The 7: Lust

by F. G. Adams

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  BLURB

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  THE SERIES

  OTHER BOOKS BY F.G. ADAMS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  BLURB

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  THE SERIES

  OTHER BOOKS BY F.G. ADAMS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The 7: Lust

  © 2017 F.G. Adams

  Cover Design: Jessica Hildreth Designs

  Editor: Julia Goda with Diamond in the Rough Editing

  Formatting: Max Henry

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, named features, artists and bands are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used for reference and without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Lust controls every action between us when we meet, a hunger so powerful it consumes us both—until the unthinkable happens and she disappears.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to our husbands.

  The men who inspire, encourage, and love us.

  PROLOGUE

  I lust for life. I am young. I fell into a young love only to fall tragically out of love.

  ~ Savannah Bushard

  The whimsical pink and white roses garnished with silk ribbon and lace bouquet fall softly onto the altar. When I was planning my big day, the romantic treasures from another time and place made my heart skip a beat. Lovely little details I handpicked to set the scene for the vintage wedding, a girl’s fantasy come to life.

  The guests left the church hours ago. The air is smoky as the sea of tea candles finally reach the end of their wick. I haven’t moved from the spot I’m currently standing on. The place I was going to promise my life to the man of my dreams.

  It’s been two weeks since I turned twenty-one and graduated from college—cum laude. All for what? To be left standing here watching the flowers slowly wilt as I die a little inside.

  I had something borrowed, something blue, and something new. My grandmother’s antique choker. A lacy blue garter belt, a gift from my college roommate, Missy. The tennis bracelet he had given me the night before at the reception dinner in front of God and all our family and friends. My platinum blond hair styled exactly the way he loved, cascading in long ringlets down my back.

  After the fight in the foyer of the church, I was determined to walk down the aisle. He would be there, smiling back at me. I believed it. Our family and friends were waiting.

  When the church doors opened up wide and my daddy held my arm, the tears began falling. He wasn’t there. He was gone. He had left me. So many broken promises.

  I put the veil down trying to hide the tears, but everyone saw them as I walked toward the preacher in the front. My heart breaking into tiny pieces like the little rose petals the flower girl had littered only moments earlier. I couldn’t breathe. The pain was surreal. I was watching the entire thing unfold in a mist of grief and sadness.

  Just moments before, my parents had been saying, “He's not coming back, Savannah. Don’t do this to yourself. We can run interference, make excuses for you, and you can go home.”

  I wouldn’t listen. I had to see it for myself. He loves me, I told myself over and over.

  But it happened. To me.

  Because I chose not to live out of fear of what the future might hold.

  I took the choice from him to have children, and now I’m paying the price.

  Footsteps come closer, and I gaze into the compassionate eyes of my daddy.

  “Baby girl, let’s go home. Staying here, like this, isn’t going to solve anything. You need to rest. You can contemplate your future tomorrow,” he gently says, worry etched across his furrowed brow.

  “Oh, Daddy, I realize you are trying to make me feel better, but I just can’t. At least not right now. I need time to be alone. Please, just go. I promise I’ll be along soon.”

  “Okay, Vanna. We’ll go. Your mother and I will be waiting for you at home,” he concedes.

  “Thanks, Daddy. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, baby girl.”

  When the door closes and I’m finally by myself, I crash to my knees and cry, the fluffy white dress pooling around me, becoming a tissue to capture the river of tears. Before long, the tears of grief turn into tears of anger.

  Why couldn’t he understand? The chance of dying if I waited and tried to get pregnant was almost ninety percent. Too great a number to ignore. At first, he went along with it. Said I was the only thing that mattered to him in this world. Everything would turn out fine. We could adopt. Those were all big promises from a small weasel of a man.

  I had begged him to listen. But he wouldn’t hear of it. It was all or nothing. And I no longer had what he wanted.

  I slowly rise and make my way down the aisle, glancing around at the decorations one last time. Today was supposed to be my forever day. My happy moment. The one you dream of as a little girl. But it didn’t happen for me.

  I go to the bridal room to change. I stare in the full-length mirror at the intricately woven lace and buttons on the delicate handmade dress I’m wearing. I maneuver my fingers into the seams and yank hard, shredding the exquisite fabric from my body. The same way he ripped open my heart.

  As I’m driving away from the church, I see a sign. “We need nurses.” In fine print near the bottom it says, “Join the Army goarmy.com." I’m intrigued. I need a fresh start out of Texas. I know enough that I would enlist as an officer.

  I pass by a local barbershop with a red sign blinking “Open” and pull over to park.

  When I walk inside, the previous chatter suddenly ends.

  “Hello, darlin’. How can I help ya?”

  “I would like a haircut, please.”

  An elderly gentleman ushers me forward. “Have a seat, little lady, and tell me what ya want done,” he says, turning the chair to face the mirror and laying the nylon cape over my shoulders.

  “Shave it, sugar. All of it.”

  “But, young lady. You’ve got golden locks down your back that women would kill to have. I’m sure ya…”

  “Where I’m headed, I won’t be needing it. I want it gone.”

  ONE

  Curiosity is the driven knowledge for lust within the mind, soul, and body.

  ~ Styx Fuller

  I knew the moment she glanced my way, I had to have her. Kaboom. White-hot desire spread in an instant. Sizzling chemistry drawing me in by my overzealous anatomy. Both organs, my mind and my dick, on a direct course for her. My other brain in total and complete
agreement. He’s found his newest conquest, a new home.

  Her body, the stuff wet dreams are made of, and the face to go with it. Pouty lips and fuck-me eyes. Her platinum blond hair is cut short. Normally, I prefer my women to have long hair, the better to wrap my hands around and tug while in the throes of passion. In her case, it’s a tiny mishap that’s okay by me. Her long, luscious legs a man could wrap around him and green eyes the color of Grayson’s pastures back home put a strain on my iron will.

  Johnny, Beauty, and I strolled into Grayson’s hospital room. I was pushing a wheelchair the hospital required him to leave in. Grayson was shot in the shoulder a few days back during an ambush, while we were making contact with Mustaf’s second, Badahur. Mustaf’s terrorist cell is our target and the higher-ups want him taken down using all means necessary. He’s been selling arms to insurgents for years, perpetuating wars amongst the neighboring countries in the Middle East. We’ve been sent to find and eliminate the danger. That’s what we do. Specialize in taking down unknown threats. It’s a risky business, but as a team, we’re damn good at it.

  I grew up with Johnny and Grayson in Lakeview—best buds throughout school. So, following them into the Army was a no-brainer for me. Nothing was tying me to The View. I didn’t have a reason to stay; I could always come home and visit my family. When Grayson approached me to join an elite squadron he was putting together, I accepted without a second thought. Throughout the years, we formed a brotherhood—a family of sorts. I would die for them. Not only my brother-in-arms, but brothers for life.

  Grayson is one lucky son of a bitch, judging from our most recent scuffle with the insurgency. The bullet went through and through, or he would be sitting in a hospital bed for weeks healing.

  As we entered his room, I joked, “Your chariot awaits, my king,” and stopped right in front of him, waiting for the explosion to occur. It didn’t take long with the G-man.

  “No fucking way am I leaving here in that,” he angrily spouted.

  “You will if you want to leave, sugar,” a husky voice from behind me said.

  I turned to find the person who belongs to the voice. In that moment, it was as if the heavens opened up and the most beautiful angel ever created stepped into the room. A bone deep premonition slammed into me, assuring that everything would change, and in an instant, I knew I would never be the same again. I had to play it cool. No need to give away all my cards in the first meeting.

  She is studying me. Worshipping my body with her angelic gaze. There is nobody else alive but us. Nothing else matters. Not the grip I have on the wheelchair, Grayson pacing back and forth ranting about the wheelchair, or Beauty and Johnny talking quietly behind me. Words are not needed, only the hunger surging between us. I observe as she lays claim to every inch of me. Her eyes peruse every part of me, beginning at my toes and sauntering slowly upwards to meet my eyes. I watch as her pupils dilate and her breathing accelerates. She likes what she sees and doesn’t mind letting me know. Good to know she’s not a timid little church mouse.

  My turn.

  Hunger and desire flare to life inside of me as I return the favor. My study of her is thorough. I begin with her pouty red lips, aching to nibble and taste, I stare until her pink tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip from the anticipation. I want to groan, but don’t thanks to years of self-discipline and training. She leans her head to the right, and I focus on the pulse where her shoulder and neck meet, mentally caressing it with my tongue. Chill bumps appear on her delicate arms, and her chest reddens with a blush as I stop to appreciate the more than a handful mounds of flesh, dreaming of fondling both to a point of raptured need. My tongue darts out, wetting my lips, and I bite my lower lip between my teeth to stop the groan from surfacing. Her body shifts slightly, generated by my interrogation of her luscious curves.

  Her identification badge rests there, and I take my time memorizing her name and rank. Second Lieutenant, Savannah Bushard. I’ll be able to find her later tonight.

  Continuing down her hourglass shape, I pass her flat stomach to the junction of her ample thighs. She squirms when my heated stare lingers. I picture her spread wide on my bed at home and hesitate before following the path down her long legs and begin my journey back to her scorching green eyes. I’ve claimed her body. She’s mine as she unhurriedly nods her head in affirmation.

  I blink, acting as if nothing has transpired in the last few minutes, and focus on securing Grayson once again.

  “Come on, Captain. We’re going to visit Aabdar before we take you to your temporary quarters. It’s not like we haven’t gone for a ride in one of these bad boys before. My ass has seen so many it would put your ass to shame.” I chuckle trying to lift the sensual fog from my brain.

  Grayson looks around for help, and I know I’ve got him when he turns and plops down in the wheelchair, ready to leave. I look at her one last time, exit the room, and follow the guys to the elevator. My mind is racing a mile a minute at the possibility of spending a lustful night between her luscious thighs. Savannah. Her name is branded in my thoughts.

  The fact that she’s an officer, taboo for an enlisted man like myself, doesn’t even faze me. Breaking down the invisible bullshit barriers won’t be an issue, especially with the heat that passed from her to me. She saw my stripes and knows my rank, and it didn’t seem to bother her.

  Until we meet again, my sweet Savannah doll.

  TWO

  Lust is a thing of the blood, simmering. Doesn't need head or heart, only desire.

  ~ Savannah Bushard

  Grayson Blackwood will depart the Army hospital soon, and hopefully Ella can get back to her chipper little self. I chuckle. Ella bug and I’ve been tied at the hip since we met in basic training. She’s the sister I wanted but didn’t get being an only child. Ella is one of those people you meet and just know you’re gonna be friends with for life. We’ve been through thick and thin together. From basic training to the many patients we take care of on a daily basis as nurses. We keep it real but fun. It’s not easy being a single white female in a predominantly male environment.

  She’s been in a pickle caught between a rock and a hard spot since Captain Grayson Blackwood showed up. He was her first love from high school and she’s engaged to Michael. Grayson left her to pursue his career and ended up breaking her heart. She was a lost puppy searching for someone to love when we met, all because of Grayson. That’s one point against him in my mind. I have tried to help by running interference until she can get a hold of her feelings. It’s getting time for her to decide. She really needs to be honest with herself and follow her heart.

  On the other hand, Grayson is one patient I won’t miss. Talk about a grumpy bear. He’s outta here today. I reach for his chart and leisurely walk in the direction of his room while making sure every item on his discharge sheet is complete. All i’s dotted and t’s crossed, perfectamundo. Nothing stands in the way of the Captain’s exit from the hospital.

  My Ella Bella is fragile when it comes to him, and I’m concerned. She isn’t the type to just let it go. Oh no, she lets it fester until she explodes, which is precisely why I’m worried. She is my best friend, and I don’t like seeing her torn to pieces. I witnessed what he did to her years ago, and she’s finally got her life on track. Finally met a man worthy of my little Ella bug.

  When we met in basic training, we instantly became friends for life. We clicked. She didn’t ask questions about my past, and I helped pull her out of the funk she had been squandering around in. She was a total mess. Hell, I was, too. That’s how I ended up in the Middle East, working as a nurse in the Army. I was running, fast and hard, from the fucked-up mess my life had turned into.

  Ella is the one and only person I’ve trusted with the details of my past since I left Texas. There’s no way I’m shoving my concerns about Grayson to the wayside. She needs me. I want to see her and Michael happily married with two point five children living in suburbia bliss. In my opinion, Grayson has got to go for her to
focus on moving forward, so the quicker he’s outta here, the better for everyone. Adiós amigo.

  Grayson’s voice increases in volume as I’m entering his room. “No fucking way am I leaving here in that.”

  “You will if you want to leave, sugar,” I smugly drawl, aware Grayson loathes being cooped up in this hospital room. In a small way, I admire his tenacity. His will to get bandaged up and leave, just to get back in the fight. All for the good of God and Country.

  I prop myself against the door, signing my John Hancock where necessary on the mountain of release paperwork. Grayson needs to vacate the premises, as soon as possible. Glancing up from the chart, all words escape from me due to the tall, dark, and brooding tattooed man standing before me. Instantly, I’m sizing up my new acquisition. Come to Vanna, big boy. This man can fuck me ten ways till Sunday and you won’t hear a complaint from me. Impressions of naked, sweat-drenched bodies entwined run through my mind. Steam fogging my floor-length mirror in the bathroom. Moans of rapturous bliss. My heartbeat accelerates. Him in front of me on his knees worshipping my pussy. Quickly, I grab loose paper, cooling the warmth the fantasy causes. A thrill skates around my body, causing goose flesh.

  Warning bells go off, shaking me from my sensual daydream. I’m momentarily sidetracked, debating whether or not to act or sit the bench on this one. He’s not my normal type. Whatever. Do I really have a type? My taste buds are a broad and diverse range of men. The flavor of the day.

  I swore after the one serious relationship I attempted went south, I would play the field and only think about settling down if the right man showed up. Which, by the way, hasn’t happened to date, but there is always an exception to the rule.

  Play the field, reap the benefits, and move on is my motto. I keep my heart intact, while my feminine parts get a much-needed workout with real equipment on a regular basis instead of the plastic toys stashed under my bed. It’s a win-win in my mind. One I’m very comfortable with.

  The dreamy man bends firmly, holding the handles on the wheelchair, raises his square chin in my direction, and pierces my soul with smoldering emerald eyes. I’m immobilized by the lustful energy pouring off him. An assurance on his part to deliver nights of uncontrollable passion.