agenda. Roarke took from me exactly what he wanted regardless of how I felt. “We aren’t in the living room right now, so it’s obviously not on the agenda,” I say. I scoot forward to give him better access and tentatively reach for his hard-on.

  I watch as he swallows hard and then raises his other hand to my face. I lean into it. “All this time, I’ve gotten to know everything about you on the inside. The outside was a tightly held treasure of a mystery. The promise of the eighth wonder of the world. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time,” Smith growls. My eyes flutter closed for a brief moment as his fingers play me like his favorite instrument. “It’s not a disappointment. In case you’re curious. Every curve,” Smith whispers, dragging the hand from my cheek down my neck and trailing over the swell of my breast. “Every beauty mark.” The tip of his finger grazes the spot right next to my belly button. “Every single line, dip, and hair on your entire body.” He leans in and kisses me. A breath stealing kiss. A life-altering kiss. Into my ear he says, “Is my favorite memory.”

  “No more memories. Just now. Okay?” I say against his lips. “Our future,” I promise.

  He agrees with a megawatt smile and just the right words again. My heart flutters like the wings of a bird. This takes courage—a facet of my personality that’s buried deeply inside somewhere that hasn’t been accessed for years. Since I was a little girl, hugging my knees and praying for a miracle. My miracle happened. Just later than expected.

  “Well, this one last thing can go into memory. If you think it worthy enough,” I reply.

  Smith smirks as I lean over and push his boxer briefs further down his sculpted thighs. I take him into my mouth and relish in the hiss of air that leaves his mouth when I slide him in deeply. He swears. Every curse word in the book. Words I’ve never heard before pass his lips. For a man who has never received oral sex, he finds his role quickly. One hand is wrapped around my hair and the other is pushing the back of my neck in the fast rhythm that I quickly realize he enjoys most.

  My hand is tired and my jaw feels like it may never shut again, but the pressure is on to give him the best first of his life. It’s all I can give him at the moment and it feels glorious. Smith tells me a few times to slow down because he wants to last a while longer, wants to feel my wet mouth around him longer. I know it won’t take much longer when the grip on my hair tightens. I keep my hand pumping and take him to the back of my throat. He comes in several hot, long bursts down my throat. On the last jerk, he falls back into the kneeling position.

  I keep my mouth latched around him until I’m sure he’s finished and swallow the remnants. His grip loosens on my hair and neck. Taking a deep breath, I sit up again into the kneeling position. “Finish your thoughts, please,” I say, taking his words.

  “Best orgasm of my life. You swallowed it,” he says, eyes wide.

  I smile. “What did you think I would do with it?”

  “Spit it all over my body and break out into a thankless argument about how female ejaculation isn’t real,” he replies.

  Smith and I break out into laughter at the same time. He pins me on the bed. His weight is welcome and warm. The urge to have him deep inside me surfaces and I wonder if he knows how deliriously happy he makes me.

  I cover my mouth with one hand to stifle the laughter. Grabbing my wrist, he pulls my hand down. “Never cover that blessed device. Do you understand me?”

  I giggle and shrug. His beautiful eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles down at me. “I understand,” I say, feigning obedience.

  His mouth turns down as his smile disappears. “I’m sorry for being rough with your head. Surprisingly I had little control of that in the heat of the moment.”

  His concern gives me pause. “Don’t apologize. I know you would never hurt me purposefully. You would never hurt me in any way.” How I hope this is true. How I hope he is my forever. He runs his fingers through my hair gently. “Would you?”

  I know him well enough to know he will read between the lines like a pro. His eyes glaze over. He kisses my forehead and then the tip of my nose. I close my eyes when he kisses my eyelids.

  When I open them to find his true emotions playing across his face, for the very first time, I know my hopes will become a reality. “I love you, Carina. I love you forever.”

  And nothing can steal them away.

  Nothing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Smith

  IT DOESN’T HAPPEN VERY often, but when it does it’s a big deal. Rain in southern California. It comes down all day long and it’s a harsh, unrelenting flood because the streets and landscapes aren’t made for weather as such. When it stops and the sun shines down like a soldier staking his claim, it’s a sight to behold. You’ve missed it and you’re more than glad the warm beams are beating down on your skin. It’s a feeling like nothing else. That’s the only comparison that comes close to describing what it’s like to be with Carina intimately. To hold her body next to mine. To touch the skin that’s usually covered by her clothing. To see the parts only a lover is privy to.

  She’s the fucking sun. The rain, too. I can’t control myself around her. Carina has triggers after suffering abusive relationship after relationship. Yelling is one. Sex after an argument is another. Apparently, she closes herself off. Nothing sexual in the shower because it’s a small space, and she’s claustrophobic, and thank God hair pulling is not on her list.

  After the blow job, which will go down in history as the best in the world, she left for a meeting with Jasmine to talk work. I met Moose at our work gym and now we’re at the outdoor shooting range, practicing. It’s high tech and tracks everyt
hing: precision, speed, distance. These skills will prove to be of the utmost importance soon.

  A sense of clarity washes over me as my body goes into autopilot. The world melts away for an hour as I pull the trigger, aim, and repeat. I feel so much when I’m around Carina it’s almost a relief to think about nothing except the task at hand. When Moose finishes we head back to the high bay to hang out. He grabs a drink from the bar and hands me one.

  “I made it light. It is a work day,” Moose says. Smiling, he pats me on the shoulder before he takes a seat on the leather sofa opposite me. “What’s on your mind?” He looks at me over the rim of his glass.

  I shrug. “Nothing and everything,” I admit. “I’ve never been happier, but it’s the beginning. The tenuous part of any relationship and we’re about to ship out.” My palms, the same ones that scored almost a perfect score at the range, begin to sweat.

  Moose shakes his head. “There are no promises on that front. You heard the brief,” he says.

  Swallowing down the liquid fire, I relish the burn every step of the way down. I’m nervous. The state of affairs that our world is in is too big for a quick fix. “Regardless. We don’t have enough time to cement the relationship before I leave.”

  “You haven’t had sex yet,” Moose says. His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Not that I want you to talk about it because you know details aren’t my thing, but you’re living with her. How is that possible?”

  I drain the rest of my drink and slink back into the cool, brown leather. We nod as a few guys pass through, gear bags slung over their shoulders. “I’ve been gone.” I sigh. “And I wanted to take things slow because this is different. I know her. I know her so well. And I don’t want to scare her off or fuck things up before they have a chance to get off the ground.” I can’t make eye contact. Not when talking about something this personal. It’s about Carina, not Megan. It’s awkward and he’s my best friend.