“You gonna freak out on me?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine.” And shockingly, she was. Surrendering to this man didn’t scare her.
His thigh pressed between hers and her legs gave way in slow motion as she continued to stare up at him, enthralled, offering him not only her body but her entire self. She felt the tip of his cock at her throbbing, pulsing, hungry entrance.
His jaw clenched with a sexy ripple of muscle along the plane of his cheek, and then he pushed into her, invading with maddening slowness. If he was trying to drive her out of her mind, it was working. Her body stretched to accommodate him, and she was grateful for his restraint as she realized just how endowed he truly was. He filled her completely and with such deliciousness she forgot to breathe.
“You good?” he gritted out.
“I’m about to be great.” She thrust her hips up against his.
A gust of humor escaped him. “Do not tempt me to let go of my self-control,” he warned.
“Go ahead. I dare you.”
He withdrew far enough that a wail of protest rose in her chest. “Positive?” he ground out.
“Never been more positive,” she declared.
He slammed into her with enough force to make her groan. He froze until she gasped, “Oh, God. Yes. Again.”
He obliged, and her entire body shuddered with delight. Her legs wrapped around his hips and her arms wrapped around his neck, hanging on for dear life as he rocked into her again and again. She met his thrusts with surges of her own, their bodies crashing into one another like waves obliterating each other on a rocky shore. It was wild and untamed, and utterly glorious.
Her body sheened with perspiration and his did the same. Skin glided on skin, muscle strained against muscle, and his slick heat pounded into her welcoming tightness until she completely lost her mind and lost herself in it. In him.
Pleasure clawed at her mercilessly, driving her higher and higher until it broke over her with a violent explosion of sensation that tore her apart. She cried out and hung on to him for dear life as her body shattered against his.
He smiled against her mouth, kissed her voraciously, and never broke his rhythm, driving into her like a giant steel piston, over and over and over. Before her first orgasm had barely subsided, another one started to build, grinding her beneath its forward march as it engulfed her body whether she willed it or no.
She buried her face against his neck and cried out against his sweat-slicked skin as he pushed her over the edge into oblivion once more. Her skeleton dissolved somewhere along the way, and her muscles began to feel languid and limp. But he showed no mercy, stroking the fires deep within her again, galvanizing her entire body until she pulled into a taut bow against him, crying out wordlessly as she broke in two with a violent release of pleasure bursting out of her.
His breathing grew heavy. His body went rigid against hers and terrible tension emanated from him. His pace slowed to long, intense strokes, each one wringing a soul-deep groan from her. It was as if he was torturing himself and her by holding off the ultimate explosion as long as he could.
Or until she begged.
She obliged without shame. “Please, Ford. I can’t stand it any more. I swear I won’t break. Let go.”
Still he held back.
“Oh, for the love of Mike. That was me saying, will you just fucking fuck me already?”
He half-laughed, half-groaned and gave in all at once, slamming into her with all the power and abandon she could have hoped for. She rode the storm with him, matching his passion with unbridled lust of her own, matching thrust for thrust, groan for groan, and shout for shout.
She came undone around him as he made one last, apocalyptic thrust into her and his entire body went rigid against hers. She cried out as an almighty orgasm ripped through her, and that was the tiny push that threw him over the edge. He came with a hoarse cry, his body shuddering intensely against hers.
His forehead came to rest on hers. She was completely drained, and he clearly was in the same state of wrung out exhaustion. Let the record show, the man did not do anything halfway.
“I think you’ve killed me,” he muttered.
“I know you’ve killed me,” she retorted, breathing hard.
“Am I crushing you?”
“Yes. But don’t move. It’s nice.”
“Mother of God, that was…” he searched for a word.
“Epic?” she supplied.
“Mind boggling.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “That.”
He lifted his head to stare down at her in the darkness. “I’m not looking for a relationship. And definitely not with you.”
The words burned her soul like acid. “And yet,” she managed to say lightly, “we…work.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way—” she started.
He pressed a finger over her lips to still them. “It’s not a mistake for me,” he corrected gently. “It’s a mistake for you.”
“Gotta disagree with you, there, big guy. That didn’t feel like anything even remotely resembling a mistake.”
He made a sound that might be taken for a bark of laughter, but she’d come to know him well enough to know it for frustration and disagreement. He rolled onto his back, obviously attempting to physically distance himself from her, but she was having no part of that. She followed him, draping herself across his magnificent body. She propped herself up on her elbows on his chest to stare down at him.
“Why is it a mistake for me?” she pressed.
“Your career is on the rise. You’re going to be a rock star in the SEAL community. The first woman SEAL. Smart, tough, physical, and hot as hell.”
He thought she was all of that? Cool. Still, she didn’t see why having hot monkey sex with a guy like him, hell, why having a full-blown relationship with a guy like him, was a problem.
He sighed heavily. “I’m on my way out. My knee’s wrecked. My body’s beat up. I’ve been on more missions than I can count. I’m…” he took a deep breath and plunged on, “…getting old. You don’t need a dead weight like me hanging around your neck.”
“Ohh, puh-lease. You ran me into the ground today. You’re at least twice as strong as me. And you’ve probably forgotten more about how to operate in the field than I’ll learn in years of training.”
“Like I said. Old.”
She snorted. “If you’re that old and decrepit, what we just did would have given you a coronary.”
He smiled a little, involuntarily.
“You are the first and only SEAL to even entertain the possibility that I might have something to offer the SEAL community.”
“I was no happier than any of the other guys when Frosty told me he wanted to train a woman for real.”
“Still. You treat me with respect, and you’re willing to admit that women might be able to hack this job.”
“I think it’s possible that you could hack it. I dunno about too many other women hacking it.”
“I’m not that unusual. I mean, I get that not every woman wants to put themselves through the years of physical training I’ve had to in order to be this fit. But if I can do it, so can other women, if they really want to.”
“I happen to think you’re pretty damned extraordinary.”
“Thank you, Ford. And for the record, I think you’re pretty amazing, yourself. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
He shook his head a little, denying the truth of her words. “Your judgment is clouded.” A pause. “So, tell me. Are you planning to sleep with every SEAL you operate with so you won’t be scared of him?”
She pressed up and away from him in a quick push-up that popped her to her feet. “That’s the first sexist, misogynistic, patronizing thing you’ve ever said to me. And I sincerely hope it’s the last. Otherwise, you and I are going to have a serious problem.”
Chapter Seven
‡
Ford swore under
his breath as Trina stormed out of his room and shut the door behind her so softly she might as well have slammed it right off the hinges. He had to say it. But he felt like a real shithead for doing it.
Perriman had been clear in his instructions. She had to overcome her fear of men if she was going to work with them. She had to get over the idea that all of them were going to molest her and take advantage of her. For that matter, she had to learn to step up and use her training to defend herself and not to panic. But that was a lesson for another day.
He shoved a hand through his hair and climbed to his feet awkwardly. His knee was killing him, tonight. A fucking woman had been able to outrun him on that beach this morning. How was he ever going to get back onto the teams? Was he deluding himself to even try?
Of course, self-delusion was what blew got his leg torn up in the first place. He’d fallen into the trap of believing that he could do anything. That his body had no limits, his abilities no boundaries, that an IED with his name on it would never come along. Dumbass. He’d paid the price, though. And four good men had nearly died because of it. They’d been stupidly lucky that U.S Marine Force Recon patrol had come over that ridge instead of the rebel force hunting their asses down. After the landmine had exploded, rebel snipers had chased them and shot the hell out of his team as they tried to get someplace safe enough for a rescue chopper to come get them.
He and his guys had been out of ammo, out of batteries for their radios, and were busted up, shot up, and done in. Worst of all, he admitted privately to himself as he stared out at the rain, he’d been out of ideas. Out of hope. Almost ready to give up.
It was the cardinal sin of Special Ops. You died believing you were going to win. You never, ever gave up. It was the single fastest way to get bounced out of the SEALs. And he’d almost gone there.
He’d been telling the truth to Trina. He was washed up. A has-been. She had no business holding him up as a role model.
What the hell was he doing out here training her? What was Perriman thinking? He’d even told his boss he was the wrong man for this job. Perriman’s only response had been that he thought the two of them would be good for each other.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Once she’d gotten past her panic attack, she’d met him on his terms physically—which was a first for any woman he’d ever had sex with—and dared him to lose control. Hell, she’d gotten inside his head. Blown right past his emotional defenses.
Now what was he supposed to do with her? She’d passed her personal “fear of sexual assault from a big, bad man” training evolution. It wasn’t as if he had any excuse to do that with her again. But how was he supposed to keep his hands off her? She was insanely attractive and as hot for him as he was for her.
Too restless to remain cooped up inside the house, he grabbed a towel and some clothes and headed outside. He left the clothing on the porch and stepped out into the rain naked, letting its ribbons sluice down his body. He let it wash the smell of her and the feel of her off his body, but it did nothing to rinse her out of his head. She’d gotten under his skin, dammit.
As the storm passed, he finally retreated to the cover of the porch and toweled himself dry. He pulled on the clothes and flopped in the decrepit swing under the porch overhang.
Maybe it was time for him to retire. To settle down and grow old swigging a beer in a swing like this, reminiscing about the good old days. He didn’t think he would mind it if he had a woman like Trina to share it with.
But she was at the very beginning of her career. The adventure was just starting for her. He had no right to get in her way. She had to go do her thing. Save the world…or try until she got cynical about civilian interference in the missions and restrictive regulations that cost lives. Until she got sick of death, and fatigue, and shitty conditions.
He leaped up out of the swing and went inside, pacing up and down the long hallway like a caged tiger. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Trina listened to Ford treading back and forth outside her door for most of the night. She lost count of how many times she almost got up and went out to confront him over how he’d known exactly which psychological buttons to push with her earlier. Had far he been prepared to push her if she hadn’t gotten past her panic attack on her own? Although maybe she didn’t want to hear the answer to that one. She would like to believe he wouldn’t have gone much further. Nah, he would just have thrown her out of SEAL training for good.
Jerk.
Even if he was just doing his job, he was still a jerk. She hated him more than a little for getting into her head like that.
Dawn crept through her window, gray and dismal, and she gave up on pretending to sleep. She got up, got dressed, and went out to face Ford.
Except he was gone. Oh, his body was there. And he responded to questions with actual answers. But the man himself, his thoughts and feelings, were locked away somewhere so far from her she was never going to reach them.
Which pissed her off to no end. She was the one with every right to be distant and withdrawn after what he’d put her through last night. Not the sex, of course, which had been entirely voluntary on her part and truly spectacular. But the panic attack before it. She wasn’t ready to forgive him for that.
What on earth had she been thinking to barge into his room uninvited? And then, she’d been an idiot and shown him her emotional weakness. Of course, he’d jumped all over it and exploited the hell out of it, as it was his job to do. Fine. She admitted it. Last night’s scare had been her fault. But she damned well wasn’t going to tell him that.
Feeling surly, she followed Ford out into the swamp. She did the calisthenics he demanded of her. Ran and crawled and climbed on command. She even came face to face with her first alligator, although it was about two feet long from snout to tail and a lot more scared of her than she was of it.
Ford taught her how to spear fish, and they caught a half-dozen bass and a big catfish in about an hour. She started a fire while he filleted the fish and threaded slabs of meat onto sticks. They roasted the fish in silence.
She waited until he’d just taken a mouthful of hot, succulent fish to murmur, “I forgive you, Ford.”
His dark, enigmatic gaze lifted to hers. He had to finish chewing and swallow—which had been her intent. She wanted him to take a second to think before knee-jerking a reaction to her—before he finally grunted, “For what?”
“For last night.”
His brows came together in a frown, but he said nothing in response. He merely picked up his rifle and walked off, leaving her to hastily kick dirt over the fire, grab the sticks of uneaten fish and run after him. She gulped down the fish that didn’t fall off the sticks and managed to catch up with him about a quarter-mile from where they’d eaten.
A sharp knife of loss sliced through her. It had just been his job to freak her out and then have sex with her. She’d made a cardinal mistake and forgotten what a hard man he was at his core. He dealt in absolutes. Life and death. Right and wrong. And he never let emotion get in the way of the mission. What a colossal idiot she’d been to let her emotions get involved last night.
She had stepped across a line in the sand, and that was that. He was done with her. In his idea of a perfect world, he would no doubt walk away from her and their epic sex and never look back. She had a sinking feeling deep in her gut that she wasn’t going to be able to do the same when it came to him. Which also pissed her off. She didn’t need a man, any man, inside her head. Or her heart, dammit.
She listened grimly as Ford launched into a lecture on sniper weapons and techniques.
And so it went. She was too mad to talk to him, and he was too shut down to talk to her. She had no idea if he felt any guilt or remorse for pushing her emotional boundaries in that particular way or not. And she damned well wasn’t planning to ask. Not that he would give her a straight answer, anyway.
It wasn’t like she’d never crashed and burned with a guy before.
On the contrary. Once guys found out she was training in hopes of becoming a commando, they usually ran screaming.
She’d never taken it personally before now. But it was really hard not to take being terrified like that personally. She kept picking at it, never letting the wound scab over and begin to heal. What was so different about Ford that she couldn’t let go of it?
Of course, the answer to that one was obvious. She actually cared what he thought of her. And she was embarrassed that he’d seen her freak out like a helpless, hand-wringing female.
For a solid week, the stand-off continued between them. He held himself entirely, unassailably aloof from her. She was so frustrated—on many levels—that she could scream. Worse, she started developing random and nearly irresistible urges to cry.
And that was one thing she never did. She’d learned long ago that women’s tears were kryptonite to men, particularly to tough, macho soldiers. If she wanted to fit in and be seen as one of the guys, crying was the one card she absolutely could not play. Ever.
The only consolation she had was that he wasn’t sleeping any better than her. He paced the hallway for long hours every night while she listened, angry and needy by turns. Her nerves frayed around the edges, and stress stretched tighter and tighter inside her until she wondered if she was going to snap.
They both got progressively more exhausted and short tempered, but neither one was willing to break the achingly uncomfortable distance between them. As truces went, it was the world’s suckiest one.
She did learn a ton in that week. By having only one student to teach, and because they had absolutely nothing else to talk about, their pace through the technical aspects of Special Warfare was supersonic.
But any personal interactions remained dead in the water. Eventually, she concluded that he was just being stubborn. And pig-headed. And frustrating. And irritating as hell.
Although he seemed entirely impervious to her, he had problems of his own to deal with. On multiple occasions, his bum knee collapsed out from underneath him because he kept pushing himself too hard. But would he listen to her when she suggested he give it a little time and take it slower on his rehab? Oh, no. Not him. He knew freaking everything. She couldn’t possibly have anything intelligent to say in her own field of professional expertise that might be worth listening to.
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