by Marie Harte
“Damn,” he groaned.
“Oh, God!” she exclaimed.
“Open for me, Lottie.” He twined his stare into the marine depths of hers while pressing his thumbs against the moist pads of her pussy. She was so hot, so perfect, so ready. Thank fuck. He’d been ready for weeks. “Spread wide, beautiful. I’m coming in.”
“Yes.” Her voice, high yet husky, mixed with the scent of her arousal on the air. The fusion was a sweet aphrodisiac, wrapping his senses and swelling his dick. “Oh, yes. Oh…Kaden.”
His name left her lips as he kissed his cock to her cervix, deep inside her core. Kade shut his eyes for a long moment, certain if he drowned in her gaze another second, her body would already be bathed in his hot milk. Not that the darkness behind his eyes was easier to bear. It awakened all his other senses even more. The feel of her skin, slick and soft. The sound of her gasps, needy and passionate. The taste of her sweat, heady and sweet.
And fuck, her smell. Always her smell. The ambrosia that drove him insane with desire, craving more, pushing deeper but straining to hold back for her. Dammit, he didn’t think he could wait another minute. When Charlotte dug her heels into his waist and her fingernails into his back, he amended that contention. He couldn’t wait another second.
“Hell!” Her aroused little cry couldn’t have come a moment too soon. But the sound was laced with something besides her approaching climax. It sounded like…fear?
Her distress hit him like emotional bolt cutters. He ran his lips along her forehead, trying to soothe her. At the same time, his ass constricted and his balls screamed for release. Hold on, goddammit. Hold on.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, geek. Let it happen.”
“You don’t understand.” She pulled one of her hands back and pressed it over her contorted face. “No. Shit. I don’t understand. Oh God! I don’t know how—”
“Of course you do.” He lifted her hand and pinned it to the floor beneath his. As he thrust harder, he claimed her lips again, meshing their tongues as he fused their bodies. “Breathe,” he commanded after breaking the kiss. “I’m filling your body, Lottie. Now let me into your senses. Smell me. Taste me. Feel me.” Watching her acquiesce for him was like witnessing a sunburst over the Pacific. He felt a smile ghosting his lips as he grinded his hips harder. “Now come for me.”
Who knew his take-charge little scientist loved to be so compliant? As her head jackknifed back and her mouth formed a gorgeous O, she obeyed his command to every beautiful letter. She shuddered and screamed, her nails digging in so hard that Kade grunted in pain. But the torture was actually a thousand new descriptions for exquisite, balanced by what her pussy did to his dick. Her walls gripped him like a thousand worshipping fingers, giving fervent hosannas along every inch of his shaft. Kade rode her relentlessly, sliding hard from head to balls, spreading her legs with his knees as his own explosion swirled in his sacks.
His vision blurred. His arms coiled. His thighs clenched.
His cock exploded.
A snarl of raw ecstasy burned his throat. This was so good. This was so perfect. And at least for one schism of a moment, this was so right.
Which meant that eventually, he had to face the next moment. Yeah, the one where he braced for the moment after that.
Sure enough, even before the last drops of his climax were out, Charlotte stiffened. She didn’t lower her head. She whipped her face to the side, squeezing her eyes shut—which damn it, only enhanced her porcelain beauty. He kept rocking gently inside her, though she lowered her legs and swallowed deeply.
Finally, he dared to raise a hand to her face. Then run a gentle thumb along her jaw line. “Lottie.”
She flinched. “Please don’t call me that.”
“Then don’t shut me out.”
He hadn’t meant the harsh snap but maybe it was for the best. It wrested a glance from her. Another. By the time number three came, Kade got hopeful that he’d fucked the disdain out of her—but with the next look, he saw the Doc Sinclare aloofness drop back into place.
He returned the “Hello, I’m Stupid” badge back on his brain. Not only was her condescension enjoying a nice homecoming, it was now joined by a date: her deep shame. She’d clearly roped off the last half hour as a giant mistake, and her whole face showed it.
“I’m not shutting you out, okay? I—I just need a second. Or two.”
“Or a thousand?”
She shoved at his chest. His cock slid out of her, still half-hard and ready to plunge back between the dark curls where they’d found such heaven. He frowned at his crotch. Not fucking likely, gang.
He rolled to his knees and looked around the room for something to assist with clean-up but by the time he found a box of tissues, Charlotte was already wrestling back into her clothes.
“Look, I’m just in a bit of shell shock.” Her whole frame shook as she balanced against the wall, fumbling with her panties. “This isn’t something I normally do, you know?”
“And you think I do?” The second it was out, a wave of disgust hit him. “Oh, yeah. Of course you do.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.”
The woman was full of surprises today. He didn’t expect the sharp whack at his face, courtesy of the jeans she hadn’t donned yet. After attempting her denim version of Indiana Jones, she lifted a burning glare at him. Goddammit. Was it his imagination or had her little outbursts gotten more adorable over the years?
“Cut the shit. We’re not on your turf anymore. You don’t get to play big bad MP officer this time.”
Ohhh, she made this part too easy.
After seizing the fabric that now rested on his shoulder, Kade caught her unawares long enough to gain possession of the garment then hurl it away. Without deviating his eyes from her, he took one smooth but huge step. “So Miss My-Brain-Is-Bigger-Than-Your-Gun gets to play commander instead, huh?”
“No.” She looked stunned as she stumbled backward. “No. Is that what you think? Is that what you thought, when we were on the Sparta? Is that why you were such a cold bastard all the time?”
Kade grabbed his own pants and stomped into them. No way in fuck did she get to see what she still did to him from the waist down despite the real estate she infuriated from the waist up. “We’ve got bigger things to discuss than the temperature of my attitude, Dr. Sinclare—which I’ll briefly point out, you didn’t mind so much about five minutes ago.”
She had the grace to blush. He would’ve been fine in the composure department if she’d kept it to that. But the damn woman had to go and drag a shaky hand through her adorably-mussed hair. Shit. For a person like her, who had a scientific equation for everything, this situation had to rank near nuclear holocaust and bacon ice cream—especially because she really had no idea what was going on. He knew that for certain now.
With a measured breath, he scraped a hand across his own scalp. He kept his steps gentle as he crossed the room to retrieve her pants then walked back over. He took a knee and held the clothing open, ignoring the reluctance in her touch as she grasped his shoulder for balance. Closing the fastening at her waist wasn’t so easy. It took every ounce of discipline in his body to keep from lingering his touch on her stomach, or trailing around her waist to pull her against him again. He was a loser of the first degree in resisting the urge to dip his head once more, filling his nose—and by natural progression, his cock—with the incredible scent of her hair, sunshine and shampoo tangling into a perfect ambrosia.
Turn your head, dickwad. Let her go. Flush her from your senses with something else. Like ammonia.
The cherry on the goddamn sundae? Charlotte let out a pleading sigh, letting him know her body had received the memo, too—and really wanted to join his party.
Hell.
He was left with only one course of action. Pull the cold bastard card before he had her spread beneath him on the desk and screaming her completion as he fucked her again.
He braced h
is hands to her shoulders and used them as leverage, opening needed space between them. Didn’t stop her from sticking with him, though. Her fruity, floral mix of a scent seemed force-injected into his very blood now. Chemical attack by lust. War really was hell.
She was never going to believe this.
He attempted a deep breath while staring across the floor. He’d read every page down there, thinking he’d make the most of the time while waiting for Charlotte. No, that hadn’t been it. He’d been desperate to find answers and hoped she’d kept the notes from her time on the Sparta. When not finding those, he’d started on the rest.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “about the mess.”
She released a rickety breath before falling into the chair at her desk. “Find what you were looking for?”
He shot over a deliberate glance. “Not in the files.”
Her features softened, but all too quickly, the shutters on her gaze dropped back into place. She scrutinized him from beneath her lashes while buttoning her shirt back up. “So you actually waited for me…knowing that we were going to…”
“Huge affirmative.” He couldn’t help a sardonic smirk. “And before you ask, I also knew it had to be with you.”
Her tapered eyebrows bunched together. “Forgive me for having trouble believing that.”
“Forgiveness granted, fishy doc.” He dodged the pencil she flung at him. As the moment of levity passed, he approached her desk and hitched a thigh up. It was time for their bickering to end. “All right, I know you want some answers.” He gave her a respectful nod to demonstrate he was serious about the resolve. “I’m going to give you what I can. Just promise me one thing first.”
A careful pause precluded her reply. “Okay.”
“Don’t call the shrinks on me afterward.”
Chapter Three
‡
CHARLOTTE ALMOST THREW another pencil at him. His tone was sarcastic but after meeting the depths of his russet gaze, she knew he meant it. He honestly didn’t expect her to believe what he had to say. She was scared and hurt by that. Even more freaky? The hurt outweighed the fear.
Damn. Why was she letting Mr. Arrogance and Attitude get to her…again? Three years ago, she’d locked him outside her emotional shell—right after he’d done the same to her. His move came pretty fast, directly after deciding to cast every typical scientist stereotype on her. And oh yeah, there was his chunk of unexplained anger for good measure. Even the memories stung. They’d had a decent rapport at first. She’d even entertained a healthy number of fantasies about exploring his strong nose, those slightly off-balance lips, and that thick, sexy hair—but his stubborn grip on his biases had shut her out like a force field. The door on him, on them, had been slammed. Hard.
Which meant that now, fear should be stomping lust in the reaction department. Logically, the elements added up. Her case of the weirdness flu. The forced vacation, interrupted by Aimee’s plea for her return because of how he’d barged in here like a thief. Then the way he’d behaved like one.
But she’d forgotten about everything once laying eyes on him. She’d reveled in his reappearance, rejoiced in how he filled the air, longed for him to fill her. And oh God, the ecstasy of discovering he shared the exact same itch and wasn’t going to stop until they were both satisfied with the scratch…
Ohhhh, how he’d scratched. Even now, with her body barely cooled from his passion, she was restless again. That worsened the cycle of everything else. The lust that unleashed the need. The need that dragged in the confusion. The confusion that brought its fun little pal, frustration.
With the frustration, she was right back where she started from. The anger. And the compulsion to toss another pencil—or worse.
“Shut up,” she finally retorted. But she couldn’t meet his gaze while doing it. She picked up a staple remover and used it to start shredding the edge of a sticky notes pile. “If you’re headed to psych services, you’ll be following me in.”
For a long moment, Kaden was quiet. When he shifted, Charlotte never expected how he’d lean back over her. Then trace a long finger across the top of hers. Then make her hand completely freeze around the damn staple remover as his touch sluiced pure heat through her body, straight to the center of her sex.
“Was it that bad for you?”
His tone was growly and intense, making her force down a gulp. When she tried to get in another, she made the mistake of glancing up—into the dark bronze alloy of his eyes. He smelled just as perfect. Spiced wine and expensive chocolate…a treat she hadn’t tasted nearly enough the first time around.
She finally blurted, “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I think you already know.” He trailed his fingertip over her knuckles. “All the crap of the last few weeks. All the shit you thought was unrelated until it got too weird not to be related. The heightened hearing. Your hair growing an inch in a week. Clothes feeling too tight. Your own skin feeling too tight. Or even worse, the feeling that a thousand pins got stuck into your bloodstream and were tearing up your body from the inside out.” He stopped, tilting his head before stretching his hand to the center of her chest. That part made sense. Her heart thudded so loudly, she was certain he heard it, too. “Am I getting warm?”
“Shut. Up.” She couldn’t stand the desperate whisper. Okay, so his body had been buried in hers. That didn’t give him the right to bust down everything else now. The door was still closed.
He slid between the desk and her, now blocking her vision. “It appears I’m red hot.”
“Shut. Up.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”
He brought up his other arm and hooked his hands under her knees. He pulled her legs down and forward in the same motion, causing the chair to make a strangely erotic squeak. When it stopped, her thighs once more encased his. He didn’t stop there. In nearly the same movement of mastery, he circled his hands to bracket the tops of her thighs. Charlotte shook. Her body begged him to go higher. Her mind screamed at him to stop.
“We can’t leave out the part about the fantasies, can we?” His voice swooped lower by at least two octaves as he leaned down, dominating the space above her. “The scenes that played through your head like a constant movie…the ones with the lover who fucked you into a dozen climaxes, who pulled the pins out of your blood and made it all better, who smashed the fire ants of lust inside all your nerve endings?” His breath fanned over her face now, warm and decadent…and wonderful. “But he drove you even more insane because he never had a face. Yet you wanted him.” His stare darkened as it dropped to her mouth. “Screw that. You needed him.”
Farther. Yes, that was the way to go. Charlotte hiked her feet to the desk to gain leverage and thrust back from him, but his grip on her thighs was now like shackles. “Stop it!”
“Say it first.” He twisted his hold deeper. “You needed him.”
“You’re presuming a lot, Ensign.”
A smirk flashed across the sensual spread of his lips. “I presume a lot because I know a lot.” Just as quickly, his hulk brood took over again. “At least about this.”
With those four words, she revised the description. Brooding was too light a term for the demons of helplessness and fury that took over his face. Her chest twisted. She gave her rationality a fuck-off, leaning forward to finger the hairs stuck against his temple. “Was it that bad for you?”
Damn. His hair was so…touchable. She pushed her fingers a little farther, yearning to trail her touch around his ear. She barely got an inch before he flinched back. “Yeah. You could say that.”
She let her hand fall. She knew a visceral reaction when she saw one, and now wasn’t the best opportunity engage the man in a forced therapy session for answers.
While she came to that conclusion, he leaned to hoist a duffel bag next to the desk. It was standard-issue navy gear, though she hadn’t noticed it before now. From it, he pulled a piece of thick royal blue fabric. A scarf. No, a sweater. She felt her
eyes go wide. Her sweater. It had been her favorite too, until it went missing after they’d wrapped up the tests aboard the Sparta. Looking at it wrapped in his long fingers now made her senses crawl with five versions of creeped-out.
“You—you kept my sweater?”
It was more an accusation than a question, and she wasn’t sorry. What kind of a head trip had the pervy waterboy pulled on her? And why?
Kaden’s lips twisted. “I found your sweater, okay? Only a month ago. It was at the back of what used to be your supply closet.”
Wariness still nagged her. “The back of the closet? So you were looking for it?”
“I was looking for anything having to do with your team and your work.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask that, after what your system’s been through the last month?” He leaned back against the desk but kept his thighs pressed to the insides of hers. “Connect the dots, Charlotte. Help me connect them.”
She didn’t miss the strings of supplication beneath his arrogant tone. He hated having to strum them; she knew that already. There were lots of other things he likely detested about being here and yet he didn’t shirk, even as he damn near groveled to her. For what? For who? And why? A thousand fires of curiosity lit up her mind, balanced by more blazes kindled by dread. He baffled her—and scared her—more deeply every minute.
“Seems you have more of the dots right now than I do.” She despised her lack of answers as much as he loathed the bow-and-scrape. But clearly, fate hadn’t tossed either of them into this giant vat of surreal for their comfort.
Kaden nodded. “Fair enough.” He slid away, leaving the sweater in her lap. He started to pace, though his steps were far from a relaxed jaunt. “Here’s what I have. This shit has hit five of the guys in the squad already. The number four tag is on my head and yesterday we officially pounded the infected stamp on Max Owen. After Wick Davis became number three, we realized the virus wasn’t just a ball-busting strain of the flu. We tried to get help from medical on the base, but they were so freaked out when three rounds of antivirals didn’t work, they started talking quarantine. Even consultants from the CDC were mentioned.”