BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance

by Alana Albertson

  At the same time, he did seem cocky, which turned me on yet frightened me. He’d clearly had many hookups and knew what to say to get a woman into bed.

  Rebelling against my common sense, I kept my feet planted on his laminate tile floors. He pulled off my wig and wig cap, my hair cascading in my face. His hand undid the zipper of my catsuit and peeled it off my body, kneeling to take off my heels.

  I did nothing to stop him.

  He stood back up and unhooked my bra, his rough hands teasing my nipples. I gasped when his fingers slipped into my black lace panties, which within seconds fell to my ankles.

  He didn’t ask me if it was okay—he acted as if he owned me, which was sexy and scary at the same time. Lust waged a battle with my brain. My body ached to be touched, my head urged me to flee, yet my nerves sensed no danger. I felt strangely safe. Like I could tell him no or leave at any time.

  I stood in front of him, buck naked as he eye-fucked my body. After giving him more than enough time to stare at me, I squeezed his shoulder and lowered my voice. “Take off your mask.”

  For a few seconds he didn’t move. His hesitation tortured me.

  Then, without a word he ripped the mask off and looked me dead in the eye. His shoulders back, his chin up, as if he was standing at attention.

  I battled the urge to recoil in horror. A wave of nausea hit me, and despite my best effort, I let out a gasp.

  Ay dios mío! What the hell happened to this man?

  3

  Grady

  Iraq—Two Years Earlier

  The blazing Iraqi heat incinerated me, my flak jacket serving as my own personal oven. The pounding in my head was relentless, and it wasn’t just from the popping of the nearby AKs. I flicked a sand flea off my chest and took a swig from my hydration pack, but the few drops of water did little to quench my thirst. The dehydration, bug infestation, torching sunbeams, and constant sounds of gunfire ensured that the sandman had refused to pay me a visit for days.

  My men and I were clearing houses. I was a fucking grunt in an infantry unit, the backbone of the Marine Corps. A human sandbag. I’d joined hoping one day to become a scout sniper—and more than ever wished I were prone on some building offing these terrorist motherfuckers before they assassinated my brothers. At least I was happy to have my friends by my side—Beau, Diego, Trace, and Rafael. These men were my brothers—and out here, the dirty water that bound us together was thicker than blood.

  One more house. We’d already cleared two and this was lucky number three. This one was two stories and even had a fucking roof. I threw the purple magic cloud in the air to disorientate the enemy and the smoke grenade detonated. “Let’s go!”

  Diego went in first, and we hustled behind him. The rancid air smelled like a putrid mixture of gunpowder, shit, and sour goat’s milk.

  “Clear,” Beau yelled out after he checked the first room. Luckily, the second room was vacant also.

  I sprinted upstairs, my men close behind me. As we turned the corner and entered the room to the left, the distinct popping of the enemies’ AKs went off.

  “Get down!” I crouched in the corner of the room, desperate to get the fuck out of here. Alive. With all my men. Diego returned fire, clouding the room with gunfire and smoke.

  And that was when I saw it flying through the window.

  A fucking hand grenade. Right next to Rafael.

  We were all about to fucking die.

  “Grenade!” I screamed. “Get the fuck out.”

  I’d always believed that you could never predict how you would act in a deadly situation until the Grim Reaper knocked at your door. Nothing could’ve been truer in that moment.

  I was about to die. All my friends were about to be blown up by these motherfuckers.

  Not on my watch.

  Limbs shaking, tears choking in my throat, I flung my body down on the grenade preparing to shield my men from the blast.

  Rafael tried to drag me away, but I remained still, praying for mercy and a quick death. I counted the seconds until my life was over—until I would meet my maker.

  A stream of gunfire ricocheted through the building, instantly taking out Rafael, who had refused to leave my side. His heart-wrenching scream echoed through this shanty house as his head split open before my eyes, his brains splattering on my cammies.

  “No!” I screamed. It was too late—despite my sacrifice, my best friend was dead.

  Boom!

  Agony ripped through my chest, my heart spontaneously combusting, as I let out a desperate scream.

  The world was black. I thought I was dead.

  But I wasn’t fucking dead; I could never be that lucky. I was alive, trapped in my own body. Cries desperately trying to be heard, tears burning my skin, every nerve in my body short-circuiting, lying in my rotting flesh. Metallica’s song, “One,” played on repeat in my head. The smell of ammonia and bleach filled the white room. Maybe I’d been committed to an insane asylum.

  My only working eye made out the image of a man in a white coat walking into the room, a reluctant smile hiding the pity on his face.

  “Sergeant Williams, I’m Dr. Evanson. You’re at Walter Reed Medical Hospital. You’ve been in a coma for three months; we didn’t think you’d make it. Congratulations, son, you’re a hero.”

  It was a smile I would get to know intimately, for that same condescending smile would end up gracing the face of every politician asking me to pose for a photo, every active duty Marine praying they wouldn’t end up like me, every woman I propositioned.

  It was a look that said simultaneously “Thank you for your service” and “This poor bastard.”

  4

  Isa

  Guilt from my initial reaction to his injuries tormented me.

  At first I was determined not to stare at his face, horrified that he’d be insulted by my reaction. But the second his face came into focus, I held back a sob, and a lump grew in my throat.

  The right side of his face was mangled, taut raw flesh accented with blue and red scars. His jaw was uneven, and his right eyelid slumped, filled with what must’ve been a glass eye. The remnant of his ear was dappled and twisted. But the other half of his face was clean-shaven, handsome and rugged—a bright turquoise eye, strong chin, black hair shorn in a Marine Corps high and tight haircut.

  Flashes filled my brain, stored images I must’ve retained from newsreels and graphic war movies. Had it been a roadside bomb? An outmanned firefight? Some type of chemical attack? I wouldn’t ask him. For now, I was content with the trust he had shown me by unveiling his scars.

  “I guess I should’ve gone to the party as Two-Face,” he said, his voice somber.

  “No, you’re beautiful. You make a sexy Hulk.” I caressed his face, my fingers tracing its divots. “Plus, then you’d be DC, and I’d be Marvel. We would’ve never had a chance.”

  He let out a small laugh, but flinched at my touch. “You’ve seen me now. You’re free to go.”

  This was my chance to end this night safely and in control.

  Or I could get wild—do what I’d only ever read about in my books.

  Cut loose.

  I’d always admired those women who owned their sexuality, like Marisol. Indulged in pleasure without any guilt or shame. I wondered what it would be like to live in the moment.

  I was picky, but I still had needs, and right now I needed some action—and sadly these days the warm glow from my eReader was about the closest that I felt to having any heat radiating on my body. But even the artificial afterglow of one hot night with my latest romance hero did little to warm my heart. After all, I hadn’t hooked up with a guy since winter break. I missed everything about being around men—their masculine scents, their non-subtle eye fucks, their rough hands. At least my book boyfriends were gorgeous, witty, and incredible lovers—but most importantly, they wanted more from their heroines than just a one-night stand.

  And I was sure this man wasn’t looking for anything more than a hook
up.

  Isa, put on your clothes and get the hell out of here. This is not you. You are responsible, conservative, and goal-oriented.

  Faced with the opportunity to indulge in my fantasy of hot, wild sex with a hunky alpha male, I had to admit that the reality of the situation made me realize how rigid I’d always been.

  But somewhere deep in my soul I wanted to lose myself in this damaged man, give him pleasure to alleviate his pain, experience ecstasy and release.

  And maybe he could heal me too.

  The heat between us rose, and I erased the distance between us, like two magnets being drawn together.

  I traced his face with my fingers, running the tips over his lips. Rough, wild, and dangerous. As he remained still, my hands explored his incredible body—rock-hard muscles, deeply embedded scars, and intricate ink. All making him look like the sexiest badass alive.

  He bit his bottom lip, his pupil dilated.

  Hungry.

  Ravenous.

  Intense.

  His chest heaved, and the sight of this raw, ferocious man before me sent a shock between my legs. I ached for him to relieve the tension that consumed my body.

  I pressed my palm onto his chest, the green body paint staining my hand. “I want to stay. I want you.”

  Damn, did I just say that? My words betrayed my will.

  The left side of his mouth widened into a grin, although his right side remained frozen in time. With one arm, he clutched my ass and wrapped my legs around his waist. I gasped as his mouth covered mine. His lips were neither soft nor sweet—they were hard and hungry. The length of his cock and the hair on his chest let me know that, unlike my previous boyish lovers, I was about to be fucked by a real man.

  There was no turning back. I needed this Marine inside me in the worst way.

  His kisses were out of control. I’d never been kissed like this before, like I was an oasis in the middle of the desert. His mouth tasted minty and hot, and his manliness intoxicated me. He awoke a latent desire in me, summoning my inner wildcat. I kissed him back, kissed him everywhere. His mouth, his lips, his neck, his scars. My hands explored his insanely ripped body, stroking him like he was my personal sex toy. I gripped his hair and dug my nails into his back, kneading him closer to me, never wanting to let him go.

  I’d always been the good girl, living vicariously through my friends’ hookups, only indulging in my fantasies in the safety of my mind. Whether it was from a place of fear or control, I had never allowed myself to fulfill my desires. But tonight, with this nameless sex god in my grasp, I made a silent vow to not hold anything back. I was going to let him fuck me like it was the last night of the world.

  He shoved my ass on the countertop as his hands worked their way down my body, his mouth suckling on my nipples. A moan escaped my lips. I could feel my pulse beat in my core, and the thought of his hot tongue working its magic between my legs was almost enough to make me orgasm. I arched my back as his fingers teased my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit.

  “Oh, yes,” I moaned. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

  He groaned and dropped to his knees, his lips teasing me, showering my warm, wet flesh with kisses. He pushed his finger, first one, then two, deeper inside me, twisting and turning, and I gasped. I ran my fingers through his hair, wanting more of him, more of his tongue, more of his fingers. One wicked glance up at me, and he buried his face in my pussy. Ohmigod. His tongue danced around me, licking me into a frenzy as sensations of bliss pulsed through my body. Glancing down at this sex god going to town on me, my legs now wrapped around his neck, I felt so naughty. I didn’t even know this guy’s name, so why did he feel so right?

  “I’m gonna lick you until you come all over my face, baby.”

  Ahh. His tongue worked its magic against my clit. A rush of pleasure coiled in my core, rising and falling, desperate for release. My pussy throbbed and a wave of ecstasy exploded through my body, the sweet freedom making my body tremble.

  He looked up at me, as he slowly stood up, his one eye hungry with desire. I kissed his neck, careful to give his wounds extra attention. I wanted to take my time, explore every inch of his body. It would take me a lifetime to memorize it, but I might only have this one night. I kissed his chest, lavishing love on his nipples. I massaged his hard flesh, all the while studying the scars and tattoos on his muscular frame.

  What was his story? Where was he from? What had happened to him?

  I licked my way down all eight sections of his abs to his happy trail before dropping to my knees. His shorts were still on, so I unbuckled his belt, pushed down his boxers, and his huge cock stood at full attention. Wow, it was beautiful—thick, long, and harder than concrete.

  I took a moment to look up into his eye and smile. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t taking pity on him—I wanted this, I wanted him. He was the hottest man I’d ever seen, and the scars only made him sexier to me.

  He bit his lip and ran his fingers through my hair. My mouth opened and my lips created a seal around his cock, and he let out a heavy grunt. I licked the head and did my best to take him deep. I’d never really enjoyed giving blowjobs, even though I’d wanted to please my ex-boyfriends. But pleasuring the man standing above me, his sculpted body naked for my eyes only . . . for the first time in my life I truly appreciated how sexy this act was. How giving him this pleasure might take away even a small bit of his pain.

  He groaned and his eyes hooded. “That’s it, baby. Suck me hard.”

  I obeyed his command, locking my eyes with his. I took him deeper, sucked harder, my hand wrapped around the shaft. I needed to give him pleasure, make him need me.

  I wanted to taste his hot cum in my mouth, but he pushed me off of him. I rose, never losing his gaze. He threw me over his back like he was some caveman and I was his possession, opened his bedroom door, and tossed me down on the bed.

  He reached for a condom, ripped open its package, and rolled it on his cock. I touched his hand. I had so many questions, but before I could open my mouth, his body hovered over me. He asked me if I was sure and I gave him an affirmative nod and a breathless yes. He exhaled one deep breath, parted my thighs and slid inside me, setting my every nerve on fire. He grabbed my hips and pushed deeper. I was so wet for him, my pussy clamped around his cock.

  “Baby, you’re so tight.”

  I moaned and he pulled out and thrust fully inside me. He pinned my hands behind my head and fucked me.

  “How do you want it, baby?”

  Lust had taken over my mind. I had only one goal—to completely lose myself in this moment, and have him lose himself inside me. “Hard and rough.”

  “My kind of girl. Spread your legs, baby, that’s it.”

  He pushed my legs back so my knees were near my neck. I arched my back and he thrust harder, faster, rougher, my pussy stretching to take him, take him deep. His left hand clutched my ass, pulling me into him, ensuring my clit received the indirect stimulation that I craved.

  “So fucking sweet. Show me how much you want me.”

  And I did. I writhed under him, working my hips, rocking back and forth for him, like I was performing an intimate dance just for him.

  “That’s it, baby. Take me deep.” He squeezed my hand and pumped deeper, rubbing my nipples. He was so huge I was astounded that I wasn’t in pain, but I was loving every to-the-hilt second of him being inside me.

  He released my hands, pulled me up so we were facing each other, and wrapped my legs around his waist. His mouth sucked on my tits, and I almost came again, but he slowed the pace, edging me like I’d only read about in my romance books. “Not yet, sweetheart. You don’t come until I say you come. Ride me now; don’t hold back.”

  My hips swiveled around his cock, my clit rubbing against him. My ecstasy came in waves, but every time I was close he somehow managed to change his pace, not allowing me to go over the edge, to end this moment.

  He slapped my ass and pulled my hair. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.
Good girl. Do you want to come?”

  “Yes.” I ground deeper into his body, savoring his touch, his silent intensity, his beautiful cock. I was so wet, so hot, every cell in my body bouncing in euphoria.

  “Say it. Tell me what you want.”

  “Make me come.”

  Mouth on my nipples, he grasped my hips in both hands and pounded me down on his cock, finally setting me free. I let out a scream as he held me close, rocking my body through my orgasm. A final deep thrust and he let out a guttural groan. Then I collapsed in his arms.

  We cuddled for a few minutes, our bodies intertwined in the now green-stained sheets. The silence was awkward; I didn’t know what to say. Despite my assurances to myself that I could handle this random hookup, a wave of guilt crashed down on me. I couldn’t believe I just had sex with this man.

  I didn’t even know his name.

  I wondered what this naked man next to me was thinking.

  My fingers traced the scar on his shoulder. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

  “Grady,” he said in a low tone.

  Grady? Holy shit! As in Grady Williams? The war hero? I’d read a magazine article about him. He couldn’t be. But Grady wasn’t a common name.

  I popped up in bed and stared down at him. “You’re Grady ‘The Beast’ Williams? The youngest living Medal of Honor recipient?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ay dios mío!

  There had been a before picture of him in the magazine and I remembered thinking he was so handsome, but I hadn’t recognized him tonight underneath all his scars.