Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  The woman, whose first name has been carried away on the wings of chance, beams at me. “Two boys. They’re a handful. And, of course, they want to be just like their father. You’ll know what that’s like soon enough, I bet.”

  May God strike me down first.

  “Fingers crossed.” I force a giggle and chat with her for an indeterminate amount of time that somehow feels like an eternity while Jim speaks with her husband a mere foot away. The longer we spend making the rounds, the less guilty I feel about letting him buy me this dress. My plan had been to return the outrageously priced gown afterward, but to hell with that. Inane chatter has more than covered the cost of my ensemble.

  Jim lays his fingers on the small of my back and leads me over to another couple. His touch sizzles with pleasure. The solid maleness of him makes me feel exquisitely soft and female in a way I’d forgotten I could be.

  I’ve been starved for human affection since long before I left New York. Once my dad joined the task force, I’d been preoccupied. He would hardly sleep, eat, or clean. Every spare moment was dedicated to taking down Santoro. Hell, some days I became the parent, demanding he finish his dinner. Or showing up at the precinct with a sandwich and not leaving until every last crumb was swallowed.

  Now, I can’t remember the last time someone touched me. I enjoy sex. Even the no strings, no expectations, just the satisfaction of touching and being touched kind of sex. But the touch I crave now isn’t sexual. I want to lift Jim’s hand and press it against the side of my face to rest in his warmth. Being near him makes me feel safe, protected. And makes me feel comfortable.

  Jim leans, his lips gently press against my ear. “I’m heading to the restroom. Why don’t you take a seat at the table? I’ll meet you there.”

  He pulls away and heads off to the other side of the room, taking the warmth and security of his body with him. I sigh and head over to our table to rest my feet. Tony and Lucas are stationed at a different table for dinner, but Marge and Bear are assigned to sit with me and Jim. However, they are off making rounds of their own. I suppose even the military plays politics to an extent. Charming your superiors and their wives seems to be just as important as being good at what you do. It makes me nervous. I don’t want to offend anyone and accidentally get Jim demoted.

  “You must be Jim’s new wife?” The woman shares a smile with her friend, and crosses one long leg over the other as our table fills.

  I don’t recognize the woman, but the way she stressed “new” sends bile creeping up my throat.

  My eyes widen as another woman sits next to her with a laugh. “Excuse Karen. She’s not good at first impressions. What she meant to say was, we all thought Jim outgrew his ‘groupie into a housewife’ phase after his divorce from Raychel.”

  Groupie into a housewife? I know these bitches aren’t talking about me. Before I can snap at either of them and ruin my resolution to behave, Bear and Marge arrive. As usual, the giant is holding her close and whispering something in her ear. He only softens when she’s nearby, and it makes my heart ache.

  Marge reads the atmosphere immediately, and her eyes narrow. “Karen. Claudia.” She addresses the women with an equal amount of dislike, and I hide a smirk. With Marge here, the two women more closely resemble scolded children than wise-cracking mean girls. I grin up at the two of them, and Bear grins back.

  “You mind?” He indicates that he and Marge would like to sit next to me.

  I nod.

  Marge claims the seat closest to me. “You look lovely tonight, by the way.”

  I look down at my dress and run my palms over the soft material. “Thanks.”

  She smiles and leans in, her next words for the two of us alone. “Ignore these nasty, rank-hungry bitches. They’re all bark and no bite. Tell Jim to throw in some jewelry and another outfit for the hostile work environment.”

  My body goes cold.

  He told her. While I’d been thinking about his hands, he’d been gossiping to his friends. I grind my teeth together. I prefer ridicule to pity. And pity is what I suspect has brought Marge and Bear to my rescue.

  “Taya, I love your necklace, by the way. I’ve been staring at it all night.”

  At Marge’s words, I glance down. I don’t need to look at the necklace to know what she means, but the sight of it comforts me.

  I trace my fingers across the pendant that sits at the hollow of my throat. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

  Her eyes sparkle, and a smile teases her lips. “So, it’s like a family heirloom?”

  I can’t help but grin back at Marge. “Basically. I’m part Mongolian on my mom’s side. Emee was an udgan, or shaman. The necklace is supposed to protect me.”

  Jim places a hand on my shoulder as he tries to wiggle between my chair and a waiter, sending tingles of pleasure waltzing down my spine. “Does it work?” The deep, rumbling baritone of his voice sounds like a jaguar purring inside a cello.

  I don’t talk about my heritage much, but when I do, people usually misunderstand. They think Emee was either a charlatan or a crackpot. I brought the necklace to show and tell one year, shortly after her death. Everyone in class laughed at me and called me the Wicked Witch of the Northside.

  My classmates may have given me a hard time, but it could have been worse. My old classmate, Ally, was half Korean and half black. She grew up in a primarily Asian neighborhood and the parents on her block wouldn’t let their kids play with her or touch her without making them wash their hands afterward with bleach. Looking at Ally made me feel lucky. It was also a silent reminder to keep the things I considered the most special and interesting about me to myself.

  I grip the turquoise stone that hangs on a simple braided leather cord and houses my family’s Ongon, or ancestral spirit. According to Dad, it held all the spirits of every shaman within our family. It was passed down from mother to daughter, and it’s meant to protect me and give me wisdom. But does it work?

  I turn the stone around between my fingers. “I’m not sure.”

  Marge reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Well, it must be working so far, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

  Jim says something in that smooth growl of his that vibrates right down into my bones as he pulls out his chair and takes a seat next to me, but I miss the words. Dinner finally arrives but instead of devouring the meal like I want, I pick at it instead. Especially with those evil bitches watching every move I make. And the way their husbands stare at Jim and me, it’s as if we’re the newest museum exhibit. A spectacle of sorts.

  I want to support Jim. But the pressure of worrying about every little thing I do with all these eyes on me is suffocating. Still, I can’t fail. It’s my duty as his wife to make sure he looks good in front of his superiors, no matter what I feel. The same way my mother put on her game face when she hosted one of the precinct’s holiday parties even though she had the flu.

  A boom of laughter thunders out of Jim’s mouth, and my breath catches in my throat. Wow, I didn’t know he even knew how to laugh. But he’s good at it. In fact, he’s the kind of guy who throws his head back and slaps tabletops when he laughs because the sound is too big for him to hang on to. It’s a bright, honest sound. Infectious. It brings a smile to my face, and I sway toward him as if there’s physical warmth to be found in his honest mirth.

  I start giggling, and he turns to catch my eye. There’s a moment of shared silence before we’re both laughing at one another. I laugh until I’m red in the face and short of breath.

  The band starts to play again and I stand then grab Jim’s hand and pull him up from his chair. “Dance with me?”

  The corner of his lip quirks up, giving him a lopsided smile, and he nods. We make our way onto the dance floor and Jim pulls me close to him. The violins kick in, then the piano, and finally the slow and sure beating of the drums.

  We dance and spin around the floor, my dress billowing out and the lights twinkling with every step. I soak in Jim’s scent, his strength,
and the pressure of his warm hand on the small of my back. The music twirls around us like thread and I rest my head on his chest.

  I think I’m falling for my husband.

  The music slows and I lift my head and look into his soft green eyes. Forget think, I absolutely am falling for my husband. I lift up on my toes, inching my lips closer to his. Instead of pulling away, Jim lowers his head, his lips about to meet mine.

  “Senior Chief Stephens.”

  Jim straightens and twists to face the man standing at our side. “Captain Redding.”

  Redding. I’ve heard the name before. Crap, this is Jim’s commanding officer. I straighten just like Jim did and wrap my arm around his waist.

  The older gentleman angles his head to me and smiles. “You must be Taya.”

  I gently nod. “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Redding’s gaze bounces between the both of us before he shakes his head and laughs. “Appears the program actually works. And to think of all the pushback you gave me, Stephens, for forcing you into the program. Reconsidering only staying in it for a year?”

  I glance up at Jim. Then a bright flash blinds me. Then another. And another.

  My head jerks sideways as I scan the room. Another flash goes off and finally I spot the photographers. My muscles tense and the air rushes from my lungs.

  Oh, God.

  I suck in another sharp breath and close my eyes as my heart beats so hard it threatens to explode. If I end up in the papers, Marco can find me. What if Santoro wants me dead? Another flash goes off and my eyelids snap open.

  The photographer is facing us.

  Jim pulls me tight into his side. “Sir, it was great seeing you. But I believe our ride is ready to leave. Hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  Captain Redding nods to the both of us and makes his way into the crowd. Jim ushers me out of the building and into the cold air. When the cool breeze hits my face I take a deep breath. Jim’s hand grips my upper arms as if to steady me. “Taya, are you alright?”

  I stare at him, unable to speak. Concern etches into his features. I can’t tell him. For sure, he’ll want to leave me. The man faces enough danger every day. No way he’ll want to stay married to me after what happened to my father at the hands of my best friend.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Jim and I turn our heads to face Marge. Sucking in a breath, I force out an answer before they push any further on the subject. “I didn’t eat much, plus it was a lot . . . the worrying about doing the wrong thing. Then the camera flashes did me in for some reason.”

  Marge places a hand on my shoulder. “Bear just pulled up with the truck. Let’s get you both home.”

  Jim helps me into the back seat, then climbs in. Marge twists in the passenger seat as she buckles her seat belt and glances back at me. I offer her a weak smile and she only turns back around when Jim sidles up to me.

  Bear pulls away from the curb and I can’t help but lean into Jim’s strength as the truck bounces along. I am safe with him—tethered to him.

  Jim lowers his face until his mouth is near my ear. “Are you okay?”

  I lean my head against his and close my eyes. “Yes. You’re here, so I’ll be fine.”

  The silk of my dress moves in tandem with the sway of the truck, my breasts bouncing without a bra to hinder their movement. It would’ve been weird for Jim to buy me new underwear and I hadn’t wanted any lines interrupting the lay of the dress. Plus, my tits are so small it didn’t seem worth it to wear one. I was fine for much of the night, but now I feel exposed.

  I look up at him and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded and hungry. With his cap gone and his hair freshly cut, it’s impossible to miss the sharp lines of his face. It’s almost criminal for his lips to look so soft, and my gut twists with an answering hunger when he growls softly.

  My nipples are hard and aching, and I press them against his arm, hoping the pressure will ease at the touch. Is he hard? I want to see, but I’m afraid to look. If he is, I’ll probably moan and end up drawing attention from Marge and Bear.

  But the truck lurches to a stop a moment later. Marge turns and smacks her husband’s arm. “Easy on the brake there.”

  I chuckle and Jim shifts to open the door then offers his hand to help me out. I scoot across the seat and place my hand in his as I step down and onto the asphalt. “Thank you both for the ride home.”

  “Hope ya feel better,” Bear says.

  “Thank you.”

  They pull away and Jim places his hand on the small of my back as we walk to the front door. Inside the house is dark, and my heels click against the tile as I step into the kitchen. Aspirin, water and a couple of hours of sleep are needed before I head over to Inara’s. Nothing like coming down from an adrenaline dump. I sway and clip my hip on the corner of the island. After the sting subsides, I hold my hands out, searching in the dark until I finally reach the cupboards. “Um, where’s the aspirin?”

  My skin heats when he reaches past me, his body pressed against mine. His—holy shit—erection presses against my ass. My back arches and I moan, my lips parted and hungry.

  He stills.

  The spicy cinnamon smell of Jim’s cologne fills my nose, the dampness of his hot breath a brand on my neck. His body is taut as if he’s afraid to move, but his dick twitches against my backside and I lean into him, picturing the veins running along the length of his dick. I want him inside me so bad it verges on need.

  Jim spins me around, then pins me against the counter. “You going to tell me what exactly happened at the party?”

  I blink rapidly. This isn’t where I thought it was going. “I told you already.”

  He moves closer, pressing his body to mine. “Yeah, not buying it. Gonna tell me the truth? Or you going to make me drag it out of you?”

  A small moan escapes me, and he looks down, making me shiver. I could do with a nice distraction and, considering his dilated pupils and shallow breaths, I may be able to distract him from this line of questioning as well. So, I reach up and grab the back of his head, pulling him down as I crash my lips to his. My teeth sink into his bottom lip before I graze my tongue against his teeth, begging for access.

  Jim’s massive hands grab at my breasts, kneading them hungrily before traveling to my sides. His fingers claw at my dress, hoisting it over my hips as he parts his lips, allowing me to explore his mouth, his tongue.

  He pulls back a little. “Do you want me to stop?”

  I reach down and grab the hard bulge between his legs and squeeze hard. “Don’t you dare.”

  His palms pull me into his massive frame as he grinds himself against me, kicking my legs apart with his. My arms press against the granite to steady myself. My body shakes as his hand travels between my legs, his thick fingers stroking the moist skin of my lower lips.

  I moan, needing more. “Take me.”

  Sweeping me up into his massive arms, he carries me across the space to my favorite place in this house, the bay window nook. He places me on the edge of the cushioned seat, my back propped up by the cushions and sprawled before him, dress hiked up around my waist. His fingers dip into my hips, and I raise one leg to give him better access. He steps between my knees, spreading me wide so he can look down at my wet thighs and hungry center. I arch my back and lift my hips, moving back and forth on empty air until his eyes blaze.

  Jim practically rips his buttons loose in his rush to undo his pants. I’m not much help. The best I can do is make desperate little noises in the back of my throat while I part my lower lips with my fingertips. Jim’s eyes darken to nearly black. As soon as he pulls his heady, throbbing dick free, he’s pushing forward.

  He sinks deep inside of me in a rush that drags a sharp cry from my lips. I gasp and grip the cushion as my body stretches to accommodate him. He leans over and thrusts again, so tight, so deep, I can feel his balls brush my buttocks. It would be so easy to come from just the feel of him filling me, making me whole. My inner walls spasm around h
is iron length, and my nails rake his skin.

  Jim groans as his teeth graze over my neck and bite my earlobe.

  “I saw you,” I say, unable to recognize the wanton desire in my own voice.

  His eyes dart up, panic flaring across them.

  “I saw you,” I whimper as he pounds into me in a way that’s both raw and possessive. “In the garage.”

  His fingers clench around my thighs, his pace slowing, his nostrils flaring. Is that vulnerability or just a trick of the light slipping through the shades?

  “Did you like it? Watching?”

  “Yes,” I admit in a groan, growing all the wetter at the memory.

  His eyes remain locked with mine and something carnal replaces the control once there. Jim drives into me over and over, the sound of slapping bodies and wild moans filling the room, and I bask in the sharp satisfaction of pushing him over the edge.

  I want him to go harder, deeper. I want him so deep inside of me the sensation takes away everything else. I want to forget. I want to forget Santoro, I want to forget the fire, and my dad.

  Most of all, I want to forget the fear.

  He’s close, his shaft growing thicker inside me. My inner muscles quiver around him. I clutch his waist with my knees and dig my heels into the back of his thighs, praying he hears my body’s plea to consume me.

  His thrusts grow more erratic and desperate. I brush my lips against his ear hoping the words I’m about to speak will cause him to lose complete control. “I know you heard me that day in my room. I was replaying the way you fucked your fist, your shaft growing thicker and harder until you came all over the garage floor to the girls on the video.”

  The admission causes my orgasm to roll up through my body, warm and all-consuming. I shudder and whimper as Jim continues thrusting into me, drawing the orgasm out longer. I cry out, the pleasure too much as I buck beneath him.

  He thrusts deeply one last time, thighs and arms trembling. “You. I came to you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jim

  Was it worth breaking the one rule I set for myself?