“Where did you get this?” she whispered, her breath hot and wet against his skin, reminding him of another part of her that he knew from experience was even hotter, even wetter.
“In an altercation with a hunting knife in a cave near the Khyber Pass,” he told her. “The hunting knife nearly won.”
She pulled back, searching his eyes, her brow puckered. “How can you joke about something like that?”
Sweet woman. Sweet, clueless woman. “Because in this business, it’s either laugh or cry. And I’ve always preferred the former.”
“But—”
He sealed their lips to shut her up. Now she was the one threatening to ruin the mood. Some guys liked to work out their demons in the bedroom, use sex as a weapon to fight the terrible memories that plagued them. But not him. He preferred to keep those two things separate.
War was war, terrible and soul-sucking and brutal. And sex was sex, delicious and mind-blowing and wonderful.
“And never the twain shall meet.” At least as far as he was concerned.
And then she did it. She sighed into his mouth like it’d been years since he last kissed her instead of mere seconds, and he was totally done. Wrecked. Lost in all things Harper Searcy…
• • •
The low growl at the back of Michael’s throat seemed to reverberate in the achy spot between Harper’s legs, making her keenly aware of its hollow emptiness. And when his beard rasped her cheeks, she was reminded of how deliciously scratchy his face had been against the inside of her thighs…when he’d licked and sucked her to completion.
Had she really thought once would be enough with this man? Had she seriously contemplated letting her head rule her hormones and saying no to another go-around? What was she? Crazy?
Yup. She was crazy. Crazy horny. Crazy w—
“Jesus, woman,” he whispered into her mouth when she pulled his shirttail from the waistband of his cargo pants. “I love the way you taste.”
“Mmm,” she hummed between kisses. “You taste pretty good yourself, sailor.” And he did. The inside of his mouth was a combination of Kill Cliff—the sweet energy drink the SEALs swigged by the gallon—hot desert air, and heroism.
In case you were wondering, heroism had a flavor. And it went by the name of Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright.
Warrior…
Once again the word whispered through her overheated brain. And she realized that for right now, for this one small moment, he wasn’t just any warrior, he was her warrior.
Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, she continued to devour his mouth, sucking, licking, laving, moaning when he met her caress for caress. She pulled back when she could spread the two halves wide. And there it was…
The miles upon miles of his hot, hard, tanned flesh.
Her hands smoothed over the crinkly hair that grew in the space between his bulging pectoral muscles and flat brown nipples, following it as it narrowed into a thin line down his flat belly before disappearing inside his pants. His corrugated stomach muscles flexed and quivered under her fingertips, and she delighted at the sight, could have gone on rubbing her palms over him forever. But there was something else she needed to get her hands on. Right now…
Reaching down, she palmed him through his fatigues. And though she was expecting it, she was still surprised by what a delicious, ridiculous handful he was. It was a good thing she already knew they would fit, or else she might have hesitated.
“Uh-uh. No dice.” He manacled her wrist, forcing her to look up at him in question. A muscle ticked in his jaw, making his beard twitch.
“Why?” she whispered, leaning forward to drag her tongue over one delicious nipple. She grinned when it instantly beaded against her lips.
“Because I’m too amped up. I could go off before I’m inside you. And that would be a crying shame. Not to mention the fact that since I pride myself on being a gentleman”—he gently pulled her hand away from the hard throb of his manhood—“it’s ladies first.”
Bless him. She knew he spoke the truth.
Her fingers lamented the loss of his pulsing shaft, but he didn’t give her much time to mourn. He grabbed the bottom hem of her wet top and yanked it over her head. Her bra hit the floor next, instantly unfastened by his nimble fingers. And then he was cupping her. Weighing her. His rough thumbs brushing over her distended nipples until her pleasure bordered on pain. Her womb pulsed in that age-old rhythm of arousal, making her toes curl inside her kitten heels, sending her head into another spin, causing her legs to become Jell-O.
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she gave her legs a pep talk that began and ended with don’t fail me now. Then she watched his eyes darken with passion as he closely monitored the changes his caresses made to her body, as he eagerly observed her nipples puckering so tightly the areolas nearly disappeared.
“Table or cot?” he husked, hungrily licking his lips.
She didn’t need him to clarify. She knew exactly what he was asking. “Table. Quickly.”
One downward jerk of his chin was all the answer he gave before grabbing her waist and pulling her to him. When the tips of her breasts grazed the hot skin of his chest, she gasped, feeling burned, branded. Then his wonderful, knowledgeable mouth reclaimed hers in a kiss that had her sighing with pleasure.
She didn’t realize he had moved, that he’d spun her and nudged her toward the table, until the backs of her thighs hit the edge. With a strength that amazed her, he lifted her onto the flat wooden surface and reached down to pull her skirt up to her thighs. She kicked out of her shoes, feverishly returning his kisses, running her hands over his chest, brushing her fingers over his little nipples, listening avidly to the sounds of approval growling low in his throat.
Her veins had turned to rivers of fire, her heart a furnace that burned in her chest. But the place between her legs flamed the hottest. And when he skated his callused palms up the outside of her thighs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, she stilled in expectation.
The little scrap of black silk she hadn’t given a passing thought to when she’d put it on that morning was whipped off her legs in one smooth, sexy move. Then he backed up, her panties clutched in his big hand, letting his eyes run over her breasts as they bobbed with each panting breath. Over her legs that were spread in invitation. Over her center that was swollen and damp with need for him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Harper,” he rasped, his gaze fierce.
For a moment, she thought about calling bullshit. After all, it was her turn, right? And the truth of the matter was, she’d never considered herself beautiful—not with her flyaway mass of curly red hair and her pale skin that required she maintain a daily SPF regimen. As a teenager, she would have sold her soul for sleek, blond tresses and smooth, tan skin. But if Michael looked at her now and saw something beautiful, then she was glad she hadn’t made a deal with the devil way back when. And when she bit her lip, searching his face, reading the blatant hunger in his eyes and the way the skin on his high cheekbones was stretched tight, flushed with desire, she had to admit she felt beautiful.
“Michael.” She reached for him, beckoning him closer. “Make love to me.”
He didn’t hesitate to come to her, pushing his gear toward the opposite end of the table as he gently laid her back, bathing her neck and chest with kisses. When his lips closed over the beaded peak of her right breast, sucking the bud into his hot mouth, the hard pleasure rushed down an invisible line of nerve endings to explode between her legs. She knew he was preparing her, softening her, loosening her. Readying her to receive him. And she loved every second of it.
“Yes.” She buried her fingers in his hair. It was almost enough. Just having his lips on her was almost enough…but not quite. And she was suddenly so achy that the only thought was relief. “Touch me, Michael. Please. I need to feel your—Oh! Yes!�
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He cupped her in the palm of his hand, his heated skin suffusing her quivering flesh in luscious fire. Then his thick fingers smoothed up her channel, spreading her silkiness around the little button of nerves he seemed to know how to play like no other. Back and forth. Back and forth. The callused pads of his first two fingers thrummed the delicate nubbin. She lifted her legs to plant her bare heels on the edge of the table, opening herself wider, pressing herself closer.
“How do you want me to make you come this first time, Harper?” he growled against her breast.
Oh, the possibilities were endless. He’d taught her that. But right now all she wanted was him. All of him.
“I want to come with you in me,” she rasped, her body so heavy, so achy, she figured she’d go off the minute he pressed home.
And that seemed to be the answer he was hoping for, because he pushed back and attacked the buttons of his fly.
• • •
If there was a world record for dropping trou, Michael had just beaten it. Because Harper was hot as hell, soft as satin, and wet as rain. But more importantly, she was ready.
The cool air inside the panic room rushed over the turgid length of him when he pushed his fatigues down to his knees, eliciting a shiver. Or maybe the goose bumps were a direct result of having Harper spread out before him on the table like a lovely, feminine feast. And if he weren’t such a gentleman, always eager to grant a lady’s wishes, he would feast. Just kiss and lick and lave every wanton inch of her. He hadn’t been bullshitting her when he told her she was beautiful. With her boisterous mass of hair, big expressive eyes, and milky skin dotted by the occasional sprinkling of freckles—on her shoulders, across her pert nose—she was everything a man could want. Lush and lovely. Wild and womanly. Delicious.
But she had requested he put himself inside her. And who was he to argue?
Grabbing the base of his dick, he angled himself toward her swollen, pink entrance, then hesitated when he realized he’d almost forgotten about protection. With a curse of frustration, he bent to shove a hand into the hip pocket of his pants that were bunched around his ankles. Finding a condom among her wadded up panties and the two spent shells that had somehow wormed their way into his fatigues during the battle—the fog of war was a weird thing, and even weirder things tended to happen when a guy was in the middle of it—he straightened and ripped the foil packet open with his teeth.
A line appeared between Harper’s brows. “Were you…” she licked her lips, pressing up on her elbows. The move caused her lovely breasts to bounce ever so slightly. “Were you plannin’ this?”
“Always,” he told her. Then barked out a laugh when her piquant little chin jerked back. “No,” he relented. “We use condoms to keep sand out of the barrels of our M4s. But I think you and I have found a better use for this one.”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, her shoulders relaxing. Then her gaze drifted down his body, zeroing in on the painfully swollen, angrily red length of him as he rolled on the condom. “Mmm,” she murmured, scooting her plump ass to the very edge of the table. “Hurry, Michael.”
And by God, she didn’t need to tell him twice. He finished with the condom and stepped between her legs, using his thumb to bend himself down to her. Then, fascinated, he watched his swollen head press between her folds, press into her body, stretching her, filling her inch by excruciatingly slow inch.
And just as it had the first time, every pleasurable sensation he’d ever experienced before was instantly forgotten. Because nothing could compare to Harper’s soft, silky walls closing around him.
“Don’t stop,” she begged. And there was no way he was going to. Not unless he wanted to walk funny for the next ten years…
CHAPTER 4
“Oh, God,” Michael groaned when Harper hooked her heels behind his ass, jerking him forward and seating him that last inch. She was stretched to capacity but not so much that she couldn’t squeeze him, loving the way her nerve endings zinged with approval. “Do it again, angel. Just…” He pulled out the tiniest bit before pressing home again. “Squeeze me like… Yeah. Just like that.”
He bent to reclaim her mouth, not moving one more inch save for the languid thrust and retreat of his tongue past her teeth. Its cadence matched the pulse of his blood, the pulse of him held so securely inside her.
And that was something she’d learned the night of the party. That Michael liked to savor the first moments of joining, revel in the simple act of being buried inside her and feeling her muscles contract around him as he throbbed and ached and grew harder still. She liked it, too. Because in her very limited experience, most men tended to go straight into jackhammer mode. And that was a crying shame, because this moment was…
Decadent.
There was no other word for it.
Skimming her hands beneath the halves of his shirt, she relished the sleek feel of his back under her fingertips. Except for where a scar marred its perfection, his skin was smooth as Tennessee whiskey, hot as an oven, and hard as stone. In a word, he was man.
And she? Well, she was woman.
“Now, Michael,” she demanded against his mouth. “Make love to me now.”
She felt his lips curve into a smile, his beard rasping against her cheeks. “Your wish is my command,” he said, and then? Oh, and then he began to move. In the way that only Michael could move. With a gentle force that was the epitome of coordination, dexterity, and the deep understanding of how a woman’s body worked.
Thrust and retreat. Thrust and retreat. Each smooth glide ratcheted her pleasure up another notch. She wanted to draw it out. She wanted to make it last. And she could tell by the way he held his breath that he was fighting for the same. Fighting against the pleasure. Against release.
But the pleasure wouldn’t be denied. And despite her best efforts, she climbed higher and higher. Up and up and up until…boooom! Her orgasm exploded through her as surely and as forcefully as any of today’s detonations.
“Jesus! Harper!” he bellowed, slamming home and following her into the abyss. And then together they throbbed, her flesh clinging and grasping, contracting around him in hungry pulls. His flesh filling her to the brim and caressing her walls with each forceful pulse.
After a couple of minutes, he bent and pressed a dozen soft kisses to her shoulder. “My sweet, delightful Harper,” he whispered between caresses.
And right then and there, with his strong arms around her, she could almost make herself believe that she was his, that everything she knew to be true was all a big lie, and that maybe, just maybe, she should give him, give them, a chance.
But then reality—and the memory of her mother crying herself to sleep night after night—intruded…
• • •
“You’re lookin’ pretty proud of yourself, sailor.”
Michael realized then, braced as he was on his forearms and hanging above Harper, that his face was split into a huge grin. “Well, I’ve never been one not to congratulate myself on a hand well played,” he told her, chuckling and dropping a kiss on her passion-swollen lips.
And even though she returned the gesture, even though their bodies were still joined, there was something about her response—a subtle withdrawal, a minor retreat—that had all his mental bells and whistles blaring. Goddamnit! Harper was pulling an emotional escape-and-evade maneuver. Again!
He caught her face between his hands, forcing her to hold his gaze and, never being one to pull-his-punches or prevaricate, got straight to the fucking point. “Now, you want to tell me the real reason why you’ve been avoiding me since the embassy party?”
“I told you I thought—”
“Cut the crap, Harper,” he interrupted before she could break into that whole I thought you Navy boys practiced the art of one-and-done song and dance. “I never took you for a woman who’s afraid to speak her mind. Don’t you go and prove m
e wrong.”
Her jaw hardened against his palms. And when she placed a hand on the center of his chest, he was left with no recourse but to pull away from her, pull out of her. The desertion of her warm body was so unexpectedly devastating, his knees loosened and he was forced to brace a hand against the edge of the table. Sullenly, he watched her hop to her feet, her skirt falling to cover her sweet ass as she bent to retrieve her shirt and bra.
And once it became obvious she had no intention of answering him until she’d clothed herself, until she’d placed a barrier between them, he figured he might as well follow suit. After all, if they were about to have a heart-to-heart, it probably behooved him not to do it with his dick swinging in the breeze.
Pulling the used condom off, he hissed when the ring of latex rasped over his hyper-sensitive skin. Tugging his fatigues up his hips one-handed, he left them undone as he went in search of a trash can.
Bingo. Over by the shelves.
Tossing the prophylactic away, he was in the process of re-buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his pants when she asked, “Where are my panties?”
A smile tugged at his mouth as he dug in his pocket. He plucked out the bit of black satin, causing the two spent shells to also emerge. They fell, pinging against the concrete floor. And the juxtaposition between the softness of her underwear and the hardness of the casings, between the sweetness of making love to her and the horror of the battle beforehand struck him as totally bizarre.
But he didn’t have long to dwell on it. She took two steps in his direction and made a swipe for her panties. As lady luck would have it, his six-foot-three stature meant it was easy for him to hold them out of her reach. “Uh-uh. Not until you answer my question.”
Her lips flattened. “You’re not seriously holding my underwear hostage, are you?”
Hot as Hell (The Deep Six) Page 4