Body Talk: An Ex-Navy SEAL Billionaire Romance

by Ashlee Price

  Oh, and then had come that complicated chess game of how I could keep Whitney as my assistant and not fuck her, even though I wanted nothing more than to fuck her. How the hell had I worked that out again? It didn’t matter much at the moment, because I was in no shape to be fucking anyone.

  “Dag?” she was whispering.

  “What?!?”

  “That Whitney girl has been looking for you. I told her you weren’t up yet, so I think she went over to the pool. You want me to go get her and let her know you’re up now?”

  “No!”

  “Okay, okay, just asking.” I could hear little puffs of air as she snorted her disapproval of my temper.

  “Sorry, Kat.”

  “It’s okay, Dag. You get like that, I guess.”

  “Kat?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you ever shut up?”

  “Sorry. Bad habit when I’m nervous.”

  “What have you got to be nervous about?”

  My eyes were still closed and I heard nothing, so I took the liberty of assuming she had shrugged. “Tell you what. Take a thousand out of petty cash and take the rest of the day off. Go buy yourself a couple nice outfits for work.”

  “Are you serious?” she shrieked, and I winced from the pain.

  “The offer is only good for the next thirty seconds and you have to keep your mouth shut the entire time.”

  I heard a drawer, a set of keys jingle, and then the sound of the front door lock turning behind her. At last, some relief.

  I wasn’t sure if I dozed off, but when I woke up, I was still alone. I tested the world by sitting up, and deciding I might survive, I slowly ambled down the hallway toward the pool area. I pushed open the door and saw Whitney sitting on the edge of the pool in a white terry robe. I was sort of glad I hadn’t caught her naked—it would have required that I react, and in my present state of health, that might not entirely be possible.

  “Hey,” she called lightly, looking up. She, at least, had the good common sense to anticipate my head and didn’t shriek.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “You look rough.”

  “An apt description, I’d say.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and I watched as she went through the doors. She came back promptly, holding out a mug.

  “What’s this?”

  “Drink it, you’ll feel better.”

  “That’s what they all say. In fact, I think that’s how I got into this mess in the first place.”

  “Go on, quit complaining. The sooner you drink it, the sooner you’ll feel better, and then we should probably go over some of our discussion from last night. Something tells me there may be holes in your memory.”

  “Bottoms up.” It was warm and lemony, but sweet, not tart. “Not bad. What’s in it?”

  “Old family recipe, truth be told,” she said, her eyes sparkling with humor. “My granny could put on quite the party. That was what she served the morning after.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like your granny knew what she was doing.”

  She smiled. “She did. Now the question is whether you remember what we’re doing, or supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, I was going to cover that with you. That’s why I sent Kat home for the day, locked the door and staggered back here when I’d rather be in bed.”

  “Fair enough, and I appreciate the accommodation. Well, to be brief, we agreed to be partners in the yoga instruction, but without penetration. Then you asked to date me, and that could involve penetration, et cetera, but only if I gave you the green light. That sound familiar?”

  “What was I, drunk?”

  She gave an exasperated sound. “Well, of course you were!”

  “Sounds like something I’d say when I was out of my head. You going to hold me to that?” I looked up at her, winking despite the pain.

  “You’re damned right I’m holding you to that!” she exclaimed.

  “Shhh… don’t make it worse. Sound echoes in here.”

  “Oh, poor baby. Tell you what. Come over here to the pool steps and strip to your shorts. Float on your back.”

  “Now she’s telling me what to do,” I joked, but complied. I didn’t stop with the shorts, but stripped entirely. I looked to her for approval, and her face was crimson as her eyes were locked upon my penis, rapidly swelling at the sight of her cleavage and the knowledge she was naked beneath the robe. I looked down. “I think I’m starting to feel better now, if my cock is any indication. Your granny sure did know what she was doing.”

  Whitney choked on her own saliva, coughing hard for a few moments. I waited to make sure she was okay and then descended the steps and lay out full in the water, top side up. I waited for some indication of what she planned to do.

  She was suddenly behind me, her palms on each of my temples. I closed my eyes and waited to see what would happen next. Slowly, she began to apply pressure, and then rub with her palms in tiny concentric circles.

  Round and round, she only alternated the amount of pressure she applied. That’s when she surprised me. She began to hum in a small voice that I would have thought belonged to a young girl. It was a slow, exotic sound, having no words or specific rhythm. I realized she was making it up as she went. The effect was mesmerizing. It caused me to relax, and even my cock began to lie down, like a cobra being charmed by a flute.

  It took everything I had to remain fully flat in the water. I inhaled deeply to enhance my buoyancy, but the relaxation was also causing me to sink below the surface. She reacted by pushing me forward and then pulling me back against her body, the momentum of the water raising my legs. Finally, I could stand no more.

  “Take it off,” I whispered. She knew what I meant, and if there was a hesitation, I couldn’t tell. She pushed me away again and this time when she called me back, my head was nestled between her bare breasts. It was like an electric shock had been driven through my core, and my cock responded instantly. I half expected a jaunty comeback, but there was nothing but that tune she was humming.

  I opened my arms and lay as if crucified. It wasn’t intended to be a religious symbol, but a visual of surrender. I was giving up control for the moment and handing it over to her. She continued to rock me back and forth in the water, and I leaned my head backward and opened my eyes so that as I passed beneath her breasts I could see their underside. They were round and full, and the skin was so white from the lack of sunlight it was almost transparent. There was not a flaw, not even a freckle. Her nipples, undoubtedly stimulated by the sexual tension between us, were fully budded. Dark pink, they called to me as ripe fruit would tease the senses of a starving man. With my arms, I managed to push at the water enough to stay afloat. Now it had become all about self-control.

  Whitney realized I was floating on my own, and she bent and whispered into my ear. “Are you feeling better now?”

  I nodded. I was afraid this meant she would leave the water, claim her robe and run away, but she didn’t. Much to my surprise, she chose to walk around me, looking down at my body as if admiring an object of art. I found this all the more stimulating, and my hips began to pump slightly of their own volition. Then came the unimaginable.

  With the tips of her delicate fingers, she touched the skin on my chest, dragging her fingertips in long, repetitive strokes from my neck down to my waist. I could barely contain myself. I believe she thought she was relaxing me, when she was actually doing quite the opposite. I watched those full and luscious breasts, dangling only inches above me, as they circled my floating body. She had reached my feet now, and with the pads of her thumbs, she pressed into my soles, moving them slowly but applying enough pressure so as not to activate my tickle response. With the tops of her hands, she pressed hard into each of them, and a sort of magic descended into my brain, taking with it any remnants of the night before.

  She grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs apart. Slowly, with only her fingertips, she pulled me closer to herself, my opened legs straddling her narrow
waist. Just as my cock aligned with her breasts, she bent at a slight angle and kissed my bellybutton, knowing full well that this caused her breasts to lie on my balls. I thought I would drown.

  Her hands floated in the water only briefly and then lowered and disappeared until I felt them cupping my ass cheeks. These she stroked with the flats of her palms; up and down, over and over, until I feared I would lose control and shoot cum into her beautiful face. It was a moment filled with tenderness, compassion, and with deviltry. I’m not even sure she knew what she was doing.

  I let my feet sink to the floor of the shallow pool and stood up, towering over her. She raised her face to me, a look of indecision and question on her features. I put my hands on her waist and lifted her, letting her breasts rub against my chest as I raised her up. I subtly parted my lips and moved toward hers. Her tiny chin rotated a bit, expecting my lips, and when I took them against mine, I held her hard against my wet and excited body. I knew she felt the same excitement as I. There was almost a vibration being emitted through her skin.

  With one hand I cradled her head, pulling it back so that I might lean over her, my other hand lifting her ass. I cradled her like that, kissing her mouth hard and then continuing on to her face, and finally to those magnificent breasts. She groaned, a sound of delight and surprise combined. She was quivering like a small animal that had been captured by a predator and was facing certain death. I wouldn’t push this. It would push her away and perhaps scare her off forever. I valued her too much for that.

  I gave her one more hard, long kiss on the lips and then lifted her to stand on the top stair at the edge of the pool. She stood there like an abandoned child, studying my features. I could almost hear the questions going through her brain. Doesn’t he like me? Is there something wrong with me? All of her self-doubts were screaming, and I found it necessary to say, “You’re beautiful,” just to give her the reassurance I knew she needed to hear. I meant every syllable.

  That seemed to calm her somewhat, and she smiled as she bent to pick up her robe and belted it closed around her. “I need to take a little break,” she said, and I nodded with understanding.

  “I think we both need a nap. If not to rest, then to think.”

  “You always seem to know just the right thing to say.” She turned, pushed through the double doors of the pool area and disappeared.

  I floated for some time. Her lemon concoction had restored my good humor and the headache was gone. I marveled at how she had opened herself to me and tended to me at a time of weakness. I wasn’t accustomed to that sort of tenderness or caring. I didn’t really even know how to think of it. She wasn’t asking for anything—barely knew who I was or what I owned—and yet that was the second time she’d put her arms around or on me and taken care of me. She was the real deal—an actual good and loving person. At least I had enough sense to realize how rare that was.

  I would protect her. I would keep her at my side. I shuddered to think of what the blaring, cold and demented world would do to a spirit like that. People like Malchevsky would eat her alive and feed her bones to the rats.

  I would find him and rid the earth of his presence. He didn’t deserve to live. Undoubtedly, he had killed many. I knew of at least one.

  “Dagger?” I heard her voice, tentative and questioning.

  “Hi, what’s up?” I noticed she hadn’t dressed yet.

  “I want you,” she said simply.

  “You mean…?”

  She nodded and held out her hand. I swept from the water in a single movement and lifted her into my arms. I took two stairs at a time until we got to her room—mine was not fitting for such a moment. I stood her on her feet and pulled open the robe, tracing the outline of her breasts with my finger. She swayed and closed her eyes. I knew what she must be feeling. I lifted her onto the bed, casting the robe to the carpet. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Fuck me, please?” she begged in a small, soft voice, and I knew what it took for her to ask that.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Whitney

  I’d barely made it up the stairs to my apartment, thinking thoughts of Dagger and the way his powerful body soaked up the beauty and emotion of the world around him, leaving it dull and colorless by comparison. He was truly a good man; I knew that from our conversation and from how he looked after people. Could he claim his own and protect it? There was no question of that. Nor was there any question as to whether I wanted to be one whom he protected.

  I knew the answer almost before I asked myself the question. I was ready. He was downstairs and we were alone. I’d found him in the pool, still floating, and now we were on my bed and I was in a trance of subtle and screaming sensations colliding with one another. So this is what it’s like.

  For the longest time, he treated me like porcelain: touching, feeling the curves and taking the weight of my body parts in his hand. He was like an expert gymnast who was planning an erotic routine with an eye to perfection. I felt humbled by his attention, and yet I seemed to respond with an inner femininity that was empowering. I understood then what allure was. I understood that a movement anticipated is destined for boredom, while the unexpected excited the senses and could cover for inexperience. He moved over me, and I responded spontaneously, which seemed to heighten his pleasure.

  It was erotic to feel the seldom-exposed parts of my body now being caressed by sheets, smothered in pillows and held in the hands of a man who exuded control and power. I knew then that all the waiting had been worth it. Certainly no one could measure up to the mastery I was experiencing at the hands of Dagger Braun.

  He balanced between exciting me and teaching me where to touch him. I confess, I did some exploring of my own, and there seemed to be nothing off limits.

  My first object of fascination was his penis. Although I had no standard of measurement to go by, I was trying to form an opinion as to whether it would fit into me. It appeared to be a cage of muscle, covered in skin and transparent enough for me to see and touch the thin veins that throbbed inside. I touched the tip first, tentatively, and he groaned and grabbed my hand to fasten it over himself in glove-like grip. He pushed it downward and then pulled it back up, and I caught on like an old-timey call girl. I learned that saliva in my hand allowed it to slide more easily. Then I learned that my hand was a waste of time, and that with moist lips and an open throat, I could taste that warm muscle and stroke him with my tongue and throat at the same time. He lay on the bed, his legs spread outward as he put one hand on the back of my head and held me to my pleasurable task. I felt his breathing increase, and then he lifted me in the air and laid me flat on my back.

  Pushing my legs apart, he crept upward between them and kissed my nipples. I felt the impact all the way in my pussy and marveled that the two were tied together somehow. I learned that part of enjoying sex was acknowledging your own body and its parts. I gave myself permission to use the words that had formerly seemed tasteless but now, in this context, seemed completely appropriate and exciting.

  His fingers lightly drew circles around my areolae, tantalizing more skin that led to the same womanly tunnel. How does he know what feels so good?

  I wasn’t about to ask, and I had resolved to close my mouth when his lips were upon me. There were deep, long kisses on my lips, and his tongue prodded mine, skimming the inside of my cheeks and sucking on my bottom lip. I felt powerless in the face of his onslaught, but it was a surrender I was willing to make.

  “What do I do?” I whispered.

  “Just lie there, sweetheart, and enjoy.”

  His nose nuzzled my ear and his tongue snaked in with darting touches and little whiffs of air. Oh, my God, but I loved that. Chills flew out at all angles and I heard myself uttering noises of delight.

  Dagger moved down my body, touching, massaging, holding, kissing, sucking—everything that a man’s mouth or hands could possibly do. I felt his strength, his determination and his tenderness, all in the same touch. I was made to be handled like
this. I knew it, and I relished the idea.

  His cock was prodding into my lower belly, and he straddled my thighs. I watch with fascination as he looked down at me, an adoring expression on his face. He pushed my legs wide and then seized my hips, lifting them upward.

  “Watch me,” he challenged in a hard whisper. His cock held my fascination, and I realized the moment was about to come. He intended to place himself inside me. I began to wriggle backward, out of his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his rhythm interrupted.

  “You’ll split me wide.”

  His head lay back and he laughed heartily. “No, sweetheart, it just looks like that. Women and men are made to fit together. Trust me. One day an entire child will likely make its way down there. Surely you can handle me?”

  With renewed anticipation, I wriggled back downward toward him—and toward that massive rod. He used one hand to touch me there, to rub that nub I’d so recently found. Oh, my God, it felt so much better when he touched it. He lifted my buttocks and raised up over me, parting the lips and lowering his hips to guide himself inside me.

  I can’t describe it adequately, but it was like a delicious ache. He inserted himself slowly and then paused. I could feel a pressure and a quick glimpse of pain as he penetrated my virgin’s shield. He held very still, watching my face to determine whether to continue or withdraw. He let me grow accustomed to the sensation, and then I nodded and he pushed himself in until I could feel him touching the bottom. With a slow caution, he withdrew again and paused before continuing. “You okay?” he whispered.

  I nodded and gave him smiling encouragement. Now he seized my hips and began a steady, rhythmic penetration. Some strokes were gentle and slow, and then he’d become more frenetic and hard. I kept my eyes open and watched his face. It wasn’t the Dagger I would have recognized, but a primal version that was focused on achieving a goal. I resisted the urge to protest that he was using me and tell him I wanted to stop. In a few moments, I knew why.