by Marie Harte
“And I’m telling you, you haven’t earned the right for more than a kiss. Gunny.”
“Pulling rank…Major?”
She shrugged, and he wanted to pull her back into his arms and show her what it meant to submit to an expert in the art of pleasure. To be her superior in bedroom games. Fuck, he wanted to show her just how creative he could be with rank and order, and how good obeying him could feel.
“Since you refuse to call me Ms. Soames, or even April, as I asked previously, I guess I am.”
He loved that she didn’t back away. “Come on by tomorrow at noon and you can get started. That’s if the kiss didn’t scare you off. Wasn’t my intent, you know.” He stared at her mouth.
“I think I know what your intent was,” she said dryly. Then she poked him in the chest. “The day I’m scared of you is the day I cut off all my hair and run naked, screaming down the street. Not gonna happen,” she hastened to cut him off before he could suggest the naked part as something he’d like to see.
He smiled, pleased when her gaze dipped to his mouth before she made eye contact again. “I’ll see you at noon tomorrow. Don’t be late,” he ordered. “Oh, and I want you to be comfortable while you’re working. It’s going to be in the mid-nineties, so feel free to wear a bikini, the smaller the better.”
She bit her lower lip and looked up at him from under her lashes, as if coming to a decision. Then she flattened her hand against his chest. “My, Gunny. Your heart is racing awfully fast. Maybe I should wear a bikini.” She took a step forward and brushed against his raging hard-on. “Or better yet, not wear one? Maybe we could have some fun together after all.”
“Christ, yeah.” He hadn’t thought it would be this easy, but he’d take what he could get.
April smacked him in the chest, her coquettish smile gone as if it had never been. “Dream on. Bikini, my ass. But if you want, feel free to wear a thong. I’d just love to see that.” She snickered and walked to the door, then held it open for him. “Good day, Gunnery Sgt. Thorn.”
“Back at ya, Major Hotness.”
She rolled her eyes. “You are such a pain in my ass.”
Not yet, but with any luck, I will be soon enough.
“And stop thinking what you’re thinking. God, men are such pigs.”
He laughed all the way home.
Chapter Three
‡
APRIL SMILED AT Matt and refused dessert. Good Lord, what had she been thinking to tease Thorn like that? The man could chew her up, spit her out, and not break a sweat. He had muscles on top of muscles on top of more muscles. And that mean glint in his eye when he watched her, not a nice man. Unfortunately, he was just her type.
She felt aroused just thinking about him and how large he’d been…all over. She subtly fanned herself while Matt ordered a piece of cake, unable to stop thinking about her earlier encounter. She’d let Thorn see her morning face, and he hadn’t bolted. Then she’d tried to out-glare him while chowing down on those amazing pastries, but he’d stayed the course, then surprised her with a kiss.
Kiss was too tame a term. He’d practically blown her mind with his firm lips and a hint of tongue. God, when she’d felt him so thick and hard against her, his dick practically visible through the thin nylon running shorts he wore, she’d wanted to swoon. A shower and a grower. Yum. Though she’d tried to pretend like she hadn’t been scoping him out when she’d met him at her front door, she’d taken in every detail of the sexy gunnery sergeant.
He had height, brawn, and corded strength in both his mass and his personality, which made him even more imposing and dangerous. Her inner sex kitten had wanted to roll over and purr while he stroked her. Her nipples had been stiff for nearly the entire breakfast. Only some subtle posturing had hidden them until he’d pressed that powerful chest against hers.
He’d barely held her close, but she’d felt his body heat bleed through to hers. She could have had him. When she’d teased him, feeling his thick chest through the tee-shirt, his heart had been racing. His cock was huge and hard and he wanted her. But had she taken him up on it? Nooo. Why? Because I’m a lame-ass now out with the most boring man known to…man.
“And then a few of us were talking and Joss Whedon walked by,” Matt was saying while the waiter brought him his dessert. “I mean, he’s a god among script writers. Boy, I couldn’t believe…”
She heard blah blah blah and nodded to feign interest. It wasn’t Matt’s fault he was too nice. He’d been a perfect gentleman throughout their date. She couldn’t see him grabbing her close and kissing the breath out of her. Nor could she see him standing up to her if she let loose her notorious temper and let him have it. But then, Matt didn’t seem the type to stir her to such an extreme. Not like Thorn.
Stifling an inner groan, she tried to put effort into enjoying her evening. Matt had good looks. Maybe, if she still felt this horny remembering Thorn’s touch, she could work out her frustrations on Matt, whereby pulling the pin on the sexual need building inside her. With the right touch, she was sure she’d go off and incinerate anyone nearby.
She could only imagine Thorn’s massive cock sliding inside her, filling her up until it hurt. He’d be all bossy and demanding, ordering her around. Maybe he’d even grip her by the throat while he pounded into her…
“You cold?” Matt asked.
“Oh, um, yeah. The air conditioner.” At least the presence of the A/C wasn’t a lie, though her shiver and erect nipples had been caused by thoughts of a sexy man, not the temperature.
Matt glanced down her chest but said nothing.
She swallowed a sigh and smiled at him, then encouraged another story about some other famous yahoo he’d seen while in L.A.
After suffering through his long-winded dessert, she tried to salvage the night with a walk along the beach. They took off their shoes, carrying them, and walked barefoot along the ocean. This stretch of beach had less light than the area they’d left, and from what she recalled, it might have been a place to steer clear of. Something about an ocean-side bar with a bad reputation came to mind.
She glanced at the empty stretch in front of them. “You know, Matt. I think we should turn around.”
“I don’t know. I like the privacy out here.” He smiled at her. “Gives me time to work my wiles.”
She laughed at that. He was such a Boy Scout. She didn’t think Matt had any wiles in him. Sure he was cute, had a decent build and a funny personality. But sadly, he did nothing for her. Maybe a kiss would wake that something up inside her that Thorn had started.
She let him tug her closer. He dropped his shoes, then cupped her cheeks.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Duh, just do it already. “Okay,” she whispered, mentally encouraging him to stop being so metrosexual and go a little He-Man on her.
“You tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I will.” Christ. By the time he’s done making sure I’m all right, I’ll be eighty and a born-again-ten-times-over virgin. She dropped her shoes.
“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable or anything.”
She knew she should cut the guy some slack. Too many men took what they should ask for, and she’d never been a proponent of might making right. When a woman said no, she meant no. But she’d already told him she wanted to get to know him better. A kiss wasn’t asking too much.
“Matt, it’s okay.” She placed her hands over his and leaned in to kiss him.
After a moment, she pulled back. No spark, no zip, nada.
“Wow.” He smiled and moved in for another one.
She would have protested except a noise behind him interrupted the moment.
“What have we here?” an obviously inebriated beachgoer asked.
April took in the situation in seconds. Drunk Guy sat in the shadow of a dune drinking from a bottle. He had a friend, who stood slightly behind him, both men now visible since the clouds over the moon had shifted. They didn’t seem overly menacing. Bot
h looked military, but the one behind the drunk wasn’t too tall. She figured if it came down to it, she could take one if Matt took the other.
“Come on, April. Let’s go.” Matt scooped up their shoes and turned with her to head back the way they’d come.
Drunk Guy darted in front of them in an unexpected burst of speed. His friend soon joined him. “Wow, honey. You sure are fine.”
“Yeah, she is,” said another voice coming from behind the dune.
Terrific. Another Marine, considering that haircut. Three guys against the two of them weren’t great odds. Then again, Drunk Guy, for all his quickness, wavered on his feet. She turned to study the newcomer—probably the biggest threat of the three. He had large biceps, a tapered waist and broad shoulders. Not nearly as large as Thorn, but definitely bigger than Matt.
Before Danger Guy could instigate the others to any nonsense, she took a step toward him. “You three are Marines, aren’t you?”
“Why? Always dreamed about fucking one?” he asked.
The others laughed. She didn’t like having them at her back, so she moved until she had all three Marines in her periphery. Matt moved with her and made the mistake of trying to attack Drunk Guy. He threw the shoes at him then swung for his head…and missed.
The sober one took Matt to his knees, then he and Drunk Guy held him while Matt gagged and bent over.
The third man, Danger Guy, moved in on her.
“You know what?” she growled. “I’m going to keep this simple. I don’t dream about fucking Marines. I am a Marine. A sincerely enraged officer who’s going to have you by the balls before you can blink. Back. Off.” Once the swearing started, she had a hard time reining in her temper.
Danger Guy stopped, but his friends continued to restrain Matt, who sagged in their hold, still heaving.
April was done playing nice. “Are you shitting me? What the fuck is your rank, Marine?”
“Ah, I’m… Hold on.” He belched and stepped closer, bringing with him the smell of tequila. She had a feeling he’d over-imbibed as well. He just wore it better.
He scoffed as he studied her. “No way you’re a Marine. Not with those tits.”
She’d known wearing the halter dress might be a problem should Matt prove a lecherous kind of guy. Ten minutes in his presence and she’d learned he wasn’t. At all. Besides, she’d wanted to feel pretty, and the soaring humidity made less fabric a decent choice. The halter dress bared a bit of cleavage and ended at mid-thigh, yet it covered enough to be considered decent.
“I’m not a Marine? I’m thinking you can’t be one talking that way to a lady.” Her rage flashed white-hot when he grabbed her by the wrist with one hand and her breast with the other.
She used the defensive moves all Marines were taught. She broke his hold while putting him in a wristlock in seconds. Then she yanked him into a bent over position, bashed his nose in with her knee and flipped him onto his back on the compacted sand, ending with a heel—an unfortunately barefoot heel—to his groin.
He curled into a ball and moaned in pain, blood spurting from his nose.
One down. April turned to fully face the others and saw all three of them staring at her in shock. She had a feeling Matt would not be calling her for another date. He looked both mortified, flabbergasted, and afraid.
“ID cards. Now.” She knelt, fished a wallet out of Danger Guy’s pocket, and grabbed his ID. “Sergeant Aaron Pinter. We’ll see how long that rank lasts.” She glared up at his friends. “Well? I don’t have all fucking night. Give me your cards.”
Drunk Guy handed his over, but his buddy ran. Matt remained on his knees staring up at her. Poor guy.
April fished her cell phone out of her purse. “Who’s your NCOIC, and what’s his number?” NCOIC—Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge—the guy or gal who’d tear them a new one when he or she heard about this nonsense.
Drunk Guy stammered a name, then rattled off his NCOIC’s phone number.
“Get him up,” she barked at him, motioning to Danger Guy groaning on the ground. “Let’s go.” After she and Matt put their shoes back on, the group walked up the beach, her in the lead, while Drunk Guy—Lance Corporal Miller—and Matt hauled Pinter to the nearest public venue, a somewhat decent bar she recognized. Had they continued on their walk, she realized they would have reached the bad one a few blocks down.
April stopped everyone in the parking lot under bright lights and made a call. “Hello? This is Major April Soames. To whom am I speaking?”
A deep voice answered, “This is Staff Sergeant James, Ma’am. How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to say I was just assaulted by one of your Marines.”
“What?” The harsh swear that followed was justified. “Sorry about that. Ma’am, could you tell me what happened?”
In concise terms, she relayed the incident, as well as the fact that one of them had run away.
“It was O’Conner who ran,” Lance Cpl. Miller slurred and hung his head low.
“O’Conner ran,” she told Staff Sgt. James.
“I’m sorry to say all three of them belong to us. I’ll be right there to handle this. Ten minutes tops.”
While waiting for him to arrive, she called the police. Staff Sgt. James pulled into the parking lot in seven minutes flat. He skirted the growing crowd staring at her pathetic group. The staff sergeant had apparently been enjoying a night at the beach with friends, fortunately for April. Unfortunately for the two Marines looking miserable under his harsh glare. Matt continued to say nothing, though he did acknowledge the staff sergeant’s apology.
James stared at Pinter, who held his shirt to his face, trying to stop the bleeding. “Looks like she busted you up good, Pinter. You dumb fuck.”
“I did. He’s lucky I wasn’t wearing heels, or he wouldn’t be walking too easily. I have to tell you, Staff Sgt., that I’m filing a report on him with the local police. I have no idea how far things might have gone, but I sure as shit don’t want this happening to anyone else.” She sighed and shook her head, hating to dime out Marines. But no way in hell would she let anyone get away with what they’d tried to pull. What if the Marines had been sober and tried the same thing? What if she’d been a young girl walking along the beach with her girlfriends, unprepared for such disrespect and mauling?
“Right, Ma’am. Again, sorry for this.”
A police car pulled in, and she and Matt gave their versions of events to the officer while Staff Sgt. James waited with Lance Cpl. Miller. The cop cuffed Pinter and took him away after reading him his rights.
After they left, she turned to the staff sergeant, feeling for him. “Hope your night gets better.”
“I’m sure it won’t.” He sighed. “Sorry again for all this, Ma’am. There’s no excuse for Pinter’s behavior, though truth be told he and the others are our problem children. This just nails it for them. You can bet your ass—I mean, I can guarantee you we’ll fix the situation with Miller and O’Conner. Assaulting an officer is a serious offense.”
“Yes, it is.” She glared at Miller, who refused to meet her gaze.
James left with Miller, and she finally turned to Matt. “Are you okay?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Thanks to you I am.”
She saw the small crowd staring at them and took Matt by the arm. “Let’s get inside and make sure we’re good.” They walked quickly inside and to her relief found an unoccupied table in the corner. “I’m sorry about this, Matt.”
“Not your fault.” So why did he sound angry? “Hell, you saved us.”
“I got lucky. You didn’t. Where did they hit you?”
“Right in the gut. I swear I was going to hurl.” He managed a grin. “I need to hit the restroom real quick.”
“Oh, sure.” She watched him leave and sighed. Talk about a bad night.
The noise in the bar rose as a DJ suddenly appeared and cranked some dance music. She noted the disproportionate ratio of men to women, no doubt accounting for th
e many men seeking her out to dance. She smiled and politely declined half a dozen offers before another headache arrived and sat down across from her.
He looked her age, had a civilian’s haircut and shifty eyes. In no mood to deal with another dickhead, she said, “I’m sorry. My date is using that seat. He’ll be right back.”
“Hey, baby. How about a dance?”
Had he not heard her because of the music? “No thanks,” she said in a louder voice. “You’re in my friend’s seat.”
“That so?” He licked his lips. Not a drunk Marine this time, just a regular dirtbag trying to get lucky. “How about you and I become friends?”
“I think she said no, pal.”
Recognizing the voice, she dropped her forehead to the table. I’m in hell.
“Fuck off, buddy,” the dickhead said. “The lady and I were talking.”
She lifted her head to see Thorn, of all people, step around the table, yank the jerk up by his collar, then slam him against a nearby wall. “You deaf? She said to get lost.”
The noise around them seemed to swell. A few people pointed their way.
“Don’t make a scene,” she warned Thorn. “I’m not in the mood.”
Matt chose that moment to return to the table. He took one look at the situation, one look at her, and turned on his heel and bailed.
She gaped. “Well, fuck.”
A glance at Thorn told her he’d overheard her. But then the dickhead’s friends joined him and threatened Thorn bodily injury if he didn’t let their buddy go.
“By all means, let’s take this outside.” Thorn gave them a mean grin. “I don’t want to get blood on the major’s dress.” He lifted the dickhead higher, so that his toes barely touched the ground.
Holy crap, Thorn was strong.
The other guys swore at him but quickly backed away. Thorn tossed the jerk on his ass, and she watched him scurry after his friends until all four of them had been swallowed up by the dancing crowd.
Thorn sat and waved at a waitress, who brought him a beer. “And one for her,” he told her.
She nodded and left, returning in moments with a bottle she placed in front of April.