Issued (Navy Seals of Little Creek Book 1)

by Paris Wynters

  “Taya, I’m gonna. Oh, fuck. Squeeze me harder.” He convulses, clenching against my tongue.

  I pull us both upright and press my tits against his back, milking the remaining cum from him until it coats my hand. He arches in my arms, and I hold him against me, unwilling to back away from his warmth after the last of the shudders subside and he’s struggling to breathe.

  He relaxes into me bit by bit. Jim let himself go and gave me control, not only of his pain but of his pleasure. The tough-as-nails Navy SEAL is so dedicated to the role of the alpha male, I never thought he’d allow himself to be vulnerable.

  Especially with me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jim

  My eyes drift open, consciousness making itself known by slow degrees. The digital clock flashes two a.m., and I throw my arm above my head. An unfamiliar, although not unwelcome, weight shifts at my side.

  Taya.

  Christ.

  The woman had me on all fours, moaning her name. And the moment she stepped out from the bathroom, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my bedroom like a love-struck teenager.

  My jaw tenses, and my breath hitches painfully.

  Raychel was the only other woman to play with my ass, and she mocked me for it every chance she got. Nothing had been about my needs, only the power trip she got from my submission to the physical pleasure. But it wasn’t enough for her.

  The day our divorce was final, I’d been out celebrating with a bunch of SEALs. She stormed into the bar, spilling our private business to the public. Many snickered while others were too uncomfortable to make a sound about how she screwed so many guys right under my nose. It’s why I hate dealing with anyone besides Bear and occasionally, Martinez and Craiger.

  Lux was a different story. I called Lux “brother” long before the military taught me to think that way. Raychel and her betrayal had enraged him, but he’d been overseas at the time. I hadn’t seen him again until after the divorce had gone through, and then the horrors of war briefly distracted us both from our lives back home.

  Taya makes a small sound. Vulnerable, soft and wholly satisfied. When she shifts, a hint of cool air hits my skin, and I shiver as I glance down at her. I study her features and commit each bold line to memory.

  I can’t afford another scandal. The only reason I haven’t been completely discredited, in the eyes of both my superiors and my subordinates, is because I’ve proven myself time and again in the field. If I showed the slightest hesitation, if I slipped up, made a wrong decision, or fucked up in the slightest way, my career and everything I’d worked for over the years would go up in smoke.

  If things with Taya go belly up, my personal issues would label me as an ineffective team lead. I’ll be written off as disruptive and incompetent, and assuming I’m not laughed off the base entirely, I’ll be lucky to get a desk job in human resources.

  From Navy SEAL to civilian desk lackey. My life reduced to a punchline of a joke I always stumble over.

  But the promise of her warmth is a heady thing, and I reach out to pull Taya closer. The line of puckered skin along her shoulder makes me pause. The roughened skin travels down beneath her light pink camisole out of my sight, so I follow it with my fingertips. It’s soft with age and feeds into another scar along her spine.

  These aren’t scratches.

  She would’ve needed stitches for the scar tissue under my fingertips. And now she lies against my side with her arm in a cast. My stomach twists in on itself at the idea of my wife hurt and bleeding. My fingers clench into tight fists as if there’s some enemy I can fight to keep it from ever happening again.

  Taya shifts in my arms, eyes opening to slits. “You okay?”

  There’s no easy answer. Before I can speak, her eyes snap wide open, and she sits up and brisk air replaces the warmth she’d given. I pull her back, the idea of letting her leave abhorrent. One arm tightens around her and fingers from my free hand trace down the length of her spine.

  Her body relaxes into me.

  How have I lasted so long without the taste of her?

  The sentiment grips every cell as our lips meld. I’ve never shared breath with another person, never breathed in bits of their soul and shared my own in a single motion. Our chests rise in tandem and even our heartbeats, in that moment, are synced. She is softness and silk. Her tongue is apple pie, warm against mine and just as sweet. I swallow her down, angling my head so I can devour more of her. Taya whimpers into my mouth and the thrill of power, the thrill of being exactly where I belong, leaves me light-headed and shaking. The kiss grows in intensity, and our tongues crash and retreat like waves, over and over again until I feel as if I’m going to burst out of my skin.

  The sensation is almost too much, and Taya must agree because she pulls away with a soft, whimpering cry. Her lips are swollen and red.

  I stop myself from pulling her back for another kiss. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  She blinks up at me, dazed. “For what?”

  “For never kissing you like you deserve to be kissed.”

  She shudders, her nipples puckering against my skin.

  I’m painfully aware of the fact that only my needs have been met so far, and now that I have her in bed, I’m eager to rectify that. The urge to watch her unravel is snarling and alive within me. My arm tightens around her and there’s a thrill when she glances up in surprise.

  Her almond-shaped eyes are a deep brown, with hints of amber that peek out when the light hits them just right. They remind me of a rich brandy, a dark liquor I’m all too willing to grow drunk on.

  They dilate as I slip my hand beneath the band of her boy shorts and between the plump folds of her sex. Sucking in a deep breath at how wet she is, I stare into her eyes while my index finger circles her clit. My other finger travels a little lower, until I can slip inside of the tight, wet, heart of her. Taya’s mouth parts on a soundless cry, and I capture her lips with mine. I stroke her with short shallow thrusts until she’s panting into my mouth, her body arching against mine.

  “Tell me what you like,” I whisper.

  “What?” Her face flushes, her eyes a little wild.

  “Tell me what gets you off.”

  “Oh.” Her breath hitches. She stays silent for a long beat as color blooms across her cheeks. She bites her lower lip, breathing quickly. “Watching you jerk off.”

  I draw back, searching her face for signs of dishonesty or deflection. But only eagerness, with a pinch of shyness, is found in her eyes. “This is supposed to be about making you feel good.”

  “Jim.” She places a hand against my abdomen, and my nerves fire off. “Nothing makes me wetter than watching the way you get off when you’re with me.”

  I lean in, kissing her hard and gripping the edge of her panties. I slide them down her legs and toss them aside. Pulling her flat on the bed, I place a knee on either side of her head. She wraps eager fingers around my length. I grip her by the chin so she has to meet my eyes. “No touching.”

  She grins and lays back against the pillows. I’m so hard, I ache, my balls high, tight and ready to blow. She grabs my wrist long enough to drag her tongue across the palm of my hand. Knowing my skin is wet from her tongue, even by proxy, makes my veins thrum with lust. While my intent was to go slow, her watching me has me jerking off hard and fast. My fist tightens and a bead of clear liquid rises along the head.

  Her tongue flickers out, licking at random moments. The muscles in my arms and thighs bulge with the urge to thrust forward. She works her tongue and teeth over my length, making my toes curl. A groan builds up from the depths of my chest.

  The pads of her finger press against my ass, and I grit my teeth together, afraid I’m going to come. Her touch circles and teases, as if asking permission. I found peace in her touch last night when grief was all the world had left to offer. I want her to make me feel good again. So, with a crisp nod, I sink myself onto her digit and breathe through the pressure.

  Intense
arousal washes over me, heating my skin, when she slips a second finger inside, stretching the ring of muscle until it burns. Sweet fuck, the sensation shakes me to the bone, electricity slipping through every vein.

  I rock back and forth, reaching a hand up to place against the wall to steady myself. My ears ring, the skin around my dick stretched too tight. Taya’s smile is bright with mischief and she twists her fingers inside me, stroking my nerve endings until my mind lights up. I draw in a sharp breath when she pops me out of her mouth, only to nip at the flesh of my inner thigh.

  Her chest rises and falls a little faster as she squirms on the pillow, biting her upper lip and twisting her fist into the sheets while she watches my hand blur around my dick. Goddamn, I’d go anywhere, do anything, to keep that bright, wild-eyed look on her face.

  A low, rumbling growl erupts from deep in my chest as I pull away, ignoring her mewl of protest. Scooting lower on the bed, I grab her beneath the thighs and spread her wide. Her clit is a gem hidden within a pocket of flesh, and when I tease it free, licking it in slow, heavy strokes, Taya shivers and lifts her hips, pressing her heat tighter against my mouth.

  Sandalwood fills my nostrils until my world is nothing but the taste and scent of Taya. Her hips rock as my tongue continues to explore, dipping deeper into her sex. Her moans are hoarse and shaky, a continuous song as she climbs closer and closer to release. The muscles in her thighs shake and a fine tremor wracks her.

  “Oh, God,” she cries, clawing at the bed, body tightening as she loses herself in orgasm.

  My hands grip her knees, and I track the way the sweat on her breasts trails down her sides. I lick it away, following it back to its source and slipping her nipple into my mouth. Her mouth parts on a gasp that morphs into a smoky moan that incites something raw and possessive in me.

  “Jim.” The raspy, low tone of her voice sounds like an orgasm as it leaves her swollen lips.

  Oh, how I love when she says my name like that.

  My lips travel up her body, caressing the length of her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin. I pull away and grab a condom from my nightstand, unwrap it and roll it on. My breath catches at the sight of Taya sprawled out before me. “I want you.”

  Her eyes flutter, color seeping into her cheeks. “Yes. More. Please.”

  Her panting makes me lose control, and I thrust forward.

  “Jim,” she cries out sharply, throwing her head back as her body clenches around mine like a fist.

  I pump into her faster and faster, our bodies moving in time with one another, milking me with each roll of her hips.

  My balls tighten, fire shooting up my shaft when it violently explodes. My orgasm encourages her own, and with a long, muffled groan, her body seizes up as waves of pleasure rock through her body. I hold her close, not wanting to let her go. But it isn’t enough.

  I need more.

  I need her, forever and always.

  There’s no gentle withdrawal from pleasure. It settles in close and deep and urges me to sleep. Taya is a rag doll on top of me, and it’s easy to maneuver her lax limbs until she’s back in my arms, head against my chest. I press a kiss against her sweat-soaked hair and breathe in the smell of sex and warm skin.

  Before I give in completely to sleep, I squeeze her to me. “In the morning, you’re going to tell me exactly how you broke your arm. No more lies.”

  She nods weakly, and I kiss her again.

  “We’re moving your stuff too. You’re sleeping in here from now on.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Taya

  The kitchen smells like freshly made coffee and baked bread. I never thought such little things could represent happiness, but the feeling warming the center of my chest is a familiar one, one I haven’t felt in a long time. I didn’t think I could. But there it is, a bright ball of warmth.

  Moving easily through the kitchen, I cast another anxious glance toward Jim. He’s been quiet since we woke up this morning, and that silence tempers some of my glow. He hasn’t mentioned Lux, but shadows linger in his eyes. He’s moving more stiffly than usual, and there’s a heaviness to his shoulders I want to smooth away.

  I take another step toward him. “What are you making?”

  The muscles in his arms bunch as he kneads another ball of dough on top of his wooden cutting board, his back still to me. “Told you. It’s a secret.”

  I perch on the edge of the kitchen counter and take another sip of coffee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” His voice is hoarse, and my own throat tightens. Jim woke up before me, and the house is spotless. Even more so than usual.

  “You’re not a very good liar.” The words escape as a whisper.

  “I’m an excellent liar.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. The cleaning is a pretty major tell.”

  He pauses but still doesn’t turn. “Oh, really?”

  “Yup.” I swallow, telling myself to be brave. Things between Jim and I are better than they’ve ever been. Even so, my heart races at the thought of rejection. “What was he like?”

  I don’t have to speak his name. Jim’s sagging shoulders say it for me.

  Lux.

  “He is . . . was a dick.”

  “Like all your other friends?” I quip.

  He laughs. It’s abrupt and strained, but it’s a start. “Pretty much. Birds of a feather, I guess.”

  As he speaks, he begins working again. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” I don’t bother pointing out his use of present tense. I never knew sentence structure could make my chest ache. “I was fifteen when he moved into the house across the street. My dad was a drunk, and when he got out of hand, Ma would send me running for cover.”

  He walks over to the stove, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I was too old for running. I told Ma, but she said she needed me out of the house for her sake more than mine. She didn’t want me and the old man getting into it. She was afraid we would kill each other. So, I stayed with Lux while he screamed at her. His mother worked as a chef at the nearby hotel. Lux wasn’t interested, but sometimes I’d get bored with playing video games and wander into the kitchen. I’d watch her cook, and one day, she started to teach me.”

  “She sounds like a lovely woman.”

  “She was—is. We thought the cancer would take her, but it wasn’t fast enough.” He turns his head over his shoulder toward me, his expression stark. It’s a blade through the very center of my being. “She won’t even be able to put her son in the ground. There isn’t enough of him to send home.”

  I can’t stand the distance. Sliding from the counter, I go to him, setting my coffee aside so I can wrap my arms around his waist from behind and bury my face against the curve of his spine. My arms tighten as he works to find an easy breath that doesn’t shake on the exhale. I pray my heart close to his will give him strength.

  After a moment, he nods and pats the back of my hand. “It’s almost ready. Can you grab some plates and pour me some coffee?”

  Placing a kiss against his back, I comply.

  We work in silence for a few minutes. I make my way to the front door to grab his paper off the porch. I’m scanning the pages, looking for the comic section, when the smell hits me. One moment, I’m padding barefoot into the kitchen and the next, I’m nine years old and Emee is pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  Alagh is with the ancestors now. Peace, child.

  I drop the paper on the tabletop with a muffled sob. When Jim hands me a plate of gambir, his face warring between grief and nervousness, my knees give out, and I fold into the nook seat. The plate warm in my hands and confectionary comfort kisses all my demons to sleep.

  “You made Mongolian pancakes.” I’m staring down at the fried dough stuffed with sugar and shiny with melted butter. It’s home wrapped in a flaky crust. Jim placed sliced bananas and blueberries on top. Drizzled over that is melted chocolate and a fine layer of powdered sugar. Tears prick my eyes.

  “I hear
d you mention your grandmother at the ball.” He shrugs as if that small confession explains everything.

  “I stayed with her for a while, after my mom died.” Glancing up, I smile slightly at the tentative pride that begins to creep over him. “Dad . . .” I swallow the tears and try again. “Dad was having a hard time, and he needed a break. She made these for me every morning for a week. I never got to watch her make them. I just woke up, and they were there, like magic.”

  Jim would have had to research this and buy the ingredients. All because of a passing comment. No one has ever done something like this for me. He paid attention, not only to what I said but what I didn’t say. I’m supposed to be comforting him, but this . . .

  Something irrevocable blossoms fully within me, and my world shifts on its axis.

  “How is it?” There’s nervousness in his voice, and I want to wrap him in my arms and protect him from the world. Is this really the same man that terrorized me upon my arrival? It can’t be.

  I take a bite. “Just like Emee used to make.”

  I meet his eyes, and the grin he levels on me is like the sun coming out from behind a thick veil of clouds. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he’s transformed from dour Jim into someone ten times more alluring, more . . . perfect.

  We eat in relative silence, and after the plates have been licked clean and set aside, I get up to get us both more coffee. I make two trips because of the cast, but it’s a fair exchange for Jim’s cooking.

  Sunshine streams through the windows of the kitchen. It’s a montage of warmth across the tile, and I sag against the windows of the nook, luxuriating in the view and the warmth of the coffee cup in my hands. Jim sits across from me.

  I take another sip of coffee and try not to bite my lower lip. Invisible ants crawl along my skin, and I fail to stifle a wracking shudder.

  “Cold?” A few months ago, he would’ve ignored me. Now there’s genuine interest in his voice. I smile, shifting amongst the cushions so I can throw my legs over his. He pulls me close, rubbing my bare outer thigh.