The Power of a SEAL

by Anne Elizabeth

  “Sure.”

  “Kerry, what’s your pleasure?” he asked, pushing his menu toward the edge of the table where the waiter could easily retrieve it.

  She placed her menu on top of his. She was not hungry for food. It seemed a shame to waste money on food when she’d probably spend the whole night toying with it. Leaper had passed her empathy test, and she wanted to experience several new things with him.

  Her eyes traveled to his big hand and then up his strong arms, highlighted by the pale blue tailored shirt. Her gaze roved over that broad chest and lanky body, moving over his kissable neck to his lips, which liked to laugh. Who talked about laughter anymore? She loved to laugh and had already smiled more with him than she could remember doing in the past year. When she reached his eyes, his gaze locked with hers. He lifted an eyebrow questioningly at her.

  Heat rose in her cheeks as she smiled broadly. “I’ll have the, uh, seafood Cobb salad,” she choked out. “No dressing. Just lemon on the side. Thank you.” When she dared look at Leaper, he was folding his napkin.

  “Same, and let’s take that order to go.”

  Her eyes danced with mischievous delight as she held his sexy stare. The smile she gave him couldn’t be mistaken. She was so pleased he’d taken the hint. As much as she relished sitting in this posh restaurant and chatting, all she wanted to do was strip him down and get to know him in the naughtiest sense possible.

  * * *

  In a guesthouse off First Street near the Naval Air Station North Island in Coronado, the sound of Barry White made the speakers pulse with a heady beat as eager hands caressed each other. The song “Your Sweetness Is My Weakness” filled the room.

  “I like this song,” Kerry sighed, cuddling closer. Leaper’s rock-hard body was a solid wall of muscle, but he held her like something fragile or precious.

  “Me too.” His words were a caress of breath, his lips brushing against her cheek.

  “Leaper, is that an entire wall of records?” she murmured.

  “Yes. I take my music very seriously.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “Music is my vice too. I thought I had a huge collection, but this is… impressive.” She could feel the outline of another impressive thing, lower down. “I like how music can strip you bare and sing directly to your soul. It can make a moment memorable or completely change the course of your day.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” His fingers moved deftly over her clothing, heating her skin underneath.

  Who am I kidding? I want him. And according to evidence pressing against her, the feeling was mutual. She gave in to her need for skin-to-skin contact and tugged roughly at his clothing. Items flew in all directions, landing in disarray on the floor as Kerry and Leaper kissed passionately and wildly, falling sideways onto the bed.

  They bounced lightly and stopped kissing long enough to laugh at themselves and their impatience to be naked and alone. It was a plus to have nowhere to rush off to.

  Running her fingers along his pectoral muscles, Kerry’s eyes held his. She could get lost in that gaze. She licked her lips, enjoying the taste of his mouth on her tongue.

  His scent filled her nostrils. It was intoxicating. He smelled so good, and the appeal stroked something deep inside of her.

  “God, you’re so beautiful.” His sexy voice stroked her senses.

  “Thanks.” Her hands traced the outline of his stomach muscles. “There’s not an ounce of fat anywhere on you.”

  Leaper raised his eyebrows. “I beg to differ. Gich, my BUD/S instructor, told me I had quite a bit right up here.” He pointed to his head. “He’d call me Bug Eyes, like the fat was pushing out of my brains. I think I preferred Lefty, but you can call me…tomorrow.”

  She frowned as she pulled his hand downward, showing him where to go. “Quit that. Stop joking. Just be here, with me.”

  He nodded. “Sorry. It’s hard to stop a habit that’s decades old. I’m the jokester. Uh, just so you know, I had a physical a month ago and I’m clean. I’m almost embarrassed to say it’s been thirteen months since I was with someone.” He cleared his throat. “And, for the record, please speak up. I most assuredly appreciate a woman who knows what she likes and, um, gives directions now and then.”

  “Good to know.” Well, that means he’s open-minded. Good to hear. “Also, I’ve got you beat. Two years for me, though I’m still on the pill. Too lazy to go off it. Is that embarrassing or cool?”

  Leaper stroked her hair. “Cool, though you are too gorgeous to be single. It’s hard to believe men aren’t constantly knocking down your door.”

  “I don’t make it easy for them. My work is my life,” she said.

  “I hear you. I have a similar circumstance, and yet here we are.”

  She tilted her head and looked up and down the length of him. A sculptor would have been in heaven if he could sculpt Leaper. His body was lean, hard muscle, and every ripple was a deep grove of strength. She smiled. No artist could capture the splendor of his erection, holding straight and defiant between those beefy, powerful legs. “Magnificent.”

  He stared at her with a quizzical expression. “Huh?”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I think you’re hot.” She rolled her eyes. Pushing him onto his back, she said, “So I guess I’m just going to have to show you how desirable you are to me.” Dragging her nails teasingly down his chest, she watched his muscles quiver with excitement.

  His hands reached for her, and she pushed them away.

  “My turn. You have to lie back and enjoy it. That’s your mission.”

  “I can tough that out.” He put his hands behind his head and watched her. He tracked her every movement. His attention was eagle-eye sharp, and she could only imagine what Leaper and his fine body were capable of if he didn’t like what she was doing. But she had faith in her enthusiasm, even if her technique wasn’t perfect.

  His phone buzzed with a high-pitched tone. “Sorry. I need to get this.” He grabbed the phone and listened. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

  Her heart sank, and embarrassment brought splashes of red into her cheeks. How could she have been so wrong about him? She moved off the bed as Leaper quickly dressed. Why had she given in to her base urges so quickly? God, she wished she hadn’t come back here.

  His hands caught her to him. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me. I want to be here with you. Honestly. I have an emergency at the base with one of my trainees. If it weren’t life and death…”

  He kissed her. It was a deep, passionate, and heartfelt kiss that ignited her passion and soothed her bruised ego. “I understand. Go.” As quickly as she spoke the words, she was staring at the empty room. “Now, that’s how I really wanted to spend an evening.” She gathered her clothes into her arms and went into the bathroom to dress.

  * * *

  Dropping his helmet next to his motorcycle, Leaper ran to the building and practically tore the door off its hinges in his rush to get inside. His mouth was drawn into a grim line as he made his way toward the other side of the room.

  To his left, he could see three men talking in hushed tones, but he didn’t even give them the time of day. He’d deal with them later.

  “Lefton. Wait. You need to hear us out.”

  Giving them his fuck-you look for doing this exercise without him, he tugged open the far door and stepped through. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness as his nostrils flared at the smell. It was a mix of urine, sweat, shit, and fear. The room was filled with boxes, and there would be trainees in each one.

  Spying Watson leaning against one of them and talking in hushed tones, Leaper crossed quickly to it. He nodded at the group leader to shove off, then opened the large wooden box, which, despite the air holes, released a series of noxious odors.

  Leaper looked inside. “Trainee Parks. Let’s talk.”

  “Ahh!” The trainee’s screamin
g filled the room. His voice was hoarse, and it was obvious this had been happening for a while.

  Bastards!

  Leaper sat down on the edge of the box and said, “Parks, I’m here.” When the screaming quieted, he reached down and took off the trainee’s hood. “So, Lester, what’s up?”

  “I…I…I…” There were no words after that.

  “Claustrophobic?”

  “No, no, no.” The trainee wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked in place. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Leaper watched him. “This experience, the hood and the box… It brought something up for you…”

  Lester Parks looked up, meeting his Instructor’s eyes, and nodded.

  “Leave your hood, get out of the box, and follow me,” Leaper ordered.

  Leaper didn’t try to help him. The trainee had to show he could act under his own steam; otherwise, the next stop was medical care. Thank goodness Lester Parks was moving in the direction of the door. Leaper spared a glance at the rest of his group tucked into boxes. He met Watson’s gaze, and the other man nodded. The unspoken command was “get your group out of their boxes.”

  What a fuckup! It was guaranteed that Leaper would check on all of them before he left this place and give whoever jumped the gun on this activity a piece of his mind.

  Leaper opened a side door, and the two of them stepped outside. He pointed to several barrels. “Take a seat.”

  Standing in front of Parks, he asked, “What happened in there?”

  “I had an uncle who locked me in my room when he left. There were no windows and it was small, and there was a fire. He got me out before the whole apartment building went up in flames. I don’t remember him rescuing me, but I remember smelling smoke and coughing and…” Tears streamed down his face. “I can’t do this. I’m ringing out. This isn’t for me.”

  Leaper nodded. “C’mon. I’ll walk with you.” He escorted Parks to the BUD/S Quarterdeck where the trainee rang the bell. “Be proud of yourself for getting this far. Take the strength with you.”

  “Thank you, Instructor Lefton.”

  Two MPs appeared a few minutes later from inside the main building. They’d walk Parks back to his bunk, where he’d collect his belongings and be taken over to Naval Air Station North Island’s temporary Enlisted Quarters until a new duty could be arranged.

  Leaper shook his head. Would Parks have rung out of training regardless of tonight’s craziness? Probably. Spec Ops wasn’t for everyone. There had been “black classes”—when no trainee made it all the way through the process—before, and there would be again. He remembered seeing the specs for one recent class. Out of 171 trainees, only thirty-one had graduated.

  Entering through the side door, Leaper opened up each of the boxes holding his trainees and pulled off their hoods. He pointed to a position along the wall. They seemed relieved to see him and scrambled out of the boxes and into position very quickly. So far, his guys looked okay. This night hadn’t destroyed them.

  Leaper pulled off the last hood. “Hey, Captain Kirk. What’s up?”

  “W-w-what?” The legacy trainee looked up at Leaper with wide eyes. There were tear streaks along his cheeks and long scratches along his arms. None of them looked deep enough to get medical involved, but the kid was eerily quiet. How is it that I missed seeing this behavior or the evidence of it before? Is Quentin a cutter or into self-flagellation? None of that info is listed in his file. I need to keep an eye on this kid. “Okay, Kirkland. Get on your feet and into line with the rest of your group.”

  The kid pulled down his sleeves and hastily wiped his eyes before joining the rest of the group. All of his trainees moved quickly and easily, which meant they hadn’t been in the boxes very long. The expressions on their faces ranged from tired to relieved.

  “Okay, release the rest of the trainees, even those not in your boat group, and form two lines. Don’t worry about cleaning up this place. I know several men who are going to enjoy wiping piss and shit and puke out of boxes and off the floors. Now, move.”

  “Yes, Instructor.”

  Leaper left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He silently studied the three SEAL Instructors—correction, two assigned SEAL Instructors and one future Rotation Instructor—as he approached them. He didn’t need to ask whose idea it was to “go off book” with the trainees. He stalked toward the shortest man, a guy called Zoxt, until he was only a few inches from his face. “What gives you the right to step into our Instructor Rotation? I am doing everything in my power not to put you through that fucking wall. I know BUD/S CO Swifton wouldn’t sign off on this. So tell me—why are you fucking with my men?” His voice was a low and deadly thunder. The switch had been flipped, and there was something at the back of his brain attempting to remind him that Zoxt was a brother, a SEAL. Yet there were bad apples in the bunch sometimes.

  “Listen, man, this shit doesn’t normally happen to me. I’m in the next rotation, and I wanted to get my feet wet. You know how it is.” The idiot kept talking. There were no words of remorse or questions about the trainees’ welfare. Every word was me, me, me! “I had the boys call you because it seemed serious. The trainee wouldn’t stop screaming. Freaked me out.”

  Leaper’s voice was like gravel on glass, low and harsh. “You sick fuck! There’s an order and protocol to how we train. The reason we do this particular exercise is to prepare the trainees for the worst of the worst, the unthinkable, which is being captured. But we’re not at that aspect of training. I think you’re a sadist. You were bored and wanted to feel like a god. That’s not what we do here. We are training and testing these men in an attempt to save their lives. What? Do you think this is your personal playground?” Leaper’s mind had clicked off the tiny voice squeaking out protests and warnings to play nice. “Do you think you’re doing the trainees a favor by treating them as your own personal chew toys?”

  Zoxt chortled. “Slow yourself, man. You’re overreacting. Hell, I know it sure seems bad now, but it was good for a while. You should have seen them squirm. You know how it is. This is, you know, what it is.”

  “What I know”—Leaper stepped closer so that his breath was blowing onto Zoxt’s face—“is that the trainees are not physically and mentally prepared to face it at this point. They don’t understand themselves, let alone their link to the Team or their Teammates.” It was like reasoning with a worm, trying to convince it not to crawl. “Why aren’t you hearing me, that we work in a certain order? You’ve fucked with a very careful, tried, and safe plan. You are done, and not just for the night.”

  “Other people have tried to shoot me down, but I’m tough-skinned.” Zoxt was attempting to look past Leaper to the other two SEALs in the room, as if looking for backup. If they were smart, and remembered that Leaper was a wild card, they wouldn’t get involved.

  “Look at me, Zoxt. Look. At. Me.” Leaper’s voice was like ice, and if it had been a sword, it would have sliced Zoxt in two.

  Reluctantly, the man met his gaze. “Feel like a big man, ordering me around because I’m shorter?”

  “No, but my rank is higher, if you need that excuse. I’m telling you what to do so I don’t physically twist your head off your neck. You need to read your SEAL Ethos. You need to get some basic fucking lessons in humanity, and I guarantee you that your next rotation will not be here. We do not allow egomaniacs near our training candidates. Now, tell me you’re going to report to the CO of BUD/S first thing in the morning and apologize, before I lose my last thread of control.”

  Zoxt shrugged. “Yeah, man. Whatever. The exercise has lost its fun anyhow.”

  Something snapped in Leaper, and it was all he could do to watch the poor excuse for a man walk out of the building. Closing the distance to the other two men in the room, he barked out orders. “Get them fed and showered and tuck them into bed. If the trainees are not treated with kid gloves while you are doing
this…I’m waking Swifton and marching you into his office tonight. Oh, and the three of you, have fun cleaning up the mess in that room. I look forward to seeing it sparkle with the cleaning power of bleach. I’ll know if you bring in help.”

  The men stood there, eyeballing Leaper and clearly wondering if they dared to defy him. They were young, their first rotation as Instructors, with one tour under their belts and staffer positions on their resume. He didn’t need diplomatic relations; he needed responsible people at this helm. As Leaper leaned in, their faces contorted into acknowledgment. They nodded and then sidestepped him, heading toward the box room.

  Rage beat inside of Leaper’s body. His anger wanted out. Practically every man who’d had boots on the ground and had been in significant action had some kind of beast. The longer he was in the field and the bloodier it was when he fought, the bigger and stronger the beast grew, until the feral and primal creature was only a breath away from action. But Leaper knew better than to unleash his creature. Controlling it gave him so much more focus and energy. Good decisions came out of calm. The training had taught him this fact—the very exercise those men had experienced tonight, in truth. But without the knowledge that comes from the second half of this all-important lesson, it was a useless and tortuous lesson.

  It was a damn shame. The three men had cheated these trainees out of experiencing personal revelations and important combat lessons. There’s power in learning from fear and pain, and learning how to move forward from emotion; as one masters the mental challenge, the skills and insights provide even more valuable information about the inner workings of an individual. Would the trainees get all of this info now, after this mess? He hoped so. But there was no doubt in his mind that all the instructors would be working double-time to give them their best.

  Leaper rubbed his chin, doing something ordinary and calming and attempting to reign in his inner demon. His creature had a devilish side, and it was a ravenous and unforgiving beast. The things it had done, with his permission, were best not talked about. It was the side of him that could rip flesh open using only the strength in his arms and hands.