by Cherise West
“There’s… there’s got to be one… here, somewhere,” I mutter, frantic. “The… the nightstand, check—” he lifts me off of the dresser, strong arms cupped beneath my thighs, carrying me to the side of Annie’s king-sized bed. He dips down, letting me reach into her bedside drawer; I pull it open, throwing aside a handful of socks until I feel the little foil wrapper and shudder hard. “Here,” I whisper, pulling the condom from the drawer; he lifts me again, carrying me back out into the hallway; I giggle, kissing his neck while he drags me through the house, desperately in search of a couch, or a chair, or something. He rounds the corner into the living room and I fall back-first against Annie’s couch, exhaling deep. I pull the little ringlet from its packaging; he tugs down the zipper and lets his cock spring free, and I shake intensely.
“Help me out,” he asks with a grin, stroking his shaft hard in front of my face; I wrap the condom around his tip, smirking deviously as I press my lips against his head, pushing the condom down, letting his length slooowly fill my throat until the condom fully wraps his shaft. I look up at him, urging him with my eyes torn in want and my hips pressing out towards him. He obliges, pressing down on top of my body, my stiff nipples and full, thick, heaving breasts pressed against his shirt and the stiff muscles quaking beneath. I feel his tip tease against lips and the sensation rocks me along my spine; when he kisses my neck and bites down just as his shaft plunges deep inside of me, filling me up and stretching me out, I scream out loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. He holds me and pumps harder and harder in a steady rhythm inside of me, each thrust bringing ecstasy moaning out of every pore, until he thrusts with a powerful pump of his hips and I feel his length spasm and erupt, my body hitting its enraptured peak again, the two of us orgasming together, each other’s names spoken first in melodic shouts and then in tired, breathless pants.
My arms draped around his shoulders, he kisses me deeply; kisses every tingling wave of erupting pleasure away with his lips feeding me passion and devotion, until he falls onto his side next to me, pulling me tight, kissing me deep. I still can’t believe it, as good as it feels. Donovan Kelly. This must be a dream.
“I told you I’d only need three minutes,” he smirks, kissing my cheek.
“H-hey,” I protest with my hoarse, quaking tone, “I lasted longer than that.”
“I made you orgasm harder than any of your boyfriends before, at least,” he murmurs into my ear.
“How do you think you have any idea about that—” I stop myself with a grunt. Damn it. He got me again. He laughs a deep and sizzling baritone into my ear, pressing himself against my body, wrapping his arms around my waist, kissing my neck.
“Maybe you’ll learn one day,” he sighs breathily.
“Maybe.”
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Rock Solid SEAL
Sample
I wish I had just gone back to the dorm. Not just because I’m sleeping one room away from Briggs Rockard, with whom I have an incredibly confusing relationship. He held my hand in the van. When he put his life on the line, tackling me to the ground to take a bullet for me, I could feel the heat between us reignite after four years apart. When we kissed in the doorway of that abandoned warehouse, his lips crashing into mine like a tidal wave waiting to crest and break, I felt a sensation that Jeremiah or any of my other exes could never give me. One I haven’t felt since our first night together four years ago.
No, it’s not just because of him. It’s because this barracks feels like… well, it feels like a prison. I guess, in a way, it is. They built Fort Reagan so that no one could get in, or out, unless the people in charge wanted them to. On top of that, I have a team of some of the best navy SEALs in America just outside my door, laughing and joking together, but ready to spring into action to stop anyone from getting in - or out.
At least they were nice enough to give me my own room, away from the horny rabble of guys stationed on the base. I can give them credit for that. And it means I don’t have to sleep right next to Briggs, anyway.
Still, there’s nothing to do, and I can’t sleep. We pulled into base at about 10 and after all the checks and the formalities and meeting with the CO of the base, they stuffed me into this room at around midnight. They offered me chow, but I’m not hungry. I’m not thirsty, either. I’m not tired. I’m not anything, other than confused, and terrified. It’s hard to sleep after a day spent kidnapped by Russian terrorists, wondering if you’re going to make it to see the next sunrise.
I shift in my bed; a rather uncomfortable, spartan cot on top of a steel frame. Clicking my phone screen, I read the time: 2:12 in the morning. 2:12, and I’ve been up since 6am. I feel absolutely exhausted, but every time I close my eyes I hear screams in Russian; bullets firing. The face of my captor, mottled with scars and jagged teeth, Nosferatu-like almost, flashes into my eyelids each time I pull them shut, and I startle back awake before I can drift away peacefully.
I want my dorm room bed. I want to bury myself in a book until I fall into dreams. I want to turn on Netflix and giggle at Parks and Rec reruns or swoon at cheesy romantic comedies until I fall asleep. Instead, I’m stuck in a barracks, locked behind a thick iron door, like Hannibal Lecter or something, waiting for the sun to come back up. A sun I won’t even be able to see, because there’s no windows in this dungeon they’ve thrown me in to. ‘For my own safety.’
Closing my eyes for a moment, I open them up again and look at the phone. 2:15am. Three minutes. Three minutes is all that passed while I laid restless and shifting and grousing. I can’t stop thinking about the van. The Russian men threatening me.
About Briggs. About how good he looked, even after four years apart. The tattoos were a change. So were the muscles. Briggs was in great shape before he left for the SEALs, but four years of working out and fighting and running secret missions has forged him into an even stronger, even hotter man. Did I mention that? God, he’s hot. The blond close-cut hair, the baby-blue eyes still beaming out from that war-tattered face. Strong jaw, rock-hard muscles. On that night I went to his family reunion, I thought he looked better than he ever could. I was wrong.
I lay on my side. I think of Briggs laying next to me, arm wrapped around my waist. Damn it. I flop onto my stomach, and I think about laying on top of his ripped body, instead of this uncomfortable steel cot. I lay flat on my back. I close my eyes. I imagine him on top of my kissing furiously along my entire body while I quiver beneath his touch. Damn it again. I just want to go to sleep, and when I’m not thinking about malformed Russian kidnappers, I’m thinking about my brother’s best friend, the rock-hard SEAL who rescued me from certain death today. The man who took my virginity. The man I’ve secretly dreamed about for four whole years.
I pull my eyes closed. The sound and memories start to come back but I’m determined to get at least a little sleep. My nerves on edge, my hands trembling, I ignore the look on my captor’s face. I ignore the rumble of gunshots. I ignore the feeling of Brigg’s body pressed against mine. The cacophony of sounds in my head reaches a fevered pitch and I roll onto my side and push it out of my mind. I want some sleep. A little sleep. Any kind of sleep.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
Three loud knocks; they sound like gunshots out of my memories, but my eyes flick open and the sounds and shots and screams go away and I realize it wasn’t part of some twisted nightmare. Someone’s knocking on the door - quietly, but ardently. I wait, trembling silently, until I hear another series of shallow knocks. Stumbling clumsily to my feet, I straighten my shirt and my messy pajama pants. My ankle still hurts from when I twisted it while a burly terrorist picked me up and tossed me into a dingy white van, and my awkward hobble barely gets me to the door without falling flat onto my face. I pull open a series of latches and metal pins, and furtively pull the steel door, my prison door, from its frame. It’s lights out in the barracks and I
can hear snores; I barely see the moon glinting through a back window across chiseled muscles. Briggs stands shirtless in front of me, his tattoos in full sight; eagles and devils and barbed wire thatched across the American flag and navy symbols. His fatigues hang loose across strong legs, covered in forest camo. He leans into the doorway, his expression rough.
“Br-Briggs?” I murmur. “It’s… late. What are you still doing up? Why are you knocking on my door?” I can’t deny, I’m still a little pissed at him for the way he treated me in the van. I saw him quaking, pained, while we sat with one another, and I held his hand, because I didn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t want to tell Daryl - which I understand. My brother is very protective of me, after all. But the way he insisted I was just another part of the mission. How dismissive he was of taking my virginity four years ago. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with him yet.
“I couldn’t sleep. I rarely can, after a mission like that,” he admits, his voice gravely. “I don’t shy away from putting bastard terrorists out of their misery, but I know Antimov is still alive. I see his face. I see your face, every time I close my eyes.”
“I’m fine,” I retort coldly. “I’m alive. You finished your mission.” We keep our voices to a hush, the rest of his SEAL team snoozing in the bunks behind us. “Tomorrow Daryl and dad will come to pick me up, throw my life into chaos, and insist it’s all okay, because dad has money and power,” I hiss with venom in my voice. Daryl might be content to coast through life on dad’s influence, which he’s sure to take advantage of if dad wins the presidential election. “Money and power can fix anything, I guess,” I say, dripping with sarcasm.
“Your dad and your brother love you,” Briggs grunts. “Daryl was falling to pieces when he called me up. He was livid he didn’t come with the rest of the squad to California. It meant he couldn’t be there to help save you.”
“So you’re taking his side now?” I whisper. “I have final exams. I’m not just going to ask the dean to give me A’s because my dad’s a presidential candidate with enemies looking to kidnap his children.”
“I don’t think that’s what Daryl wants,” he says, trying to play the diplomat.
“Well it sure as hell isn’t what I want,” I say, my voice a little more heated. “And isn’t that what matters? Isn’t it?”
“Daryl’s like a brother to me. A blood brother,” Briggs gruffly responds. “We’ve fought and bled together. I know he cares about you, and I’m just trying to help you see that.”
“I know Daryl cares,” I sigh. “I never thought he didn’t. But he doesn’t care about what I want to do with my life. He wants me to do what he thinks is best. Dad got him into the navy and he’s happy, and I’m happy for him. But we all have our own paths,” I state, with a little pride in my voice.
“Daryl just worries about you,” Briggs shakes his head.
“What about you?” I challenge him, my breath shaking. “Do you worry about me? Have you worried about me?”
“You’re going to talk about us again?” Briggs sighs, exasperated. “I told you. Daryl can’t know. And Daryl’s my best friend, and my brother in the SEALs. I feel like I’m betraying him even talking about it.”
“What about how you’re betraying me?” I exclaim in a heated whisper. “I trusted you, on that night we had together. I didn’t think you were just going to leave, and never talk to me. And then, you actually get the chance to see me, and you try to play it off!” I hiss.
“Things change, Faye. It’s been years. I’ve seen some shit,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”
“What’s so complicated about it?” I demand, painfully melancholy rage welling into my chest.
“A lot of things, okay?” he snarls, defensively. “The mission is what matters. You can’t understand this life. I don’t expect you to. But the mission is everything. And when I let my feelings get in the way…” he struggles, looking away. “Shit happens. Bad shit, the kind that sends lives topsy-turvy. It gets people killed.”
“You’re right,” I say, a tear at my cheek. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve watched people die, Faye. I don’t think you understand what that feels like. People you care about. Falling apart in front of you. And it’s your fault.”
“I don’t think you recognize the irony in what you’re saying,” I rebuff him, a tear streaming down my cheek. “I thought about you so much, Briggs.”
“I know. And I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know if I can do anything,” he laments, full of rage. “Daryl, the mission, the team… There’s so much, Faye.”
“Why did you come to bother me?” I ask, my voice quivering with anger and sorrow.
“Because I had to know something,” he says, his voice full of emotion. He moves closer. I retreat, my muscles tense, but the closer he gets, the more of him I can feel; the more I can smell of him. The more I remember the feeling of his body, heated and strong and passionate.
“Wh… what did you have to know?” my voice warbles. He reaches for my face, his palm on my cheek; I twitch away from his touch at first, but he persists, and it feels comforting. It feels like he’s wanted to touch me like this for a long time. And I know I’ve wanted him for just as long. His mouth presses against mine in a ravenous kiss; I moan, the sound fluttering like a bird’s chirp, and I kiss him back with just as much furor. His lips trail along mine, biting on my lip and keeping me close; when his teeth begin to pepper my chin and my throat with soft bites and deep and passionate kisses my gaze lifts to the ceiling, my back arching, my entire body gripped in desire.
“I had to know if you couldn’t sleep, either,” he breathes against my neck, the heat of his breath giving me goosebumps. “It’s complicated, Faye. Not just because you can’t stop thinking of me,” he exhales a dusky whisper, “but because one of the reasons I can’t sleep is that I can’t stop thinking of you, either.” My heart melts; my mouth agape, both surprised and consumed in want, I kiss his forehead, and then his cheek; I kiss his lips, my heart pounding against my ribs. He pushes me back towards the bunk and I go with him, willing; wanting. I have so much anger for him, four years’ worth; I have so much vitriol collected for all the times he snubbed me. For today, dismissing the magical night with him as just another night. For the attitude. For everything. But it all feels so intense that I can’t hear or think or see anything except him. He pushes the clanging metal door shut behind us and like a starved predator he devours my neck, my face; he nibbles my lips, his palms pressing tightly against my chest.
“I want to… to see you,” I urge, my hand searching fruitlessly for a switch or a button or something to shed some light on the two of us in this blackened dungeon. From a pouch in his fatigues Briggs reveals a small flashlight; he flicks it alive, a light crystalline-white glow glinting along our bodies. He drops it at the foot of the bed, driving away my worry with kisses down into the cleft of my chest. My nipples go stiff beneath my black bra and he pushes me onto the bed. I fall, grabbing at the waistline of his military fatigues, pulling him after me.
We land together with a metallic creak, the bedframe rocking beneath our weight. He kisses me and kisses me and it feels so much better than the first time. Each breathy grunt as he searches through the darkness for every taste of my skin carries the sound of my name. We’re both covered in sweat and dirt after a day of fighting and screaming and terror and disaster and I’ve never needed to feel something so sweet as Briggs kissing me in all my life.
“Your skin tastes so fucking perfect,” he croons, hands slipping beneath my t-shirt. With ravenous haste he pushes the garment up; I lift it over my head, throwing it into the corner while his hands push beneath my bra, massaging my full breasts with his tough, rough hands. My nipples perk against his talented touch, his fingers rolling across each of them, while his kisses snake down along my stomach, his tongue lingering lovingly at my bellybutton. He looks up at me, and through the darkness I can see his baby-blue eyes, so big and i
nviting. He taunts me with his tongue and I can’t resist.
“Please, Briggs,” I beg him, pushing away memories of four dull years without the sexiest man I’ve ever known; four years without his touch or his kiss or those rock-hard abs pressed against me. “I want you so badly, I can’t even explain. I’ve wanted you since that night we were together. The night you took me,” I whisper breathlessly, “the night I knew I had to have you for good.”
“I want you with every fucking muscle in my body,” Briggs exhales hard against my skin, slowly peeling my pants down my hips, the fabric clinging to my goosebumped skin. I shiver, exposed, as his hands knead at my sensitive chest, fingers flicking and squeezing my nipples while his tongue dances along my waist, down to my thighs, teasing me with everything I’ve wanted from him for so long, the sensation so hot I can’t control my body as I wriggle and squirm and pump my hips out towards his tongue.
“Take me, please,” I beg, running my hands along his shoulders, feeling every striated muscle tensing just for me. His tongue trails back along my stomach, to my nipples, where he feasts on the taste of my pert pink peaks, fingers slipping into the strap of my panties and pulling them down. I help him with wriggles of my thighs until I lay almost naked beneath his powerful body. I tug at the belt of his fatigues, the flashlight glinting against his belt buckle, low light flashing across my ecstasy-riddled face. With a gripping fury he unlatches his belt and moans, kissing my breasts, kissing my cleavage, kissing my shoulder, and then meeting my lips again with a sweet symphony of groans filling both of our lusty throats. I feel him rock-hard between my legs, and I spread them to feel his strength. His stiff shaft and its swollen, hot head press against my soaked petals; I beg quietly, beg endlessly into his ear, scraping his back with my fingernails, until he pumps his hips into me and fills me hard with his manhood and I call out so loud I’m sure the whole base can hear us. I quake and shiver and four years of wanting and dreaming and needing disappear all in the flash of an eye, his hips now pumping steadily inside of me, my damp depths clenching tight against his length while he kisses my throat, groaning louder and louder.