Rogue Soldier

by Dana Marton

  He lifted her left hand and massaged the area between her wrist bones. “It’s supposed to help with nausea,” he said.

  She let him, not because she believed anything on this earth could help her, but because she didn’t want to waste energy by protesting.

  When he was done with the left hand, he moved on to the right, the gentle pressure of his fingertips warming her skin. His rhythmic caresses felt nice, distracting her from her misery if nothing else.

  “Better?”

  “Maybe.” She made some noncommittal sounds.

  “Let me try the feet.” He pulled off her mukluks and put them next to her parka that he had helped her out of earlier to keep it out of harm’s way.

  He tried massaging through her socks for a few seconds before he pulled them off, frustrated. She didn’t need them; she wasn’t cold. The crew’s cabin next to them had some kind of a stove, and heat radiated through the wall.

  “I’m not sure what the right spot is here, so I’m just going to go over everything. Let me know if something works.”

  He started with her toes and massaged them until they were tingling. He moved on to the ball of her foot, then to the arch. He caressed the hollow below her ankle, alternating pressure with lighter strokes.

  The storm was quieting outside, but inside her, sensations swirled that made her forget everything but his touch.

  “Better now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  She had forgotten her seasickness a while back. Pleasure radiated up her body now from every spot he touched. He had noticed the change in her, too, his caresses growing suggestive and sensuous.

  She bit back a sigh. She was only letting him do this because she was going to die, anyway, no sense of dying miserable instead of happy if she had the choice.

  A few minutes passed before she realized she might not have a choice after all. Her body was making its intentions crystal clear, her blood humming with need.

  “I don’t remember you being this solicitous before,” she said. “One of the scores of women you’ve had since I last saw you taught you good.” Some of the pain returned at the thought.

  “Scores?” He crooked an eyebrow.

  True. What had she been thinking. It had been three full years. “More?”

  He shook his head.

  It was a stupid game. She didn’t want to know. “Ten?” She pulled her feet from his grasp.

  He shook his head again.

  “Four?” She’d had four lovers since him, although she had trouble believing he would restrict himself to that few. Her first had been to prove that she was over Mike. The second to erase the memory of the disastrous first. The third to prove that she could have another relationship and not still yearn after the man who’d broken her heart. She gave up after that third one. George had been unplanned and unexpected, friendship trying to stretch into more between two lonely people who got along well in every other regard.

  “There hasn’t been anyone,” he said so quietly she barely caught it above the noises of the sea.

  She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d confessed that he was an alien. Or more disbelieving.

  It had to be a line. An angle he was working. “Right, tell me another one.”

  He stayed quiet, but she could see his shoulders stiffen.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, truly stunned now. “It’s just that—”

  “Never mind,” he said, and pulled away.

  Mike McNair had lived three years of celibacy because of her. It boggled the mind. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, unless there’d been a disabling accident.

  A funny feeling spread through her chest cavity.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “For everything.”

  “Me, too, Tessa.” He reached out a hand, but dropped it before he reached her.

  “Touch me.”

  He stepped up to her head and drew a finger down her cheek, then stopped.

  “Like before.”

  He picked up her hand and started to massage it again.

  “No, like before before.” She pulled her hand away. And from the slow smile that spread across his face, she knew he finally understood what she was talking about.

  A look passed between them, crackling with tension, passions awakening.

  “It’s been too long, you might have to show me.” His voice was thick.

  He was teasing her now. She’d be damned if she would let him have the upper hand this once. She sat up to face him, let her fingers learn his face all over again. He watched her with an intensity that took her breath away but did not reach for her. She grew uncertain for a moment and buried her face in the warm nook of his neck.

  Her lips touched muscles that were taut with tension. He was holding his body in iron control. She smiled against his skin, her will rising to the challenge, her body forgetting about the rolling waves beneath them.

  Her hands slid up his chest, over the planes of muscles, then dipped down to get under the clothes that separated his burning skin from her fingertips. His flat nipples hardened into rock, and he bit back a groan when she skimmed over them.

  She let her hands roam where they might, let her fingers slide through the silky hairs that covered him, while she tasted the salty skin of his neck.

  The past three years disappeared. Old passions slammed into her hard, crumbling her defenses, bringing back feelings she’d long buried if not forgotten.

  “Tessa?” He whispered against her hair, his hot breath fanning the patch of exposed skin behind her ears, sending a delicious shiver across her skin.

  Her response was to move closer, until her breasts pressed against his chest, her body seeking as much contact as their position allowed.

  “Tessa,” he said again as his arms finally came around her.

  She kissed the strong line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, his closed eyelids, and in turn he did the same, responding in equal, but never pushing for more.

  His control infuriated her now.

  Damn him that he could still hold back, because she couldn’t. She was past the point of reason.

  She bit his earlobe, waiting for his arms to lift her up and lay her down, wanting him to take her the way she had remembered, hard and fast, taking no prisoners. He had always been gentle when needed, when they’d both been in the mood for it. But at other times… He’d been fireworks, dynamite, searing flashes of heat that drove her over the edge. She had missed their fiery joinings that used to leave her body aching.

  That was what she wanted now. She wanted to be possessed and possess in return. She wanted oblivion. She wasn’t a delicate flower, damn it.

  But instead of the mad rush she was craving, he took her earlobe into his mouth, scraped it with his teeth before settling in to suckle it slowly. He was driving her mad.

  She reached for the hem of her pullover and yanked it over her head together with the long-sleeved shirt beneath, separating herself from Mike but a moment before her lips were plastered against his.

  The air in the cabin that was comfortable enough when she’d been fully dressed now nipped at her naked skin, the heat of his palms when they found her rib cage, a shock.

  She had to tug at his clothes more than once before he pulled them off and she was finally settled against his warmth, skin to skin. She took a slow breath, let it out little by little.

  “I missed this.” The admission slipped out before she could bite her lips.

  “Me, too.” He dipped his head and buried his face between her breasts.

  She arched her back as she reached for the clasp of her bra, pushing her tender skin into his rough beginnings of a beard, a sensation that sent her nerve endings singing and her skin tingling with pleasure.

  He rubbed his face all over her, making small noises in the back of his throat. Her knees were trembling. She hugged his waist with her thighs and locked her legs together behind his back, b
ringing them into full contact, his unmistakable hardness pressed against her.

  She squeezed her eyes together and let her head fall back, and the next moment his hot mouth found her puckered nipple. His wet heat drew her in until she thought she would melt onto his lap.

  Her fingers slipped through his short hair, down to his wide shoulders, gliding over corded muscles that rose and disappeared like waves as he moved. He let go of the nipple, blew on it gently, then after a moment, when it was aching with the pain of needing to be touched, he claimed it again, tugging on it, suckling with force, scraping it with his teeth until she thought she would go mad.

  And then he moved over to the other one.

  Blood was rushing to the vee of her thighs where she felt swollen, wet and ready to burst.

  Not yet, not yet. If he could control his body, then she could control hers. She would not be the first to capitulate.

  She leaned back until she was lying down, needing to put a moment of distance between them so she could regroup. Not to happen. His burning gaze caressed her skin as effectively as the most skilled seducer’s touch.

  “You could kill a man,” he said.

  She watched his chest rise and fall. “That’s what we’ve been trained for.” She didn’t want to talk about the army now.

  “I meant with wanting.”

  He moved his body until he was above her, suspended on his arms, lying between her legs.

  He dipped his head and placed a row of kisses along her crooked collarbone first, then the straight one. The gesture brought to mind the incident that had broken the bone, her wrestling match with the alligator the day her Special Forces career had ended before it began.

  “Let it go,” he whispered into her neck, reading her mind.

  She had to, because the next moment he was dragging his whiskers across her skin, enveloping her in a haze of lust. He’d just been pretending that she was dominating this encounter. He’d been fighting all along. And he wasn’t fighting fair.

  She lifted her hips and slid against his hardness, gratified at the sound of his breath catching in his throat. Not enough. She slipped her hands under his waistband and cupped his bare buttocks.

  He answered by grinding himself into her, making it her turn to gasp for air.

  When his lips returned to her breasts, she squirmed with need and squeezed a hand between her pelvis and his, and once he figured out what she was about, he allowed her more room, enough for the second hand.

  She tried to make quick work of her pants, but her fingers kept fumbling. She undid the snaps and the zipper and tugged the edges open, but could not pull the things down. Mike’s hands were lost in her hair and rather than wait for him to mirror her actions, she went to work on his clothes next.

  When she loosened his pants, she pushed her hands under the fabric and shoved it off together with the boxer briefs, twisting, trying to align their bodies. Then the core of his heat sprang against her naked skin, rigid and swollen, and for a moment she froze as her body soaked in the sensation.

  His head moved up until he could look into her eyes. She wasn’t sure what he found there, but he moved away.

  “No,” she reached for him weakly, as he came to stand at the end of the crate that was now covered with their clothing.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight of his nakedness. She had forgotten how big he was, or rather, she had thought the memory was an exaggeration. He had a warrior’s body, and hers had no trouble recalling the things it used to do to her. She felt a gush of wetness that came to prepare his entry, an entry he might yet very well refuse.

  But he grabbed on to her ankles and pulled her down until her knees bent and her feet dangled over the side of the crate. Then his fingers crept up her inner thigh and tightened on her flesh as he took hold of her once again and pulled her further down, leaving her with her buttocks resting on the edge, her knees pushed up now, one warm large hand of his behind each of her trembling thighs, his fingers splayed wide.

  His gaze held her spellbound then it slid down over her body, and he pushed her legs apart, opening her to him. The muscles in his face and shoulders shifted, but she could no longer feel embarrassed, nor could she summon her old will to fight.

  What would she fight against?

  He had mastered her body and she had mastered his. The proof was as stiff as carved granite between them, if she needed any proof of his wanting.

  He came closer, until he was pushing against her sensitized bottom, but he did not angle himself to enter her, content instead with leaving their bodies pressed against each other. He moved his arms and supported her legs with his body, seeking for his fingers a new occupation.

  He parted her flesh with his thumb, finding the core of her pleasure unerringly and resting his fingertip against it lightly. When she squirmed, he increased the pressure, then let up, then increased it again. She felt her juices seep from her body and arched her back, shameless as she sought her release.

  He responded by changing the rhythm and switching from pressure to circling. That nearly did her in. She was trembling on the edge when he pulled back. She bit her lip. She had given herself to him fully. He would not make her beg. She would not, if it killed her.

  He eased back and she missed the heat and hardness of his body. Then she raised her heavy-lidded gaze to his face and realized he was no longer watching her, but was looking intently at the wall. And then she heard it, men talking on the other side. The storm had died down.

  How long ago? Had she made any loud noises? Had the crew heard?

  She let her feet slide down the side of the crate, her body pulsating with need and disappointment, grieving the absence of Mike’s. She had to get ahold of herself and get dressed. He caught her knees and stepped between them, slowly shaking his head. He didn’t have to tell her to be quiet.

  This time he parted her with two fingers and allowed them to slide down after a brief tease. He stroked her lobes, outlining her opening, circling over and over again as a second finger joined the first and the two glided around her sensitized entrance that was wet with her welcome.

  She could think of little else but his entering.

  Soon. He had to. He was only human. He couldn’t torture her endlessly. At one point his own body would need release more than he could hold back.

  He brought her to the edge several times just to stop, one time going as far as opening her folds fully and bending to blow cold air on her innermost parts to cool them. She wondered if the last three years she had spent by trying to replace him with other men, he had spent by planning his revenge.

  Then he finally shifted again and pressed his hard tip against her wet core. She squirmed to hurry him, but he wouldn’t have it, holding her hips in place, his fingers biting into her flesh. Slowly he pushed forward, opening her to him as he inserted the very tip, but only until the ridge was in, then stopped. The walls of her body closed around him, trying to pull him deeper, but he resisted. He wiggled, just a little, and she opened her mouth to gasp at the bone-melting pleasure of it, but he leaned forward swiftly and sealed her lips before she could make a sound.

  She couldn’t make any noise. She could not cry out, no matter what he did to her, or she would risk discovery by the men on the other side of the thin plank wall. She had to remember that.

  He held her bottom lip between his teeth and rubbed his chest over her breasts, his silky hair teasing her nipples into hard points of need. He obliged them by rounding his back and closing a warm lip over one, reaching up with one hand to roll the other between his thumb and forefinger.

  He pulled the part of him that she wanted the most at the moment, until the ridge cleared her opening, then eased it back again, sucking hard on her nipple at the same time. And just as she felt her muscles quiver, getting ready to contract, he pulled up to standing, leaving her wet nipples hard in the cold air.

  The Russians had some music on and were singing in their cabin. The blood was rushing in her ears so loudly, she co
uld barely hear them. When had they started that party?

  Mike’s hands were on her hips. He was poised at her opening, waiting. Damn it, would he make her beg?

  She was beyond pride. “Please.” She mouthed the word.

  And still he didn’t move. “Why?” He mouthed back, then bent to her ear. “To take your mind off being seasick?”

  “Because I need you,” she whispered, stunned just how much of that raw need reflected in her voice.

  “And?” He drew out the moment, bringing them face-to-face, his dark gaze looking to her soul.

  “What more do you want from me?” She could not give more, didn’t he understand? She could not give her heart.

  He took a deep breath and the next moment he sank into her to the hilt.

  He filled her to bursting, stretching her. Heat radiated from her core; waves of pleasure rippled through her body. Her fingers sought purchase on the crate as he took her like a man who meant the taking.

  He mastered her with long slow strokes, grinding himself into her with each.

  They were afloat on a rising wave, higher and higher, coming in with the tide. Then the wave crested, leaving her dizzy and spent, lying with her bones gone soft as pleasure licked at her shores.

  He pulled her up and gathered her to him, his arms closing tight around her, his face buried in her hair. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, beating as madly as her own.

  She felt spent, depleted, too much so to analyze what had happened between them, her brain still steeped in too much pleasure to consider regret or implications. She tightened her arms around him and let go any nudging worry, taking a few selfish moments to enjoy the way her body was still tingling from his.

  His muscles went taut, and she almost laughed. No way. Not again. He couldn’t possibly mean— Then she heard the noise, too, and stiffened in alarm. Footsteps vibrated the wood planks above them.

  Mike swept her to the floor, pulling their clothes from the crate with his free hand just as the cargo hold hatch opened. She held her breath, grappling for clothes silently, then abandoning the effort. If it came to a fight, her nakedness might distract her opponent. It might give her a moment of advantage.