Full Throttle

by Julie Ann Walker

  Then, dear God, she was so completely full of him. His girth stretched her inner walls to their limits, and she would swear she could feel his heartbeat in the hard, steady pulse of his shaft.

  “You okay?” he asked against her mouth, his breath sawing from his lungs into hers.

  “God, yes,” she managed, amazed she was able to speak when she was absolutely overcome with aching, sexual sensation, poised right on the brink.

  He ducked his chin then, glancing down to the place where their two bodies joined.

  “Jesús Cristo,” he breathed. “Look at us, Abby.”

  She lifted her head and saw his neatly trimmed, jet-black pubic hair in harsh contrast to her sandy blond curls. The deep flush of his penis, his tan skin stretched tight and shining with her essence, was in stark opposition to the pink of her most intimate flesh.

  “We’re beautiful together,” he husked.

  “We are.” She smiled, letting her head drop back to the mat. So beautiful.

  And with that, with those two words, he began to move. Slowly at first. So infinitely slowly, his shaft rubbing deliciously along screaming, aching nerve endings. Then, as her womb pulsed, as she clawed his back, he picked up the pace. His hips pistoning as he strained toward his own release.

  She bucked against him, with him, matching his thrusts. And she rose up, up, up. Reaching. Climbing. Until…climax. It burst through her like an atom bomb.

  “Yes, Abby!” he bellowed. “Yes, neña! Take me with you!”

  And even through the head-spinning, pulse-pounding rapture of her own orgasm, she was able to squeeze her inner muscles around him. It drove her own pleasure up a notch and, at the same time, milked Carlos’s release from him. She felt the hot rush of his seed fill her when he threw his head back, crying her name.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Chrissakes,” Dan said, blowing like a bull, his hands planted against the bathroom door on either side of Penni’s head. No matter how he struggled to pull in oxygen, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. It didn’t help that she was staring at him with those dark, luminous eyes and—

  “Yo!” A voice from the past sounded on the other side of the door, causing Penni to squeal and duck under his arm. She retrieved her trousers, panties, and shoes in one frantic scoop as a hard fist landed on the wood. Bam! Dan bent to hastily jerk on his jeans and briefs. “You in there, Dan The Motor City Madman?”

  Hell’s bells, how long had it been since he heard that nickname? Not since he said sayonara to the Teams and joined Boss in building BKI.

  “Anderson?” he called, quickly buttoning his fly.

  “Yeah, man. The hotel manager said you’d be down here in a storage room, but we stopped when we heard noises comin’ from the ladies’ john. Everything okay in there?”

  Okay? Well, that was debatable. He decided to ignore the question and instead went with one of his own. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t expect you guys for another three or four hours.”

  “Lucky for you,” Leo Anderson replied, his deep chuckle muffled by the door, “we happen to know a pilot insane enough to take off in that hellacious crapper of a squall. You remember Romeo, right?”

  Dan glanced over his shoulder to find Penni smoothing her hair back into her ponytail. She’d managed to pull off some sort of crazy, phone booth, superhero-esque redressing. Because not only were her trousers zipped, her shirttail neatly tucked into her waistband, but her shoes were back on, too. Huh. Impressive. Did the Secret Service practice fire-drill appareling or something? If so, he needed to ask her for some pointers.

  “You’ve got a little mascara…” he whispered, indicating the skin beneath her left eye and not allowing his gaze to ping down to her ass when she spun to face the bathroom mirror. She licked her finger and scrubbed the makeup away. And, yeah, so maybe he gave her tight little booty the briefest, teeniest of glances before turning back to throw open the door.

  “Of course I remember Romeo.” He flashed a grin he hoped hid the fact that he’d been half-naked and rubbing up against the lovely Agent DePaul barely thirty seconds ago. “How could I forget the guy who flew that old decrepit Huey in a series of crazy eights just for shits and giggles?”

  Seven men in jungle fatigues who ranged in size, shape, and coloring stood on the other side of the bathroom door. And one look at their familiar faces as their eyes skipped over his shoulder to Penni told him he hadn’t quite succeeded in pulling off that whole nothing to see here; just go about your business shtick. Their expressions varied from minor curiosity to smirking insight.

  Well, shit on a stick.

  But speaking of familiar faces, he experienced a fleeting pinch of…hmm…he guessed the best word to describe it would be nostalgia. Because Lieutenant Leo “The Lion” Anderson and his group of SEALs had that squinty-eyed, shaggy look that said they’d recently been or were about to go on a mission to a part of the world where the women wore burkas and Americans were considered enemy number one. The same type of place where an overabundance of body hair gave them a sort of camouflage within the local population.

  Not that working for Black Knights Inc. didn’t come with its own perks in the form of covert missions to the globe’s most notorious jungles and deserts. But since BKI was the darkest of the dark operators within the United States, Dan’s jobs tended be looser, his objectives less defined than the cut-and-dried sorties routinely carried out by the military. And it was that simplicity—if balls-to-the-wall raids, assaults, rescues, and offenses could ever be called simple—that he found himself missing right now.

  Then again, maybe he was merely feeling sentimental for a happier time. A time when he thought himself indestructible. When life was nothing but adventure and intrigue. When his wife was still alive.

  His wife…

  And, sonofabastard, that brought him back around to Penni and—

  “Speaking of shits and giggles, if I remember correctly,” Romeo said, his speculative gaze swinging away from Penni to land on him, “I was the one doing the giggling. And LT here”—he slung an arm around Leo’s shoulders—“was the one doing the shitting. Of his pants, that is.”

  Leo’s mouth curved down in a frown as he shrugged off Romeo’s arm. “What’s this?” he drawled, lifting his middle finger toward Romeo. “Why, it’s my asshole antenna. I’m happy to report you’re comin’ in loud and clear.”

  “Oooh, good one, LT,” Romeo said, referring to Leo’s rank of lieutenant. “That earns you one of these.” He pointed to his toothy grin. It blazed white against his swarthy face and close-cropped black beard. And right now, with the fatigues and the facial hair, Spiro “Romeo” Delgado looked like the Navy SEAL he was. But if Dan’s memory served, when Romeo was clean shaven, he could give Steady some serious competition for the title of World’s Most Successful Latin Lady-killer.

  “How many times do I have to tell you,” Leo harrumphed, popping his gum and pulling his always-present Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses from his face and hooking one earpiece over the collar of his army-green T-shirt, “that pirate smile of yours only works on those of us who possess a pair of ovaries.”

  “Not true,” Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright spoke up from his position leaning against the door jamb. When he grinned, it caused the scraggly brown whiskers of his beard to poke out every which way. “Remember the little blond-haired guy in that rundown cantina in Monterrey? He was bound and determined to make Romeo change his religion. And after six shots of tequila, I think Romeo was prepared to let him try.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Leo smirked and turned back to Dan. “In case you were unaware, let me be the first to tell you that Romeo’s penchant toward painted-on jeans and skin products makes him the equivalent of homosexual fly paper.” His Deep South accent seemed to draw out the last three words until they were about twenty syllables long.

  “You guys say that like it’s a bad thing.” Romeo made a face. “But I take it as the ultimate compliment that I’m irresistible to both sexes.”
>
  “You’re only irresistible because people tend to judge books by their covers,” Mad Dog retorted. “And your pretty cover disguises the fact that you’re one chromosome away from being a kumquat.”

  “I’d rather be a pretty kumquat from fabulous L.A.,” replied Romeo, “than an ugly Italian mutt from Atlantic City. And zing!” He winked. “You just got hit with my truth beam. Tell me something, Mad Dog. Are you blinded by it?”

  “Tell me something, Romeo. Do you huff glue? Because it’s the only thing that could explain your idiocy.”

  “Has anyone ever informed you that the Venn diagram of things that make up your personality and things that are annoying is a circle?” When Mad Dog’s chin jerked back, Romeo grinned in victory. “How’s that for idiocy? And you tried to liken me to a kumquat? Let me guess, all that grease you guidos put in your hair stunted the growth of your brain cells.”

  “Better to be a guido than a cholo.”

  “Oh, why don’t you go over in the corner and play your own skin flute,” Romeo said, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. It’d been Dan’s experience that spec-ops boys liked nothing better than to feed each other several servings of shit each day. And while being a crackerjack shot or good with a knife in CQB—close quarters battle—was highly revered, having a rapier wit was what really earned a guy top billing within a group.

  “I think I might,” Mad Dog was quick to reply. “And with a hog as big as mine—”

  “Will you guys cut the shit?” Leo said. “I haven’t set eyes on this bastard for over six years.” He grabbed Dan’s shoulder in a tight grip. “Come here, Dan Man. Let me get my mitts on ya.”

  And then, in typical guy fashion, the SEALs descended on Dan. He was crushed in a round of manly back-slapping bear hugs that left him wheezing. Mad Dog was the last of his former colleagues to whack him affectionately on the back. And while doing that, he was growling lowly in Dan’s ear, “I was sorry as hell to hear about your wife, man. And what happened to you afterward. But I’m glad to see you’re back on the horse.”

  “Thanks,” Dan hissed, “but I’m not back on anything.”

  Mad Dog chuckled, continuing to hold him close and whispering, “Whatever you say. And speaking of lies, you sonofabitch! I knew you and Boss weren’t really leaving the SEALs to settle down and build custom motorcycles. But, fuck me sideways, POTUS’s very own League of Extraordinary Gentlemen? I thought that was only a rumor.”

  And for anybody keeping score, that’s one more group of folks who now know exactly what I am and who I work for.

  In the last couple of years, for one reason or another, the list of people “in the know” about Black Knights Inc. had expanded beyond the president and his Joint Chiefs of Staff to include just about every alphabet-soup government agency housed under that behemoth known as the Department of Defense. And Dan wasn’t sure if BKI being forced from the clandestine closet would prove to be a boon or a boondoggle. As far as he could figure, for right now the jury was still out.

  Of course, the one person who wasn’t privy to the true nature of his affiliation—though he was sure she had her suspicions—was Penni.

  When Mad Dog pushed him away, he cleared his throat and flicked a meaningful glance in her direction. “Those rumors are unconfirmed,” he said from the corner of his mouth.

  Mad Dog’s expression blanked in an instant. And, damn, Dan wouldn’t want to go up against the guy in a cutthroat game of poker, that’s for sure. “Coming in loud and clear.” Mad Dog nodded.

  “Penni”—Dan turned, motioning for her to join them—“come let me make some introductions.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” She waved a hand in front of her face and wore a soft grin Dan knew was all for show. The woman had just experienced a long-overdue emotional meltdown followed by…well…a few minutes of insanity. Which he wasn’t going to think about unless he wanted to sport the world’s most painful boner.

  “Safe? What do you mean?” he asked.

  “With so much testosterone floating around, it’s like I’m standing inside of a testicle. And I’m afraid of what getting any closer to the source will do to my eggs. They might spontaneously fertilize or something.”

  Before Dan could think up a response to that bit of unexpected witticism, he got distracted by Romeo’s crack of laughter as it echoed against the acoustic tiles on the ceiling. “Ah, the lovely Agent Penelope DePaul,” Romeo said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Your file didn’t say anything about your wonderful sense of humor. And the picture the Secret Service has of you doesn’t do you a bit of justice, querida.”

  When Penni reached forward for a handshake, Romeo caught her hand between both of his. Dan could tell she bit the inside of her cheek when the devilish, dark-eyed bastard lifted her fingers to his lips.

  Whoa. What?

  The tips of his ears were burning like he was jealous or something. But that was impossible. He and Penni were…well…they weren’t anything. So maybe he was imagining that weird fire in his blood. Or maybe it had just been a very long day.

  That’s gotta be it.

  Still, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to jerk Penni away from Romeo and pull her next to his side. “Penni, you’ve already met Spiro Delgado, known as Romeo. I’m sure you can guess how he came by that name.” He frowned at the man. “But I wanna introduce to you to the guys from my former SEAL team. And even though they’re lowly Alpha platoon—I was with Bravo, by the way—try your best not to hold that against ’em.”

  He went around the group, making the introductions, and by the time he’d finished, Penni looked a little dazed. Dan didn’t know if it was all the new names and nicknames, the fact that Leo’s team was a handsome bunch—the fuckers—or that she was working on zero sleep. He was hoping for the latter.

  “So,” Leo said, scratching his brownish-blond beard. “Now that that’s out of the way, how ’bout you tell us where, when, and how we’re supposed to evac the president’s lovely young daughter…”

  * * *

  “Mmm,” Abby hummed when Carlos stretched like a cat. He was absolutely glorious in his nudity…and completely unabashed. He even reached down to absently caress his flaccid penis where it lolled lazily against his thigh.

  “Mmm?” he asked, releasing himself to tuck one hand beneath his head and reach for her with the other. She went to him willingly. And with his strong arm holding her close to his side, her cheek resting on his broad chest, she could almost pretend it was possible for her to be like this with him forever. To be his forever.

  “Yes, mmm.” She ran her finger around one of his flat, brown nipples. “That’s the sound a woman makes when she’s completely sated.”

  His chuckle sounded particularly low and rumbly beneath her ear. “Say it isn’t so. Not completely sated, anyway. Because I have much more in store for you. In fact, it’s best you prepare yourself now for a full week of Steady lovin’ once we return stateside. I’ve got some time off coming to me.”

  She ignored the sharp pain that sliced through her at the thought of what their return stateside would mean and instead latched on to the first change of subject that came to mind. “How did you get the nickname Steady? Is it because you’re so brave and courageous and reliable in the field?”

  “Ha! I wish. That’d be so much cooler.” He was drawing little circles on her shoulder with his index finger. And even though the hut had to be pushing ninety degrees with ninety percent humidity, his soft touch made her shiver. “No, I picked up that name back in Ranger School during a live-fire drill. A young petty officer caught a round to the right lung, and it looked like he was going to suffocate on the blood and air filling his chest cavity long before the ambulance arrived. So I had to do an emergency thoracentesis there in the field.”

  He stopped caressing her shoulder, lifting his chin to glance down at her. “I keep forgetting you didn’t finish medical school. Do you know what a thoracentesis is?”

  “A pleural tap. Whe
re you cut into the pleural space in the chest in order to release the air or fluid that’s building up.”

  “Sí.” He nodded before dropping his head back atop his hand. “So, anyway, I grabbed my Swiss Army knife, unfolded the reamer tool from the case, found a space between the kid’s ribs, and jabbed that blade deep. I had to use somebody’s ballpoint pen casing to keep the wound open so the blood and air could continue to drain until the medics arrived.”

  “And let me guess,” she finished for him. “You were steady as a rock through it all.”

  “So I was told,” he said, and she could feel him shake his head. “I find that hard to believe considering I was scared shitless the entire time.”

  “You?” She pushed up on her arm to stare down at him, smiling. “Scared? I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it, little neña. That was the first time I ever operated on someone outside a clinical setting and without a whole slew of experienced doctors on hand to correct my fuck-ups if I made any.”

  Planting her elbow on the mat, she cupped her cheek in her hand, narrowing her eyes.

  “What?” he asked, a line appearing between his dark brows. “What’s that look for? What are you thinking?”

  “Do you ever regret not becoming a surgeon?” And even though she tried to keep her tone light, she held her breath for his answer.

  “Nah,” he said almost instantly. She covertly blew out a relieved breath. Thank God I don’t have that to add to my guilt. “I mean, while I’m not happy why I decided to join the Army, I am happy with the life I’ve led. I’ve seen and done amazing things. I’ve been to some incredible places and have had more adventures than you can ever imagine. And there are a thousand adventures still to come.” Yes. She could see how that would appeal to someone like him. “Plus, I get to call some of the fiercest, bravest, smartest warriors on the planet my friends. All and all, I’d say that’s a pretty sweet existence.”