Ultra Strokes

by Delilah Devlin

  When I could breathe again, I turned my head to meet his gaze. His face was flushed, one corner of his wet and swollen mouth curving in a satisfied smirk. I clutched his cheek, fingers sliding around his ear and into his warm hair. “I don’t have any words…”

  His gaze locked with mine, and his smile stretched across his face, teeth gleaming. “I’ll enjoy this service.”

  “Yours or mine?” I asked, arching a brow. “Where’s that condom?”

  A plastic wrapper scratched against my shoulder, and he scraped it down to my nipple before placing it in my hand. He allowed little room between our bodies, but I managed to roll it down his turgid cock.

  A moment later he rolled over me, centered himself, and thrust inside. Quick. Hard. Thickened tissue eased around him; fresh moisture lubricated his cock as he drove inward. Filled to bursting, I raised my legs. His hands pushed them farther apart, and I stared at the cornices surrounding my high ceilings, at the chandelier glittering above, but not nearly as brightly as did Grant’s lush green gaze as he watched me.

  Who was servant and who truly served didn’t matter. I’d wanted solitude, calm to think and write. But I’d found so much more. Something I hadn’t known I’d needed. Someone who knew me better than I did myself. Someone who knew I needed to be pushed outside my cozy barriers.

  Grant’s movements were quickening. His thrusts shortening. With a shout, he came, jerking his hips, his movements losing rhythm.

  I wrapped my arms and legs around him and held him until his body stopped shuddering.

  Afterward, we lay in a tangle, still upside down on the bed. His cock was still buried inside me. He undulated his hips in slow sexy strokes that kept me warm, made me feel as though I was riding a gentle ocean wave. I wanted him to stay right there. Keep moving, until he was fully hard again, and he could fuck me again. Right then, I wanted to stay like this, connected, until he felt the same way I did. Like I was a part of him. Owned by him.

  “The butler’s buttons…” I began softly.

  “Mmm?” he hummed, nuzzling my neck.

  “They’re awfully inconvenient.”

  He drew back his head, studying my face. “Too much of a walk? You lazy thing.”

  “Too much of a walk for you, I think.”

  “My apartment is pretty far away.” He raised both brows, waiting.

  “Two floors and the opposite side of the house.”

  “This is your space, Kendall,” he said, his voice softening.

  “I know you don’t like change, but we can make it ours.”

  He grunted. A rude sound so out of character it made me smile.

  Grant came up one elbow. “I won’t be a kept man. I mean to continue to earn my way.”

  “We both have our work.”

  “This isn’t work.”

  I liked that he’d found enjoyment. Still, I felt a twinge of doubt. “Then what is it?”

  “Pleasure. Companionship. Is that enough for now?” he asked, smoothing back my hair.

  “And when you want more…or less? You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  He shook his head, a light of mischief in his eyes. “I won’t tell you. I’ll take it.”

  I took a deep breath. “And if I want more.”

  “Kendall,” he said, tilting his head. “We’ve both been here a long, long while. Waiting for you. We’ll be here when you realize you belong.”

  I didn’t wonder what he meant. The house and Grant were one. That undercurrent I’d always sensed, the one that had made me feel as though I didn’t belong, couldn’t, because I’d been crass enough to buy the place, to purchase him, captured me at last. I swept my arms around him and cuddled my cheek against his. “Then, I’m home,” I whispered, surrendering. “But I would like to talk about the carpet in the salon…”

  The Long Ride Home

  ‡

  White-hot sun beat down on the tops of our helmets. Sweat pooled between our shoulder blades and dampened the necks of our t-shirts. However, it was a hot, humid South Texas heat—so unlike what we’d endured for the past eleven months, that none of us standing in formation really minded. We were home.

  I watched it trickle down the side of one particular soldier’s neck as he stood in the row in front of me and thought, not for the first time, that I’d like the chance to lick it away.

  Not that Staff Sergeant Jake Maddox had a clue how I felt. We’d been part of the same platoon—played volleyball and shot hoops, drove trucks over long, barely paved expanses of desert and mountains, and cleaned our weapons, side by side, but he hadn’t seen me as anything but another private who needed looking after.

  And yet, his tall, muscled frame, black close-cropped hair and wintry blue eyes had made quite an impression on me. Id lusted after him since the first time he’d shown up drill weekend, a month before we’d deployed. His steadfast calm during the most nightmarish day of my life had only cemented his attraction.

  My nose started to itch, and I wrinkled it, hoping formation would break soon so I could scratch it. My feet were roasting in the boots sticking to the black pavement.

  True to his word, our commander kept his speech short. A good thing, since SSG Maddox fidgeted, hands tightening and easing, swaying slightly on his feet as though waiting to spring into action. I knew he scanned the crowd seated in the bleachers from the corners of his eyes, hoping she’d show, that she’d changed her mind. I’d looked too and knew she wasn’t there—and wouldn’t be coming. I felt bad for him, but was also secretly hopeful that he’d be ready to let go, that he wouldn’t do something stupid now we were back.

  Just a month before we began preparations for our unit’s return from Afghanistan, he’d gotten a Dear John letter from his girlfriend, informing him that she’d moved his belongings from their apartment into a storage unit. She’d included two keys taped to the page—one for the storage unit and the one to his Mustang. She’d said she was sorry, but had he really expected her to wait all those months?

  Had I been in her shoes, I would have. But then, I knew what it felt like to be so far from home that Skype and email couldn’t fill the loneliness. I’d survived it once. However, my husband’s second tour had severed our connection—that and the emails I’d discovered when I’d hacked his Gmail account. Ones he’d sent to female corporal stationed in another province who was planning a little R&R rendezvous. As quick as that, my love for him dried up like a closed tap. I’d forwarded the email to my account, then sent it to him along with a request for a divorce.

  So I knew what Jake Maddox felt. The searing betrayal. The anger. Maybe she’d been a decent person, but personally, I consigned her to hell. The worst thing the person at home could do to a deployed soldier was abandon him when he was too far away to do a damn thing about it.

  I hoped he didn’t plan to go find her now.

  “Company, attention!”

  I snapped into position.

  “Dismissed.”

  Cheers from our unit and from the family and friends who filled the armory motor pool rang in the late afternoon air. Sergeant Maddox stomped away, not bothering to share a word with anyone.

  My sister waved and made her way through the throng spilling from the bleachers, a wide smile splitting her face. I gave her an answering smile, but couldn’t help darting a glance to watch that broad set of shoulders move toward the open motor pool gates—the only space large enough to hold the formation and the guests who’d come to welcome the Reserve unit home.

  The buses that had delivered us from the airport were pulling away. Most of the soldiers and their friends and family were heading inside the armory for the welcome home celebration, but Sergeant Maddox was heading toward the parking lot.

  I gave my sister a quick hug. “Go say hi to Shelby—he’s got it bad for you.”

  She laughed and blushed. “Where are you goin’?” Then her gaze followed mine. “Seriously? I thought you said he was an asshole.”

  “He grows on you. I’m sorry. I have to g
o.”

  She gave me a smile and hitched her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. But you better call.”

  “Tell Shelby to grab my gear!” Out the gates I sped.

  Sergeant Maddox was already dropping his duffel bag into the trunk of a car—an older model black Mustang. I halted beside him, trying to figure out what I could say to keep him from driving away.

  “You forget something, PFC Hollister?” he asked, glancing to the side as he slammed down the trunk lid.

  “Jill,” I said, suddenly breathless. “Thought you might like some company.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Did you, now? I’m gonna blow the carbon out of the exhaust. The ride’s gonna be bumpy.”

  I ignored the hint of irritation in his voice and brazened it out. No one had ever accused me of being thin-skinned. “I don’t want to get in the way—if you have plans.”

  He snorted. “No plans. Don’t even have a place to sleep. Didn’t your sister come to pick you up?”

  “Yeah, but she’s all right with me leavin’.”

  This time, his mouth twisted into something between a smile and a snarl. “Shelby?”

  “Yeah. You know they’ve been writing each other.”

  His gaze trailed straight down my body, then up again. “Get in.”

  I strode quickly to the passenger door, opened it, and slipped into the bucket seat. Then I tossed my hat into the back and began unbuttoning my ACU-camouflaged jacket.

  When he slid in beside me, one dark brow lifted, but he didn’t say a thing when I threw it into the back as well and sat in my sweat-damp shirt in the musty car.

  “Better roll down the windows.” Then he said a little prayer under his breath and turned the key in the ignition. I buckled my seatbelt. The engine rumbled into life. With a quick, tight grin, he jerked the stick into reverse, and then punched it forward, and we rolled out onto the street, heading west rather than east into town.

  Hot wind whipped through the interior of the car, dispelling the musty air and tugging at my blond hair, which was looped into a clip at the back of my head. I reached back and released it and laughed as the Mustang roared.

  Glancing toward Sergeant Maddox, I noted the hard edge of his jaw, the hand wrapped so tight around the steering wheel that the muscles in his forearm tensed. I didn’t have to crawl inside his head to know he didn’t want me there. So why had he told me to get in?

  Was he attracted, too, but reluctant to act on it because he was still my superior? Like I’d ever tell a soul. He should have known me better than that. We’d been through hell together, and yet I’d never presumed on the bond, never asked for favors.

  Did he want me to make the first move so he’d know my expectations, know just how far I wanted this to go? I smiled at the thought of all the fantasies I’d stored up over the months. And I was finally here—alone with a man who was still feeling edgy and angry.

  Maybe I could help him out a bit. And maybe, he’d see me as more than a fellow soldier who’d shared the bench seat of a deuce-and-a-half truck a time or two. One I’d been driving when he’d had to talk me through a hail of gunfire as our transport convoy had come under attack.

  I unbuckled my belt, ignoring his deep frown. I turned in the seat and reached for the buttons of his jacket, flicking them open then parting each side.

  He didn’t say a thing, but his nostrils flared, his jaw sawed tighter.

  I gripped the front of his t-shirt, bunched it in my hand, and tugged it from his ACU trousers.

  His stomach jumped, and he sucked it in, making just enough room for me to get my fingers behind the waistband as I unbuckled, unbuttoned and tugged down the zip.

  “Dammit, Hollister,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

  “Not if you keep your eyes on the road,” I said, tilting up my chin. Then I leaned over his lap, folded down the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulled his cock upright.

  “Fuck.” The car bolted forward. I had a glimpse of the long, black empty ribbon of highway then turned my attention to his thickening cock.

  I fingered the curve of the satin-soft cap. “I never said thanks for saving my ass.”

  “I didn’t expect it.”

  “I know. But it meant a lot, knowing you had faith I wouldn’t freak.”

  “I recall shouting at you, calling you a pansy-assed waitress.”

  “Which I was, and will be again.” I leaned toward him, brushing my breasts against his firm upper arms. “You made me mad enough to want to kill you.”

  “Which I take it turned you on?”

  “Not right then. But later,” I said, fingering the tip of his cock. “Every time I heard you shout, I creamed.”

  His eyelids dipped down and he shot me a searing glance. “My dick’s out. Gonna do something with it, or were you just curious, Hollister?”

  “I’ve seen it before—at the showers, when Specialist Shelby whipped off your towel.”

  He grunted. “Most of the camp saw me stomp back to the tent in my birthday suit. Not my finest moment.”

  “It was one of the highlights of the tour for me.”

  “Better get busy or put it back.”

  I winked. “Yes, Sarge. I’m pretty good at followin’ orders.”

  His chuckle was low and dirty, but his expression had softened a fraction. He wasn’t thinking about the bitch who’d dumped him in a letter now.

  Sure I had his full attention, I bent, slipping a hand inside his briefs to fondle his balls while I wet the tip of his cock with long drags of my tongue. Then I dove, taking him into my mouth, suctioning to pull him deeper and stroking my tongue along the sides of his shaft.

  He hardened quickly inside my mouth, expanding, stretching, veins rising against the steely shaft. I bobbed over his lap, quietly at first, but soon couldn’t help the little slurping sounds I made as my mouth watered, coating him. His balls hardened, pulling closer to his groin, and I tugged them gently until he widened his thighs and melted against the seat.

  I moaned around him then shifted to get my knees under me on the seat. I pulled my hand from his underwear and gripped the edge of the dash and his shoulder for better leverage then dove again and again, taking him deep into my throat, lunging faster and faster.

  His belly jumped, the engine growled—then fingers dug into my scalp and tugged my head from his lap. “Get your pants off.”

  With my heart beating hard against my chest, I struggled with my boots, flipping them over the seat, and then tossed back my pants. The bikinis I dropped to the floorboard—in case I needed them in a hurry.

  Maddox pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, then drove down a rutted gravel trail, far enough off the road no one would see us. Then he slid back his seat and urged me over his lap. “This what you were after?”

  I reached between us and set the tip of his cock at the entrance of my vagina. “I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me damn thing.” His hands gripped each side of my hips and held me still. “Why me? Why now?”

  I shrugged. “We’re stateside. Not breakin’ any laws.”

  “Beg your pardon, but I can think of a few.” He leaned toward me and rooted through my t-shirt until his mouth latched onto a nipple. He bit it. “First stateside fuck? Not buying it.” He nipped it again, harder.

  I gasped and dug my fingers into his short, cropped hair. “I want you, Maddox.”

  “Jake. We’re gonna fuck—call me, Jake.”

  “Jake, I want you. Have for the longest, but you had a girl. I wouldn’t do that to another woman. Not when she couldn’t be there to fight for you.”

  He released my breast. “You divorced your husband when he was deployed.”

  “He cheated.”

  He grunted, centered me again and slid me down his cock, his fingers biting into my hips as he controlled the slow glide. “Man was a damn fool.”

  “It happens. We were apart too long.”

  “I w
aited.”

  “So did I. But I’m not bitter.” I squeezed my pussy around him. “Dammit, let me move.”

  His grip eased, and his hands slid up the inside of my shirt and under my bra. His fingers were hard, but caressed me gently, massaging me as I began to move.

  “When did it get dark?” I murmured, clutching his shoulders. Despite the tight confines and the steering wheel rubbing my back, I rose and fell, slowly at first, then faster, watching the last glimmer of the setting sun as it burned against the horizon.

  His breaths deepened. He pinched my nipples and pulled them, letting them go, and then pulled them again. Excitement cramped my belly, slicked my channel and his dick.

  His eyelids dipped, and he shoved up my shirt to watch as he continued to torture my breasts. The tips extended, and he twirled them between his fingers.

  I plunged down his cock again. “Jake,” I gasped.

  “Do you know what I’m gonna do to you first motel we find?”

  “Jesus, what?” I asked, lunging down and settling against him to rub my clit against his pelvic bone and wiry curls.

  “Tie you to it. Then lick you from your toes to your tits and back down. Might leave a mark or two along the way.”

  I smiled. “Haven’t had a hickey since high school.”

  “Ever been spanked?”

  I tilted my head. “Wanna use your belt on me?”

  “Fabric doesn’t sting as much as leather. Will that be enough for you, wildcat?”

  I laughed. “Think so. And I like it doggie-style. Rattle the bed when you fuck me.”

  He grunted. “I can manage that. If we can get food delivered, I might not want to leave the bed for a week.”

  I groaned. “Seems just about long enough.”

  “To make up for no sex for a year?”

  My breath hitched. I decided then and there to give him the truth, hoping I didn’t scare the crap out of him. “It might be long enough to get to know you, Jake.”

  Jake blew out a deep breath then pushed back my hair. “You know me, Jill,” he whispered. “You knew I couldn’t be alone today.”