Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  Jim chuckles, but then his knees buckle and a hand flies out to grab a bar of the railing to keep from falling. Heat rushes over my skin as my fingers touch his—a small gesture to let him know I’m there if he needs me. “Are you okay? Can I do anything to help?”

  When he tilts his head up to face me, his eyes narrow and a vein in his neck bulges out. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  My teeth sink into the skin of my cheek. Jim’s knees have buckled several times now, and though I don’t know what is going on, the signs of something bad—something he is too stubborn to admit to—are present. God, the man deserves a good spanking. Before I can stop it, the corners of my mouth curl up into a smile at the thought. I shake my head, chasing the thought away, and refocus on the seriousness of the situation. “My mother died when I was a child. Car accident. My father didn’t handle it well. There were signs he was suffering from depression, but I was too young to know what they were. Otherwise, I would’ve stepped in when he was too stubborn to get help.”

  Jim’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m not depressed.”

  “I know. But I’m not blind, either. I know something is going on. And when you’re ready to tell me, I’m here.” I rest my hand on his forearm and offer a weak smile. Do I feel a little bit like a hypocrite, asking him to open up to me while I keep my past hidden from him? Maybe. But my problems aren’t physical. And I can’t help but think we’re both safer with him not knowing. At least for now.

  “I’ll be fine. No need to worry.”

  I nod, not wanting to push the situation further. “By the way, just wanted to let you know I found a job. I’m the new waitress at Shaken & Stirred.”

  “Taya.” He lowers his voice and reaches for my wrist. “You don’t have to take the job. Not when you have a degree. I can help you find something better.”

  I pull my hand back and narrow my eyes as I glare at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being a waitress.”

  He crosses his thick arms and puffs out his chest, one eyebrow raising.

  “Fine, it’s not ideal.”

  Jim snorts.

  “You have no idea what it’s like looking for a job in the real world,” I say, kicking myself at those last two words. “I mean, in the world outside of the military. It’s hard. And everything here is new. Being married to you is new. I’m just trying to pull my own weight financially.”

  I need to pull my own weight financially. Unless he’s reconsidered making an honest attempt at this marriage. That would be my first choice, but unfortunately, that’s not a solo decision. Without Jim onboard, I’ll be completely on my own a year from now. Everything happened so fast with Dad, that up until this point, I’d only been able to react as my life imploded. I’d have to take advantage of the relative security of the next three hundred-plus days here in Virginia Beach with Jim to form a backup game plan for my life.

  Jim’s posture relaxes and his shoulders slump down a bit, his gaze falling to the sand. “The SEALs are my life. Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t be one anymore.” He takes a step closer, his finger lifting my chin so my gaze meets his. “And I mean it. If you want to find something else, something you might enjoy more, I’ll help.”

  Truth is, there is something I would enjoy doing more. I’d already reached out to the team leader of one of the Virginia Search and Rescue groups I know. It’s something I miss, and I’m ecstatic about the opportunity. The teams down here are the gold standard.

  But most SAR personnel are volunteers so I need a paying job, one that has some flexibility so I can train. But I’m not exactly ready to share this with Jim, not after spending years being ridiculed by my stepmother for being involved. And not when I’ve witnessed other SAR team members dealing with resistance from their families.

  His eyes roam over my face as he awaits my answer, our lips mere inches from each other. His breath kisses my skin as my own becomes shallow and my eyes begin to close. But he clears his throat, pulls his hand away, and steps back.

  I reach down and pick up his surfboard, running my fingers over the waxed surface before handing it over to him. “I appreciate your offer. But I do need to get going. My first shift starts in two hours.”

  “Have to run to base myself.” Jim’s brows furrow as his fingers scratch at his scalp and his gaze bounces all over the place. “One of my teammates is having a birthday party tomorrow. We need to go . . . together. Especially since we are part of the program. Not sure who will be there, but my commanding officer wants us to show we are putting one hundred-and-ten percent into the program. Will that interfere with your schedule?”

  Shit.

  I force a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He nods and tucks his board under his arm. “Have a good first day.”

  I head toward home, my heart galloping in my chest. Forget first-day-of-work jitters. Tomorrow will be our first outing as a couple. Why didn’t I think that we’d be under scrutiny? This is a new program and of course everyone will be watching us, especially as one of the first matches.

  A wave of anxiety washes over my body.

  What if participation in this program doesn’t just shove us under the microscope but also thrusts us into the limelight? What if this program puts me on display? Even tagging me in an online photo for promotion purposes would be enough for Marco to easily find me, if he was looking. Or worse, Santoro.

  I pick up my speed, allowing the steady pumping of my legs and the breeze in my face to soothe away my fears. Marco and Santoro haven’t come looking for me yet. What reason would they have to track me down now?

  Chapter Nine

  Jim

  Some days I kick myself for the choices I make. Like today. Not only did I almost kiss her, breaking my own damn rule about no sexual contact, but I faltered in front of her again. The sympathy in her eyes was just like that of the medical staff at base. And I don’t need sympathy. I need to be cleared for duty. I need to get back out into the field. Why can’t the damn doctors understand it’s just a minor TBI? And what the hell are all the over-reactive claims that a little rattling affected my judgement? Unless my superiors are just using the whole traumatic brain injury excuse to keep me here longer while they figure out how to make our Afghani counterparts happy.

  But Taya also opened up to me, and in a way I didn’t expect. My own childhood was fucked up. Not that I lost a parent the way she did. In some way, I wish I had, since it might have been better than what I actually went through.

  I lay my things, one by one, along the length of the workbench in my garage, careful to set them each so they line up. Keys, phone, wallet. The walls are lined with shelves filled with labeled bins, and the epoxy floor is sparkling clean. Everything neatly arranged, so that I can relax when I come in here to work.

  Surfing is my escape. A place to get lost among the waves of deep royal blue, floating in a void, free of gravity. To become one with the ocean’s power, synchronizing my board to ride each crest. And to silently sit and stare as smudges of coral, lavender, turquoise and a fiery orange blend together to create a sight so astounding it sweeps me away from my worries.

  But seeing Taya on the boardwalk, lithe body coated in sweat and chest heaving, I wanted nothing more than to bend her over the nearest bench and peel those tight little pants down her hips. Reveal every inch of her skin to the sunlight and bathe it clean with my tongue until she whimpered beneath me.

  And the scent of apples and sandalwood she left behind was like silken fingers around my cock bringing me to throbbing, frustrated attention, like a pornographic magic trick.

  “Fuck.”

  I toss my baseball cap across my worktable and stab impatient hands through my hair. Then she tells me she’d taken a job as a waitress. As if I can’t provide for her. I’m still getting paid. I haven’t been discharged yet. And my bank account has enough to support us both.

  Pulling out my supplies, I lay the board across the bench and begin to wax the surface of it. Bringing t
he board back to its usual gleaming perfection relaxes me, the motion of righting my board and cleaning the marks of the day away comforting. Especially after dealing with the trainees. One month down, twenty more weeks to go before I don’t have to look at their damn faces anymore. Nothing like being an instructor for SEAL school.

  On the other end of the workbench, my phone vibrates. I want to ignore it and enjoy my solitude for a little while longer, but I catch sight of the name on the caller ID.

  Bear.

  Setting the wax aside, I pick up and press the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”

  “Got bored waiting for Marge. How’s the wife?”

  Pressing the speaker button, I set the phone aside to free my hands. I grab the bar of wax and get back to work. “Got a job.”

  “Good for her. Less time she’s gotta spend around your surly ass.”

  I snort.

  “Ya tell Taya ’bout the injury yet? She’s not a dumb girl and I can’t see her cutting you down. Not after she kept that ugly-ass comforter you purchased. Still don’t understand why ya didn’t ask for Marge’s help.”

  “Don’t need her reporting my health.” My chest tightens like I’m having a heart attack when I recall how wide Taya’s eyes went and how the color drained from her face when I lost my balance. I pause, rubbing my face as if I can wash the stain of weakness away. “Taya can’t find out I’m taking medication or about what happened.”

  “Jim, any of us would’ve made the same call. Can’t beat yourself up over it.” Bear exhales loudly. “And listen, I’m proud of you. I know you think you’re invincible, but there’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

  “Because I really had a choice,” I mutter under my breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. Bear went with me to the pharmacy and has been texting me when it was time to take the pills like a damn reminder alarm.

  A searing pain grows in the back of my head and works its way forward in between my eyebrows. I rub there firmly with the pad of my thumb. On most days, my new meds work great for the migraines. This headache isn’t nearly as bad as it has been in the past, but my body doesn’t seem to want to break its habit of being a pain in my ass. If only the balance issue and the dizzy spells would lighten up as well.

  I sigh and remember what the doctor told me. At my last checkup, he said to be patient and that my body needs rest and time to heal. And that I’m lucky there’s no permanent damage, at least none they can see yet.

  I glare down at my dick. So much for decreased-sex-drive side effects. If anything, my dick has been out of control lately. And the more Taya supports me, the more my resolve to keep her away dwindles. I just have to remember this is only temporary, just need to keep reminding myself what marriage was like the first time around, and what my being away so much pushed Raychel to do.

  “Why not trust Taya a bit?”

  “I trusted my first wife and it blew up in my face.” My ears heat with old shame, taking some of the starch from my sails. My eyes squeeze shut and, when I reach up to massage the ache forming at my temples, my fingers run over the haggard lines of my own features.

  “Raychel betrayed you, humiliated you, cut you down for not wanting to become an officer and ultimately, broke your heart.” Bear grumbles as if he’d spent hours punching through a concrete wall only to get nowhere. “But you need to stop accusing every woman you meet of being another Raychel. Especially when it comes to Taya. She cares, and you’re being bullheaded.”

  The muscles between my shoulder blades clench. I’d thought my ex-wife cared at first too, and look how that turned out. Raychel’s dream was to be an admiral’s wife. Not that I knew it when we dated. She always pushed me, but I thought it was because she saw potential. But I wanted to be out in the field, be with my brothers. And when I expressed that, I saw who she truly was. The affairs started shortly after. Or maybe they were even happening before. My neck cords at the thought.

  But I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. In and out. In and out. Just like my therapist taught me.

  Think happy thoughts.

  Something.

  Anything.

  The only thing that comes to mind is Taya’s smile today.

  Laying my wax comb aside, I spray the surface of my board with a nearby spray bottle. Even filled with restless, destructive energy, I can’t bring myself to leave my board half-finished. It isn’t in me. Sometimes, I chomp at the bit of my self-imposed control. I want to do something, something wild and thoughtless, without caring about any consequences, but lately, that always seems to backfire. For now, I’m like a dog caught short by the end of its leash.

  “This is probably just as weird for Taya as it is for you. The woman moved to another state. Left her life to start over with you. Yeah, fine, Redding pushed you into the program. But can’t be easy for her. Wasn’t easy for Marge at first being married to a SEAL and we knew each other since high school.” A raspy sound comes through the speaker, one I’m familiar with. The big oaf is clearing his throat, about to make some stupid dig. “And if you’re planning on buying her something, send Marge a picture first.”

  I thrive on perfection, and Taya makes me feel imperfect. Like everything I do is wrong. Setting up her room, wrong. Offering to help her find a better job, wrong. Getting angry . . . okay, she’s justified there. I groan, rubbing my temple.

  Maybe this time, I’ll succeed. A glint of metal winks at me from the other side of the garage. “I could change the oil in her bike? It sounded like shit the last time she went out.”

  “Would’ve gone with flowers or something, but whatever. Wait, how’d she get to work?”

  Good question. Shaken & Stirred isn’t too far from the house, but certainly not walking distance. “Maybe Uber?”

  “Ah crap, Marge is here. Gotta go.”

  “You guys shopping for the barbecue?” Bear and Marge’s annual get-together is often the highlight of the spring for me.

  “You know it. The woman spends thirty minutes chatting it up with some Stepford Wife in the produce section, but I’m the monster if I so much as look at my cell.”

  “Give her a break. She likes spending time with you. God knows why.”

  Bear laughs. “Fuck you,” he says fondly, and I grin as the call disconnects.

  My chest squeezes. I love my best friend, but at times, his relationship with his wife is too much to handle. It leaves me longing for a relationship I’ll never have. If my own parents didn’t enjoy spending time with me, how could I expect anyone else to?

  But I’m better off without someone caring for me. God only knows, one day I might not come home. Or, come home completely destroyed and unable to provide for them. No way would I want to burden someone with that.

  I take a step forward and raise a brow in appreciation. “Hello, beautiful.” The moniker fits perfectly. Taya’s Ninja 650 truly is a beauty, and I eye the clean lines.

  I reach beneath the bench for an empty canister and new jug of oil. Taya’s engine sounded a little loud when she’d first arrived, and the rumbling had only become more cantankerous each day. So, I stopped at the auto store the other day and picked up oil.

  I pull out the funnel, oil tray, and wrench, setting them down in the center of the garage before pulling the bike out to fiddle with it. Listening to the dirty oil filling the tray beneath the bike, I flex my jaw. God, her ass looked good in her compression shorts, the material so snug it was if they’d been poured over her skin, cupping the rounded globes of her ass with such a firm, steady pressure that I was legitimately envious. The blue had brought out the olive tones in her skin, and I’d been mesmerized by the play of delicate muscle in her thighs and calves.

  My skin is on fire, arousal like a razor’s edge along my nerve endings. Keeping busy should’ve been enough to distract me, but damn if every move I make doesn’t feel like her fingernails stroking down the length of my cock. Rubbing one out in my board shorts isn’t usually my definition of a grand ole time,
but I’m so horny, almost any sensation is like angel hair on my nut sac.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to resist because I can’t go there. I can’t jerk off to her. I won’t do it.

  The throbbing is incessant, bordering on painful. I’ve been so hard for so long, my erection has become my own version of hell. With a gruff sound in the back of my throat, I grab my phone from the work bench and peck at the screen.

  I know just what I need because I refuse to spill my load over a cutie with a booty and pretty brown hair. Down that path leads to destruction. In a few seconds, my go-to porn site pops up. Porn has always seemed a little empty, but it gets the job done. I don’t bother searching out anything specific. As soon as I spot the thumbnail of a minxy little blonde, tits exposed and mouth gaping, I click on it.

  The blonde on screen spreads herself across a king-sized, four-poster bed. I groan as I hook my board shorts below my throbbing balls, which are taut and drawn up. Another voluptuous blonde joins the first and my palm cups my dick, lightly moving up and down my shaft, my thumb skimming the delicate skin.

  I tighten my grip on my shaft and pump a little faster, watching two women devour each other’s mouths, my skin growing hotter. Both women are softer, large breasted, and most importantly, neither looks like Taya.

  I grunt, my eyes locked on the screen. My balls are heavy, tingling with the need for release. I keep watching, keep stroking. The moans and whimpers of the girls are musical. But when my eyes unwillingly close, it’s Taya I find. Gripping me. Wet for me. Aching for me.

  Pleasure bursts through my whole groin and I groan.

  Loudly.

  My dick pulses uncontrollably, and I jerk harder and faster, up and down, up and down. When she drops to her knees and those rosy lips part, the moans of the women on my screen now her own, I’m done. My balls tighten, spine arching, a shudder wracking through me. My cock twitches, and with an epic roar, cum jets between my fingers so hard it splatters onto the garage floor.