Wanted: Wife 4 Navy Seals: A Military romance

by Dee Palmer

  “You are lying,” he replies, his voice is deep without inflection.

  “I-” I try to speak but he interrupts.

  “It doesn’t require a response, you are lying, and I will allow it tonight, but next time there will be no lying, understand, Lola?” His stern command brooks no opposition.

  “Yes, Sir.” Why do I suddenly feel guilty for lying?

  “Now, what are you doing?” He continues smoothly.

  I shift a little. “Sir, I am kneeling with my head lowered, waiting for your instruction, Sir.” My hand is tugging at my hair at the nape.

  “Mmmm.” He grumbles. “You are a dreadfully poor liar. Should I allow that, Lola?” I sigh, Christ, what am I supposed to do if he is just going to call me a liar every time I open my mouth?

  “Sorry, am I boring you?” His tone is angrier now.

  “No, Sir. Sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean…” I am really struggling and feel flushed. Maybe I should hang up. I wonder if Mags gives refunds.

  “Lola.” His firm tone interrupts my panic.

  “Yes, Sir.” My response is quiet and utterly submissive.

  “I want you to do exactly what I say, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” His tone is captivating.

  “You’ve lied to me? “ He waits for a response, the silence is excruciating.

  “Yes, Sir.” I am tentative and expectant. I can feel the heat building in my body.

  “Do you think that is appropriate?”

  “No, Sir,” I respond immediately.

  “Do you think it is acceptable?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Do you think you should be punished?” I’m sure he heard my intake of breath, and I push the covers back away from my body as a heat surges through me from my core.

  “Yes, Sir.” I suck in my bottom lip to prevent any involuntary sounds escaping.

  “Good girl.” A pool of molten liquid burns between my legs, and I start to wiggle to get some relief.

  “Did I say you can move?” I freeze. “Good. Now, Lola, you don’t know what I look like, but for this I think you might need some help. You have a picture, perhaps? Something that you can look at while I am instructing you?” His voice is seductive and encouraging, and I know exactly the picture I would like to use.

  “Yes, Sir, I do.”

  “Good girl. Now, I want you to stand up and remove whatever it is you are wearing.” My mind is racing. Does he expect me to actually do what he says? How will he know? He can’t possibly know. I make a snap decision and stand.

  “Good girl.” His deep voice rumbles through me. “Put me on speaker so you can move freely.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I start to remove my pj’s when I stop. “Sir, would you like me to remove my clothes slowly?” I can’t believe I am actually doing this, but I might as well go all out. He laughs

  “Really, Lola, there is nothing seductive about peeling layers of pj’s. I just want you naked so we can begin.” I don’t know whether to laugh or be creeped out at this point, so I remain silent, my heart pumping with the speed of a frightened rabbit. I finish stripping.

  “I’m naked, Sir.” I exhale, trying to push the mounting nerves out through my breath.

  “Good girl. Isn’t it better when you don’t lie? When you do as you are told?” I am not going to analyse this now, but I do feel better. “Now, I want you to lie down.” He waits as I crawl onto the bed. I am guessing he can hear the creak of the wooden slats, because when I am still, he continues. “I want you to tie your hands tight above your head and tie your legs wide apart so you are completely open for me… but as I am going to need your hands you are going to have to pretend for me. Can you do that, Lola?” I can hear the gruffness in his voice, and I wonder if this is having the same effect on him as it is on me.

  I make to swallow and take a steadying breath. “Is that not like lying?” I venture.

  “Lola.” He rumbles his angry response.

  “Sorry, Sir. Yes, of course, Sir.” Jeeze, it’s hard to gauge him, he should add ‘frowny face’ to his commands, so I can respond appropriately.

  “Your hands are my hands, yes? Picture me, picture my hands.” He instructs with such clarity, my hands no longer feel like my own.

  “Mmmm,” I am right with him now. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I am holding your face lightly, and I’m going to kiss you just below your ear. Can you feel that, Lola? My hand is tracing the edge of your jaw, down your throat along your collar bone.” He croons, and I mirror his description with the tip of my finger. It sends shivers and racing heat all over my body. I want to press between my legs to relieve the ache that’s building. If I’m honest, I’m seriously turned on and confused. Shouldn’t I be the one talking?

  “I’m kissing along your collarbone, my hot tongue rough and wet, my teeth nipping at your flesh. I move down your delicious body, your skin feels like silk, warm and fevered.” He is right about that. “I squeeze your heavy breasts; they ache for my touch, your nipples hard and taut, begging for my mouth.” He pauses. “My hands are your hands, Lola, yes?”

  “Yes.” I can’t help but let out a heated moan as I squeeze my breasts. I go to pinch my hard, aching nipples.

  “No! Don’t pinch, I want to suck. I want to run my tongue all around that tight peak and place my hot wet mouth over it and suck, pull the hard nub into my mouth, and scrape the sensitive flesh with my teeth. I want to make you moan.” His voice is so deep with desire, I think he could be reciting a grocery list and I would still melt to hear his voice, but the words he is saying have me on fire, wanton and helpless.

  “Arghhh.” I can feel his warm mouth around me, sucking, pulling, grazing my puckered nipple. My back arches from the bed and I squeeze and pinch to get some relief. I let out an agonizing moan.

  “My hand is holding your hips steady, and I’m putting slight pressure on the indents above the bone. Do you feel that?”

  I jump a little. “Yes, Sir.” I manage to reply, frankly I’m surprised I can respond at all, I’m so hot. The throb between my legs is unbearable.

  “Your legs are wide, you are open wide for me, you’re so responsive, you’re so fucking wet.” I hear him moan, but I jolt at this sharp reminder of this afternoon, the exact words Daniel used, but maybe I’m over-sensitive, pretty standard words in this type of situation I’m sure.

  “Lola?” I’m back with him. “Take my fingers, run them down between your breasts, and I want you to take your index finger and sweep it down between your velvet folds. I want you to see how wet you are, how wet you are just for me.” I hear him moan and his breathing is more laboured. It makes me smile, but then I gasp as my finger trails through my slick sex. Fuck, I’m going to come.

  “Hold it, Lola! You don’t get to come until I say you can come.” His demanding tone leaves no room for discussion.

  What? Really? Luckily my outrage at this new information was only in my head. I don’t want to voice this, and I don’t want him to stop.

  “My fingers are stroking the depths of you, and I want you to sink two fingers inside yourself. Can you feel how tight you are? How you grip and squeeze? You’re so greedy.” An audible moan softly escapes my mouth.

  I do what he asks, the build-up in me is intense, I start to tremble, and my breathing is rapid and shallow. I can’t help but release a deep needful moan. I am panting, waiting for my next instruction, desperate to hear him tell me what to do to take me over the edge.

  Nothing. My heartbeat is hammering. I have sweat gathered in droplets on my forehead. I crawl up from the sprawled position I had found myself in and grab the phone. I check to see if I still have a connection. Looking at the screen, I can see the seconds continue to tick, and the call that has lasted an excruciatingly delicious thirty minutes continues in silence.

  “Sir?” I am more than a little breathless, but my imminent climax has retreated.

  “Lola?” His steady reply is followed by silence. I am instantly cooled. “Did you come, Lo
la?”

  “No, Sir.” I can’t hide the frustration in my voice.

  “Good.” He laughs lightly. “Be sure you don’t. I want you to remain frustrated. Consider it your punishment”.

  “What the…” I snap my mouth shut before he interrupts.

  “Something you want to say?” His voice is seductive again as he interrupts me from crying out what would’ve been something more than impolite.

  I’m fuming, but petulantly reply, “No, Sir.”

  “Good girl. Until tomorrow night.” The line goes dead.

  I repeat, “What the Fuck!” to myself, safe in the knowledge that I won’t be punished this time. I am hot, frustrated, and exhausted, but even so I can’t bring myself to finish the deed. I am thankful for the small mercy that I receive no more calIs for the remainder of my thirty minutes on duty. Once my time is up, I slump angrily into the plethora of pillows and settle down to a restless night.

  I HAD A dreadful night’s sleep, and I woke up in a foul mood, but despite the lack of sleep, I was surging with energy and decided to go for a run. I don’t tend to do this often, as walking keeps me fit, and Marco insists on taking me to a Krav Maga class at least once a week. I was a single girl in a big bad city. He signed me up to the toughest self-defense and martial arts class in the area. It does mean I will have to take a shower later in the morning when there is likely to be bodies around. Still that can’t be helped this morning because I need to try and clear my head, as Sofs said, I need to “get some perspective”. I make my way to Hyde Park Corner and cross into Green Park. This early there were only a handful of runners, and I set a brisk pace, picking a route that would take in St. James Park, too, before bringing me back to Hyde.

  I can’t get my head around the events of yesterday. The call last night was unreal, and I’m reeling with confusion. It was undeniably ‘off the charts’ hot, that the caller could make me feel the way I did, react the way I did and with such intensity. I felt real guilt at lying even when, realistically, how could he know? I was alarmed by the shocking surge of pleasure from obeying him, pleasing him. But seriously, why should I care? Not to mention the desperate burning need for him to make me come. His cessation and subsequent denial of my climax had been my punishment, and I took it, not entertaining for a moment the notion that I wouldn’t continue to obey his demand. I am so confused that I’m okay with that. No, I’m not okay with it, I bloody loved it! Maybe that is the difference between being a submissive and being merely subservient, either way I feel I’m on one hell of a learning curve. As with learning anything new, there is always an element of confusion to begin with. I just have to accept this as a lesson or lessons in self-discovery, learning new aspects of ‘my kinky self’ with no harm done. My feet pound the path, and I can feel the sweat gather in droplets and trickle down my spine

  Then there is Daniel Stone. I don’t understand why he needs to know my secrets, why he needs to know any information about me, or why on earth he wants to fuck me. It’s not that I’m a troll, but I have seen pictures of the women he dates, and I am not them. Glorious blondes with luscious manes of hair, legs up to their armpits and likely to scream at the sight of a bowl of pasta. Maybe I should just fuck him. The last thing I want is to be a challenge to a man like him, a man who thrives on challenges or puzzles to solve. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who’d back down from a perceived challenge. He is obviously used to demanding and getting exactly what he demands. If fucking him will diffuse this before it escalates further, then maybe he will forget about my secrets, forget about me.

  I am unlikely to rock his world in the bedroom department. I can just imagine a man of his considerable talents, if his fingers alone are any indication, is used to something close to professional perfection in the sack. Not an inexperienced virgin, who puddles in a useless liquid mess at his mere presence. Christ! I could probably come from his scorching gaze alone, and I seriously doubt I’ll able to incite the reciprocal reaction. I am not the champion of low self-esteem, but I am a complete novice. It must take years of experience to hone those skills he wields like a well-handled weapon. This thought makes me uneasy, but why should it? Why does it matter how many years and how many partners it takes? Maybe he is just a perfectionist, and that thought makes my mouth water. I grab the railing to steady myself as I cool down and stretch. I walk back toward Knightsbridge glad that I am working with Sofia tonight. It’s a private function at a private residence, so there will be plenty of time to discuss my sex life at length. I laugh out loud, my sex life! There’s a first.

  Joe is already unpacking the first delivery when I return. “You better hurry in that shower, girl, unless you want an audience.” He gives a cheeky wink as I run upstairs and grab my work clothes.

  Back down and outside the shower, I turn back to Joe. “I’ll get changed in here, then there’s no danger of frightening the staff!” I smile.

  “It’s not you frightening them that concerns me…it’s them thinking about their hard-ons all day rather than their work!” He calls after me.

  “Ewww, Joe! Gross!” I close the door to the sound of his laughter.

  I finish my shift mid-afternoon. Sofia is picking me up at six, so I have all afternoon to do some course reading and relax before getting ready. I start up the stairs when Joe calls me back.

  “I signed for a package for you, it came first thing this morning but I forgot, sorry, sweetheart.” He hands me the box.

  “Not a problem, thanks. If I don’t see you later, see you Monday, and give my love to Christy!” I head back upstairs, shaking my large but intriguingly light box.

  I open the box and pull the pink ribbons to remove a black and pink box. Agent Provocateur, I recognize the colours before I even see the name. Inside there is a card.

  No more lies. –S.

  Pulling at the tissue there is a beautiful black lace bra, the material is fine and delicate. It has straps that would lie in a cross tied pattern just under the cups. There are matching French knickers, suspender belt and silk stockings. This can’t be good. My hands are shaking as I dial Late Night Calls.

  “Late Night Calls… Let me help you.” I recognize the breathy voice of Susan.

  “Hi Susan, its Bets. Is Mags there? I’ve got a problem.” I am trying to remain calm.

  “Bethany, darling, what’s wrong? Did you get the parcel?” She sounds excited.

  “Um, yes.” Now I’m confused. I didn’t think there was a uniform. “You sent it?”

  “Well, yes, I got the delivery this morning for Lola, and sent it straight to you, but with a different courier company, for safety, you know. Why? What is it?” She asks kindly.

  I breathe out a relieved sigh. Okay, that’s not so bad. “It’s a set of really beautiful, sexy, and expensive lingerie, and it’s from the caller from last night. Is that usual?”

  “Oooo, how lovely. Well, it’s not unheard of, but what is unusual is that that caller has pre-booked your calls for the next week.” Her tone is pitched with excitement.

  “Can he do that? Mags, I have to say I’m a little creeped out right now. Are you sure I can’t be identified?” My heart is thumping but her overt calmness is having the desired effect on my nerves.

  “Absolutely, darling, I couldn’t sleep if it weren’t so. Pre-booking the call, well, it’s simple enough to do. We just keep your line free until his call comes in, even if he doesn’t call, you still get paid for the hour. Why? Didn’t the call go well? You were on for nearly half an hour, so you must’ve done something right?” She giggles lightly.

  “Not sure if me doing something right was the purpose of the call, but it was different…intense.” I don’t know how to describe it without disclosing too much of me.

  “Well, darling, it’s your call. If you don’t want to…” She pauses and I interrupt.

  “No.” I hesitate. “No, its fine, Mags, just different. Not that I have been doing this long enough to make a decent comparison really.” I ramble with fresh nerv
es. “I’ll just stick with it for the time being, but I can’t work until Sunday now, I have some previous commitments, will that be a problem?”

  “Not at all darling, I’m here if you need me, always!” She hangs up.

  Sofia is loading boxes into my waiting arms as we unpack the van and start to bring the supplies for the evening up to the private residence on the corner of Hyde Park. We have to be quick, as the traffic wardens here are pure evil. This apartment is gorgeous, I mean out of this world, lottery-winning price tag luxurious. The kitchen is all sleekly polished granite. I am sure every gadget and machine available is here, but it is all cleverly hidden behind smooth shiny surfaces and seductive lighting. Exploration, however tempting, is extremely unprofessional, so we are confined to the hall, dining room and kitchen. Jean, the chef for the night is already unpacking ingredients when we bring up the last of the boxes.

  “What’s first, Jean? Would you like us to help prep here or shall we start setting the table?” Sofia asks.

  “The table first, I’m fine here. It’s only five courses tonight.” He doesn’t bother to look up, which is good, because he is slicing onions at lightning speed.

  “Well, shout if you need us,” Sofia calls as she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dining room.

  “I’m a chef, of course I’ll shout!” He shouts after us.

  The dining room is open at either end and has a walled mirror down one side creating a never-ending image of light and space. The reflection from the adjoining room shows just a glimpse of the floor to ceiling windows of the lounge and a view, which stretches across the city as the sun begins to set. It is stunning, and I am stunned. Sofia knocks my arm waking me from my dreamlike daze.

  “So are you going to fuck him?” Her tone is as casual as if she had asked me to pass the salt.

  “Crude much?” I gasp in mock shock at her shameless question.