His fingers tangled in my hair, then he wrapped the ends around his fist and pulled back gently, kissing down my neck, sucking softly on the sensitized skin.
His other hand moved up to cup my breast, his thumb pressing through two layers of fabric, but still able to find my hard nipple.
My short nails scratched down his back and he arched into me, a soft groan of desire, a low masculine moan rolling up from his throat.
He opened his eyes and stared down at me, his intense gaze making me feel hungry for attention and suddenly filled.
I reached up to his shoulders again, dragging my nails down his back, and once again he arched like a cat, almost purring.
Then he reached behind and yanked his t-shirt over his head, gripping the neck of the material in that way that men and boys seem to do naturally, the shirt all but ripping from its rough use.
His dog tags gave a soft chink as they landed back on his chest. I stepped away, taking a moment to appreciate the artistry of his body, honed by work, chiseled by the boredom of deployment with nothing to do but hours spent burning energy in a dusty gym.
His eyes urged me to touch him and I was more than happy to accept, permission to slide my fingers over all that golden skin.
Then I held his dog tags in my hand, using them to pull him toward me. He grinned, pleased with my command.
This kiss was more urgent, sexual, insistent, his probing tongue a prelude to the madness to come. His hands tightened authoritatively around my waist, then rose upward, taking my shirt with them.
Another soft groan escaped when he lowered his lips to kiss my breasts, wetting the fabric of my bra.
I started to reach behind me to undo it, but he stopped me.
“No, let me. I’ve been fantasizing about this,” he admitted.
“Really? For how long?”
“About five minutes after I met you,” he chuckled.
“Ah, I see. Immediately after rescuing me from a murderous mob. Good to know your mind was on your work, Sarge.”
He shrugged, smiling slyly.
“I can multitask.”
I pressed my lips against his chest, feeling the strong even beat of his heart.
As I leaned forward, his deft fingers found the catch on my bra and popped it open. I shimmied out of it, and he caught my breasts in his hands, his head moving between them, circling my nipples with his warm tongue, bringing pleasure to every part of me.
His callused fingers took over where his tongue left off, and then he kissed me thoroughly, possessively, our tongues fighting for dominance—a fight that I’d ultimately lose without giving a damn.
I’d never been with a man like Jackson before. He was so confidently male, so unashamedly strong without being brutal, although maybe just a little rough, which I hadn’t known I’d like.
He handled my body as assuredly as he handled his MK-16, almost like an extension of himself.
And that powerful, beautiful body was my playground. My hands touched everywhere; my tongue tasted all that I could reach while we were still partially clothed.
I could feel his hands exploring my waistband, tugging at the zipper.
“I have to take my shoes off,” I muttered against his neck, my new favorite place.
He laughed softly as he kicked off his own sneakers and dropped his jeans in a second.
And I couldn’t answer the eternal question of boxers or briefs, because he wasn’t wearing either.
My eyes snagged on his cock, my hands pausing with my pants half down, but then something else caught my attention and held it hostage.
White scars, like slashes of rain marred the smoothness of his left hip and thigh.
“Shrapnel,” he said, answering my unspoken question as I traced my fingers across the ridges of shiny scar tissue. “At least I didn’t get my dick shot off.”
I let out a puff of air that would have been a snort of amusement in other circumstances—but it just didn’t seem appropriate in the presence of nine inches of engorged flesh pointing in my direction.
I let my slacks drop to the floor, clad only in boring white panties, mesmerized by his body with all its beauty and all its flaws.
From the rain burst of scars, my hand dropped lower, running my palm across the length of his shaft, smoothing my thumb over the broad crown, watching his stomach muscles tremble as I touched and teased and stroked.
I glanced up as he sucked in a breath, the thick ridges of his abs quivering. I had intended to lick each and every part of that amazing body, losing myself in all the dips and crannies.
The dark blue of his eyes had become stormy, and I sensed that only his iron willpower was holding him back at this moment. I shivered, wondering what Jackson Connor unleashed would be like. My body welcomed the moment, but my timid heart knew he had the power to slay me.
He shocked me by falling to his knees, his nose pressing against my pubic bone as he inhaled deeply, then pressed a soft kiss to my damp panties.
I ran my hands over his closely-cropped hair, his bowed head making him seem vulnerable.
But then he hooked his fingers in my panties and slowly slid them down my legs. His eyes flared with heat and something primitive, and then he cupped my ass to pull me closer so I was almost astride his head.
I hissed and squirmed as his tongue sank into me, but he held me firmly even as I lost my grip on his too-short hair.
His tongue continued to stroke and press and explore until my thighs quivered and I cried out softly.
Even as my eyelids drooped, I saw him smile with satisfaction. Then he carried me to the bed, positioning my body, altering the cant of my hips to suit himself.
A condom was in his hand, expertly sheathing himself, a slight tightness to his lips giving away the fact that he was affected by this.
As he pushed inside, he muttered something under his breath, but I was too entranced to make him repeat it, and I wasn’t sure it was for my ears anyway.
I cried again softly as he filled my body, my knees automatically lifting, my ankles wrapping behind his back, digging in with my heels as I urged him deeper.
“Goddam, MJ,” he said roughly.
And then he lost control.
He pounded furiously, shaking loose the confines of my ankles so my feet bounced helplessly against his back, my breasts quivering with every thrust. My hands were pinned by my sides in his iron grip, and the ferocity in his gaze dried my throat. The intensity was almost scary, but then he came suddenly and unexpectedly, hissing out his release as his heavy body covered mine.
He swore softly and rolled off, disengaging his still impressive dick.
“Goddam, MJ,” he said again, more softly. “I was going to make that last, but you’re too much for me, woman.”
I laughed breathlessly.
“That was fine for me. Damn fine, I’d say.”
He gave me a lopsided smile.
“It’ll be better next time.”
Next time.
He pulled off the condom, tied a knot in the end and lazily dropped it on the floor, grinning at the disapproval that was written all over my face.
“I’ll pick it up later,” he said, reaching out to cup my breast. “Promise.”
“You’d better. It must be hard enough being the hotel maid without . . . you know what, never mind. I’m just going to lie here in a happy state of post-coital bliss.”
He squeezed my breast again.
“You look beautiful, all pink and warm. Shit, seeing you come all over my tongue was somethin’ else.”
I hoped he couldn’t see my cheeks growing redder from his words, even though I liked them a lot.
We lay in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. My fingers played with the smattering of hair on his chest, tugging gently.
After a while, my words unglued themselves from their lazy state. I had questions.
“Jack, you said you didn’t have sex last time you were on leave.”
His blue eyes settled on mine con
fidently.
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
He puffed out his cheeks.
“I’m not naïve enough to think that you couldn’t have, if you’d wanted to,” I added.
He smiled slightly.
“If I was twenty, yeah, I won’t lie to you. I’d have been at the beach coaxing co-eds out of their bikinis.”
I laughed ruefully at the all too probable image.
“But I’m not twenty,” he went on. “And being with a girl just so she can say she got laid by a Marine, it gets old. Well, it has for me. I just didn’t meet anyone special last time I was home.” And he leveled those honest eyes at me. “I had to wait until I was back in the sandbox to meet a woman who caught my interest.”
I smiled with the pleasure of warm satisfaction.
“What about you, MJ? You’re in a city with eight million folks, half of them men. How come you don’t have a guy?” He paused. “Or maybe you do.”
I raised one eyebrow.
“I’ve dated, but no one special caught my eye. I had to wait until I was on a hot and sweaty embedment in Afghanistan before I met someone I could be interested in.”
He grinned at me.
“Could be interested?”
“Jack Connor, are you fishing for compliments?”
“Would I catch anything if I tried?”
“Well, I could say that you have a beautiful dick.”
He choked on a laugh.
“Thank you, ma’am. Not a compliment I’ll be sharing anytime soon.”
He rolled out of the bed, stretching languidly, that perfectly chiseled body on display, not a shred of embarrassment as he walked naked to the bathroom.
I turned onto my side to watch my own private floorshow. God, his butt! Two perfect globes of muscle. It made me want to sink my teeth into them.
But it was cute—his ass was paler than the rest of him.
“Not much naked sunbathing when you were in Afghan, Sarge?” I called after him.
He turned and grinned, leaning one hip against the bathroom door.
“Usually, yes. But we had some gals from the motor pool in the hardback next door—the framed tent where we sleep. Their CO complained that she kept gettin’ flashed, so we were told to cover up.”
“I bet her team hated her for that,” I teased.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Tears at bedtime.”
“Not binoculars?”
His eyes widened as he pretended to look shocked.
“MJ! You tellin’ me you like to perv on naked guys?”
I shrugged.
“It’s working out pretty well for me right now.”
He laughed and disappeared into the bathroom.
I heard the sound of running water and a moment later he reappeared.
“What does MJ stand for?” he asked out of the blue.
I shook my head, pretending to be shocked.
“Sarge! Are you telling me that you’re the kind of man who sleeps with a woman before you know her name?”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Fine, don’t answer that. It stands for Margaret Jean, but I prefer MJ.”
He grinned.
“Suits you, Maggie.”
I winced.
“I think you have earwax. I’m pretty sure I just said that I prefer being called MJ.”
“Yeah, but I like having a name for you that no one else uses—I like Maggie.”
My smile faded and Jackson frowned.
“What’s wrong, sugar?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“No, I said somethin’ that upset you. If you don’t want me to call you Maggie then I won’t.”
He sat on the bed and reached forward, pushing my hair over one ear and rubbing his thumb gently across my cheek.
“My dad used to call me Maggie. No one else has since he died. But it’s kind of nice to hear it again,” I admitted.
He smiled softly and kissed me gently.
“Thank you for sharing that.”
I lifted a shoulder, unwilling to confess how much it affected me.
I laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the mattress dip as Jackson stretched out beside me.
Then he rolled onto his side and pulled at my hip until we were facing each other. And somehow that gesture was more intimate than when he’d been moving inside me ten minutes earlier.
He didn’t speak for a while and I wondered if he was drifting asleep. But then his eyes opened again.
“I’ve had a really great night,” he said, stroking one finger along my shoulder and arm, slowly trailing down across my waist, until his warm hand was resting on my exposed thigh.
I tensed slightly, waiting for the whole, take your time showering before you leave speech, or some version of it.
“Come to Scranton with me tomorrow. Meet my buddy, Gray. You’ll like him.”
I blinked, surprised.
Wait, what?
That’s not how the script was supposed to go.
I studied him closely, wondering if he was simply feeling obliged to let me down in a more gentlemanly way than usual, being southern and all. But as I looked into dark blue eyes, I saw nothing but sincerity, as well as something deeper—a longing, maybe even hope that we’d made a connection.
I smiled cautiously, prepared to give him an out.
“He’s expecting to see you, not some random woman you picked up.”
Jackson frowned.
“You’re not random, Maggie.”
Hearing him use that name slayed me. It woke too many feelings, but it warmed me through all the same.
“Then I’d love to,” I said at last. “I’ve never been to Scranton.”
He grinned and planted a sweet kiss on my forehead.
“Me either.”
I was tempted to snuggle into that amazing chest, breathing in his warm, spicy scent as I drifted asleep. But I’d planned on going home. Especially if we were going to visit his friend tomorrow, I needed clean clothes.
“I should go,” I sighed, pulling away and sitting up, enjoying the way his eyes dropped to my chest before returning to my face.
“Stay,” he said, sitting up and cupping my cheek with his hand.
“I really should get going . . .”
“Please,” he said softly.
Damn, those southern manners were going to be the death of me.
“We’ll get a cab to your place in the morning, so you can change your clothes and get your female do-dads. We’ll leave after you’ve done your work.”
I burst out laughing.
“Female do-dads? Really?”
He laughed with me.
“Isn’t that the technical term? Dang! I must have missed the memo.”
“Never mind, Sarge. I’ll get you caught up with all the new-fangled words like cell phone and automobile.”
“Oh, you think you’re pretty funny!”
His eyes flashed wickedly, and then he pounced, tickling the hell out of me until I was screaming for him to stop.
He pinned my hands to the bed, both of us breathless. I felt his hardness against my belly and then his mouth was on mine, his tongue hot and determined as he kissed the hell out of me.
I decided there and then to reschedule my early morning call. Very unprofessional. Very unlike me. And definitely the right decision.
Round two.
An Old Friend
THE BED WAS too hot, and I felt sweaty and uncomfortable as I tossed the duvet away and sat up, my eyes snapping open when I heard a muffled yelp.
Memories of last night came racing back, and I couldn’t help an apologetic chuckle as Jackson pushed the duvet from his face, rubbing his chest where I’d accidentally elbowed him.
“You always this rough on your men, Maggie?”
I laughed at him over my shoulder.
“Stop pretending I hurt you! Surely the big, tough Marine isn’t afraid of little old me?”
Jackson
gave me a wry smile.
“That’s where you’re wrong, sugar. As far as I’m concerned, females are weapons of mass destruction, created with the sole intention of bringing a man to his knees. And besides, women are from Mars and men are from Venus.”
“I think you mean men are from Mars.”
“Uh-uh! Women are way more bloodthirsty.”
“Is that a fact?”
“More like a life lesson.”
He grinned up at me, his short hair flattened slightly on one side, his face softened by sleep and now covered in light brown stubble.
My eyes wandered down to his bare chest, frowning slightly at his dog tags, a reminder of his dangerous occupation that would take him away from me as soon as his next deployment was ordered.
I shook my head. He wasn’t mine, and there wasn’t much future with a man who was married to his job. But we had here and now, and that would have to be enough.
“What’s going on in that busy brain of yours?” he asked gently, reaching out to stroke a finger along my jawline. “I can see the gears turning.”
“Just planning on living in the here and now,” I said honestly, although somewhat economical with the truth.
His smile widened.
“That so? Waal, how about you come over here and I’ll show you some lovin’ right now?”
“Let me guess, you have some morning wood that would just be a criminal waste not to use?”
He laughed, his eyes creasing with happiness.
“Woman! The things you say!”
“You don’t have morning wood?”
“Sugar, I could have a whole logging company down here, but you’ll never find out standing all the way over there.”
“I am an awfully long way away,” I agreed, standing up and inching my way toward the bathroom, “but I really have to pee. Hold that thought.”
As I closed the bathroom door behind me, I heard him mutter, “I’ll hold somethin’.”
His words brought a smile to my lips.
After I’d washed my hands, I stared at myself in the mirror. My skin was flushed, and I had a small bite-shaped bruise beneath my left breast, a reminder of Jackson’s out-of-control passion the previous night. But it was the brightness of my eyes that caught my attention. Despite getting only a few hours’ sleep, I looked alert and energized. I looked . . . happy.
Battle Scars Page 4