One corner of his mouth lifted. “Who says?”
She smiled back at him. “Me.” She paused, sobering. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He looked like he wanted to run for the door, but instead he shuffled his feet. “There isn’t much to talk about. Men died. Good men died by the luck of the draw. I didn’t.” He forced a laugh. “It pays to be a winner.”
She’d heard the saying a few times when they were together in San Diego. It was usually meant motivationally in a competitive situation—work hard to be a winner—but he was using it more ironically.
Brittany suspected there was a lot more in what he’d said than he realized. She wasn’t a psychiatrist or a therapist, but it sounded as if he was experiencing not just the loss but also a good old-fashioned case of survivor’s guilt.
“Could you have done anything to change what happened?”
He shook his head. “Not unless I figured out how to see the future.”
“Did you do everything you could to help them?”
He seemed taken aback even by the question. “There was nothing anyone could have done.”
She feigned shock. “Not even you? You mean you aren’t Superman?”
He realized what she was doing and got the point. “I hate to disappoint you—I know how superhero big I loom in your mind—but unfortunately, no leotards and phone booths for me.”
She wrinkled her nose. Even John Donovan might have a hard time pulling off a leotard. But a leather Thor suit? She may have shuddered a little. He could definitely pull that off. Big-time. Move over, Chris Hemsworth. And for her that was saying a lot.
“You aren’t to blame for not dying, John.”
“I know that.”
“What if the draw had come out another way? Would you want Brandon to be feeling guilty because you were the one to die?”
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “Of course not. That’s not how it works.”
She gave a sharp nod. “Good. Then remember that.”
Somehow her head was back on his chest and his hand was caressing her back. She could feel him chuckle when he responded, “Aye-aye, Captain.”
She looked at him sideways. “I like the sound of that.”
“Well, don’t get used to it. We’ve already established the command structure around here, and I’m not always so accommodating.”
She snorted at the command-structure comment. Right. “You are never accommodating. You pretty much do what you want.”
“Not always.”
It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. But when she felt something hard jutting against her stomach just as he let her go, she understood. He wanted her, but he still wasn’t going to act on it.
And she’d be willing to wager everything she had in the bank—which admittedly was about a hundred dollars—that it was more than wanting. Which brought her back to their earlier subject.
He’d taken a step away from her, but she closed the distance quickly. The bed was behind him, so there was no place for him to move. He might not like to be cornered, but too bad. She wasn’t going to let this go. “Why didn’t it feel right at the bar tonight?”
He had that pained look on his face again. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”
“I never said that.” She leaned into him a little so their bodies were barely touching. “Does it feel wrong with me?”
He definitely wasn’t liking the turn the conversation was taking because he bit back a curse before he responded. “It should.”
“But it doesn’t because you care about me, don’t you?”
“You already know that.”
“And you know that’s not the kind of caring I meant.” She slid her hand between them until her palm was lying flat on his chest. Pretty much right over his heart, where she could feel the heavy beating. “You feel something for me.”
He shot her an angry glare. “I think that’s obvious. I feel like I’m going to explode, I want to fuck you so badly.”
She might have been annoyed by the bluntness if she weren’t feeling the same thing herself. It was more than that, but how much more she didn’t know herself.
But tonight had proved that she wasn’t quite as over him as she wanted to think, and maybe he wasn’t as incapable of feelings as he appeared. But could she let herself care about him again?
Did she have a choice?
She didn’t know. But something told her she couldn’t let this moment go. She had to hold on to the closeness.
He’d turned to her last night in his sleep and kissed her today as if she were the most important thing in the world to him. He couldn’t make himself go through with what he had planned tonight, and then he’d confided in her about something she was sure he didn’t even want to acknowledge to himself. That had to mean something.
It meant she was going to do something potentially really stupid or really wonderful again.
Or maybe both.
She stood on her tiptoes to whisper softly in his ear, “Then why don’t you?”
The hand resting on her hip and back gripped a little harder. She could feel the restraint in each press of his fingers, and when he spoke, his voice came out just as hard and tense as his body. “I’m not going to do this, Brit.”
She let her mouth roam near his ear and down his neck, pressing soft little kisses everywhere she went. God, he smelled good. She could still catch the hint of the soap he’d used earlier. He didn’t smell like smoke or alcohol, which made her wonder where he’d been for so many hours. But that was a question for another time.
Now all she wanted to ask was, “Why not?”
* * *
• • •
Good question. One John didn’t have the answer for right now. Not when those soft, warm lips were pressing against his skin and sure as hell not when the tight little body that seemed to meld right into him started to press provocatively against an erection that was definitely all in.
It just felt too damned good. Too damned right.
But he wasn’t going to think about that either.
How could he when he was suddenly kissing her and she was curling in his arms with little sounds of delight as his tongue delved and circled deeper and deeper into her mouth?
He was consumed by kissing. Savoring every stroke, every taste, every response. He loved how her body slid into his. How her breasts crushed against his chest, how her arms wrapped around his neck, how her soft body stretched out against his.
How they felt together.
He loved it even better when she pushed him back on the bed and she was on top of him. Their mouths never separated. They didn’t stop kissing even as their limited clothes started to land in a heap on the floor.
He didn’t want to let her go. Even to lift off her T-shirt. He might have torn it off her if she hadn’t pushed herself away with a laugh.
She was sitting upright, straddled over him. “You aren’t going to ruin my favorite T-shirt.”
Once she lifted the seen-better-days Georgetown ringer over her head, any response he might have had fell aside. He was too busy trying to contain himself at the feast before his eyes. To hell with the Playboy underwear; the bare breasts in front of him were infinitely more enticing.
He couldn’t hold back a second longer. He slid his hands up the smooth skin of her stomach to cup the heavy mounds of sweet flesh in his hands.
He gave a low groan of pleasure. He’d died and entered man heaven. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but if Playboy ever does an annoying-reporter issue, you could have the centerfold.”
Just to make sure the annoying-reporter remark didn’t get his hands removed, he started to squeeze and rub his thumbs over the perfect pink tips.
She must have liked it because she arched a little deeper into his hand
s before she replied. “How could I possibly take being objectified to serve as men’s spank material wrong? But I will accept the sexist remark in the complimentary way that it was intended.”
He feigned offense. “Hey, I read it for the articles. And the pictures are art.”
She made a sound that showed how much she believed that. “And I’m not annoying, sweetheart. I’m persistent. They aren’t the same thing.”
He grinned, deciding not to press his luck by arguing, and went back to admiring her flawless creamy skin, which was getting a nice rosy flush from his efforts, the hard pink tips, and the incredible feel of all that very feminine weight in his hands.
She arched and stretched with his ministrations, but as soon as her hips started to lift, he knew playtime was over. He had to be inside her.
He reached for his wallet on the bedside table, found the condom inside, and started to take it out of the package.
She stopped him. “Let me. I want to do it.”
He wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but he handed it to her anyway.
She took her own sweet time. Kneeling over him. Playing with him. Stroking him in her hand until he was just the way she wanted him. And then slowly rolling the prophylactic down the turgid beast that she’d just created.
He was ready to jump out of his skin. When she traced the long, bulging muscle along his cock with her finger, he was straining so hard not to come that he started to sweat.
He was in trouble. Real trouble. As in might-not-make- it-past-the-start-line trouble.
“Jesus, Brit, you done yet? You’re killing me.”
Their eyes met. She looked so damned sexy. Her mouth was still swollen from their kisses, her sparkling blue eyes slitted with arousal, her silky, dark hair hanging around her face as she bent over his prone body. Naked. Yeah, especially the naked part.
He was utterly helpless and at her mercy. And they both knew it.
She gave him a feline smile that definitely boded trouble. “Had enough already? I was looking forward to a little lesson.”
From the way she licked her lower lip, he told himself not to ask. But he couldn’t help it. “In what?”
“Fellatio.”
He made a sound that wasn’t half as tortured as he felt. Just the thought of her mouth on him made him pulse a little. Okay, a lot.
But as good as that sounded, he wouldn’t last a minute. And he was determined to make it last longer than that this time. “Rain check?”
She arched a brow. “You so sure there will be a round three?”
He didn’t like that. And he was done with messing around. Before she knew what was happening, he flipped her around under him.
She let out a startled gasp as he pinned her. The tables had been turned. She was at his mercy now. But if the grin on her face was any indication, she didn’t seem to mind the change in leadership positions.
SEAL training came in handy in more ways than one.
“You saying there won’t be?” he asked.
“I’m not the one with all the qualms.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not feeling those so much anymore.” He should be, but he wasn’t. He was all in—all of him.
“Good. Then I’m looking forward to my lesson.”
“So am I,” he said before his mouth closed over hers again.
No more talking. Although he had to admit he kind of liked it. He’d never talked so freely—so effortlessly—with someone in the middle of sex before.
Hell, the extent of his sex talk had been, “How does that feel? Do you like that?” That kind of thing. He didn’t do conversations when he was turned on—especially when he was Brittany-level turned on.
Except that apparently he did. It made it more . . . He didn’t know. Fun maybe?
That was part of it, but not all of it. He didn’t quite know how to explain it, but it was different. It was a level of closeness he’d never experienced before.
It was easy, comfortable, and natural, yet at the same time, whenever he touched her—or she touched him—the intensity of sensation was both fierce and powerful.
It didn’t make a lot of sense. But he wasn’t going to give it much thought right now—not when he had more important things on his mind.
He slid his hand down to find the slick opening between her legs. She gave a sexy little moan as his finger—and then fingers—slipped inside of her, stroking . . . probing . . . gently stretching.
He raised his chest enough to watch her face as he pleasured her. But too soon her gasps and fluttered eyelids became more than he could take. He had to be inside her.
He fisted his cock to position himself at her entry. He teased them both for a moment with the tip. Circling, caressing, sliding in the plump head just a little.
The sensations were incredible. Body-shuddering incredible.
He didn’t know who he was torturing more. He was so turned on that the urge to thrust was almost overwhelming.
But even more overwhelming was the urge to draw it out. He wanted to see each euphoric expression on her face. Each gasp of surprise. Each groan of pleasure as their bodies came together.
He pushed inside slowly. Inch by inch. Holding her gaze the entire time, while biting back his own pleasure of her body gripping him tightly. Oh, so fucking tightly.
He was really sweating now. His body was a furnace of need. The pressure and pounding at the base of his spine intense.
Only when he was fully seated inside her, when he’d pushed as deep as he could go with that final nudge of possession, did he start to move. Sliding in and out with long, slow strokes. Watching as her eyes fluttered, her head fell back, and each sensation played out on her face.
He didn’t know how he did it. Usually when he was this turned on—although it had been a long time since he’d been this turned on—he wanted to close his eyes and pound hard and fast.
He did want to do that. But he wanted to see her reactions and building pleasure even more.
And she was digging it. Really digging it. Her hips were lifting to meet his every stroke, her fingertips were pressing into his arms, and her back was arching as if begging him to give her what she wanted. The way she moved with him was so smooth and silky, so sexy, it was almost like a dance. The hottest, most sensual dance he’d ever experienced.
But it was her eyes that drew him in and wouldn’t let go. Holding him captive with the proof of just how much she liked what he was doing to her. The long, slow strokes. The circling thrusts. The deep hitch of possession.
She really liked that. He held still, just letting himself fill and beat inside her, as her body found its peak. As she grinded herself against him to a powerful climax.
He kissed her as she came, telling her how sexy she was—how hot she made him—letting the cries and moans of her release flow inside him, as his tongue circled to match the rhythm of her spasms.
He didn’t let her come back down. He took her over the peak again, but this time he let himself go along for the ride.
Slowly and purposefully, he increased the pace. He wanted to feel every touch, every caress, every stroke. It built so powerfully and to such heights that when he finally came, it came over him like a freight train. It was as if his whole body had come apart.
He’d never felt anything like it. He was completely shattered. Drained of every last ounce of strength. His bones seemed to have dissolved from his body.
But he’d never felt such a sense of satisfaction. Not even when he’d finished the infamous Hell Week of BUD/S training. He might as well have climbed Mount Everest.
Make that Mount Olympus. Because he’d just seen a god—lots of them.
Somehow he managed not to collapse completely on top of her, but rolled to the side a little so she was only half under him.
Her eyes fluttered open to meet his. They stared at each ot
her for a long moment without saying anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. Wow? Shit? Both somehow seemed appropriate.
Because even as he was aware that he’d just had the most incredible sexual experience of his life, he was also aware that it was different. And he wasn’t sure what that meant. If it meant anything.
But there was something in his chest. A wave of tenderness that almost humbled him.
He reached out, ostensibly to sweep a lock of hair from her forehead, but he really just needed to touch her. To let his thumb caress the soft skin of her brow. And look into her eyes to make sure she was okay. She’d been more upset than he’d expected earlier. Her feelings for him weren’t as over as she’d made him believe. He was happier about that than he should be, knowing that it would definitely complicate things. This.
“Hey,” he finally said, his voice oddly thick.
His blood had stopped pounding every place but in his chest. That was still beating hard and heavy.
“Hey,” she repeated with a tentative smile. She searched his face for something. “Second thoughts?”
He shook his head. “No.”
He wished he could say he regretted it, but he didn’t. He hadn’t intended to end up in bed with her again, any more than he’d intended to spill his guts earlier—they both just sort of happened.
No, regret wasn’t quite what came to mind. Hot, insane, blow his fucking mind? That was closer. But it still wasn’t all of it. There was something more that he was feeling. Something strong and possessive. Something that made him want to tell her things that he’d never told anyone else in his life. Something he wasn’t sure he liked. He liked to keep things light and fun. Brittany was fun, but nothing about how he was feeling right now was light.
Maybe she understood more than he wanted and took pity on him. When he followed his no with a “You?” she shook her head.
“No,” she said. “But I think you might be able to wear that red cape after all. That was real superhero stuff right there, John.”
He laughed, grateful for the turn back to light. “Keep talking like that and I’ll be strutting around here with my chest thrust out.”
Off the Grid Page 21