THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  I should probably tell him that it’s not nerves, but the fact that I find him really attractive, but I keep my peace and watch his hands as he slowly unzips my skirt and pulls it down my legs.

  I feel exposed and yet good as he runs rough hands up the outside of my thighs and lays a gentle kiss to the strip of skin exposed between my panties and shirt, which gets pulled up too.

  His movements are slow as if he’s afraid I’ll get spooked. I feel myself smiling when he tosses the shirt away and comes face to face with my naked breasts.

  “Thank you, God.” He breathes, his eyes going dark and filled with awe, making me feel about ten feet tall.

  “Er, I’m probably a little late in asking.” I giggle nervously and cover my chest, biting my lip at his growl. “But, uh, I should ask about your medical—”

  “I’m an Army veteran, and the agency I work for does checkups and blood tests every six months. I can show you the paperwork.” He rushes out, springing up to hurry to the dresser and pull it out.

  The negative status staring back at me has me shuddering out a breath, and I smile at his muttered “thank God” when I drop my arms shamelessly.

  I want to say that everything after is kind of blurred just to spare myself, but it isn’t. I see every reverent stroke of his eyes over me and feel every touch as he leads me to the bed and helps me down, his hands placing my body just so against the cool cotton sheets.

  I’m nowhere near what Ginger described as screaming hot arousal, but as he stands there staring, I feel my nipples pebble and a swift clenching between my legs.

  “You are perfection. Dammit, I knew you would be. Can I…?”

  He doesn’t wait for my consent but just grasps the waistband of my panties and pulls them down, his eyes glued to the v between my legs. I’m a little embarrassed, especially when he runs his hands over my smooth thighs and pushes gently, opening me. But the look on his face and the way he catches his breath has me unwinding even as something coils in the pit of my belly.

  I’m completely open, everywhere, and I am not ashamed or feeling the need to cover anything. Jericho makes me feel this way—hot, achy, and filled with something I haven’t ever felt.

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You don’t have to know, Peaches, it’s my job to show you,” he rasps, coming down next to me.

  We both hiss at the contact, and I take a deep breath when his mouth lowers and I feel his lips press to mine. It’s sweet and slow, and before I know it, I’m pushing closer and opening to him, taking his tongue even as he sucks on mine and shows me just how to lick and suck in a way that makes my nipples hurt and my sex clench.

  That kiss goes hotter when he seems to lose a little control, and I revel in it when he kisses me harder, seeming to want to devour me. My moans are met with his groans, and I let myself go completely when pleasure and aching need start building everywhere.

  I want something, just something, but he keeps kissing me, savoring me, and eating every inch of my mouth till I have to pull away to draw air. He moves then, licking and sucking at my chin, jaw, down my throat, and onto the swells of my big breasts.

  Everywhere his mouth touches sets aflame, and I scream and jerk when he licks over my nipple and sucks it so deep he takes some breast with it.

  “Oh, oh that feels…”

  I can’t finish because the man growls into me and starts loving on my breasts and every inch of skin between as if this is his ultimate goal. I feel something down where I hurt, and it startles me to realize that I’m getting wet, just as Ginger said I would.

  Good Lord, thank you. I am not broken. I wheeze when I feel one of his big, rough hands skate down my belly and slip into the seam of my sex.

  “Ha!”

  “Hmm, you like this,” he says with a purr, rubbing at my clit in slow circles, using the moisture my body has made to slip and slide and explore my every crevice.

  So good, soooo… Oh dear Lord. The feel of his finger pushing into me is so good I ignore the slight pinch that accompanies it, choosing to focus only on how wonderful it feels to have him stroking me inside while his thumb strums at my bud.

  Jericho is panting now, his face digging into my chest as he lets out a long groan and kisses a nipple. Then he moves, swinging up and between my legs, his hands pushing me open till I’m spread out like a frog on a lab table.

  “Need to taste you, but I don’t want to scare you. Let me?”

  I can only nod as my throat constricts around the Yes, please!

  That’s the last thought I have as he smiles and lowers his head, breathing deeply before opening his mouth right over me.

  Oh, the sensations: hot, wet tongue, friction, sucking on the lips of my sex, darting his tongue inside before growling low and right into me.

  I can’t think; I can only feel, as he shoves his hands beneath my ass and eats me so hard and well that I just…explode.

  My sex goes tight and loose and then tighter as wave upon wave of pleasure shoots through me, my every sense bombarded by wet, hot bliss. This is an orgasm—my first ever—and it feels so good and perfect that when I come down with a crash and lay panting, groaning my regret, all I can think is again.

  I want that again. And again. And again. Until I can’t move or think or contemplate leaving this man at all.

  His grin, when I open my eyes and peer down at him, makes me giggle. I find myself laughing with glee as he pushes up over me and comes to rest on his elbow, watching me intently.

  “Thank you, Cleopatra Ducaine. That was indeed an honor. Now get ready, Peaches, because I’m about to get real serious here.”

  “That wasn’t real or serious?” I tease, stroking his cheek affectionately.

  “Nah, that was me making sure you’re with me. This is real.”

  He starts playing his fingers on me again, flicking and rubbing at my clit slowly, softly until the sensitivity wanes and I feel my arousal climb again.

  By the time I feel like I want to explode and I’m digging grooves into his arms with my fingernails, he pulls that hand away and reaches down to place himself at my entrance.

  I expect him to go slow. Instead he covers my mouth with his and thrusts. Hard. The pain as he breaches me is jarring, making me tense and scream into his mouth, but it fades into small pulses as he stills, buried deep inside me, and starts kissing me again, that wicked hand going back to my clit to play and tease over the bud.

  Need builds slowly, as slowly as he kisses me, but it does build, and I am soon writhing and grinding up at him, the pleasure accompanied with the fullness too much to deny.

  “Please.”

  Jericho groans and starts moving and, Holy Mother, does it feel good. I love every thrust and back slide of his penis inside me, and I almost scream to high heaven when he twists his hips and hits a place inside that has me seeing stars.

  “That’s it, Peaches. Let that sweet pussy pull me back in.”

  Dirty words. I like them I think as I grab his butt and start pulling him faster, harder, wanting that feeling again, only more this time because I know it will be more than the pleasure he gave me before.

  Slapping sounds echo, grunts and my own moans and whimpered babbling escape as we strain together and kiss in wet tongue slides.

  When I climax, it’s so much I leave my body and shatter. That’s all I can say with any real truth. It’s just…awe and a fulfilment unlike anything I’ve known.

  Later, when I can breathe again, I open my eyes to see Jericho smiling down at me, his eyes intense and filled with emotion.

  “Heaven.”

  I can only nod as he pulls free and comes down beside me, pulling me into his chest and sighing deeply. I don’t know what to do or say or feel right now. I’m so blown away that I feel like I’m floating and boneless and yet vibrating even as my eyelids start drooping.

  “Sleep, Peaches. We can talk in the morning.”

  Chapter Three

  Cl
eo

  The minute I wake up, I feel my heart sink because its morning. I’ve slept through half my night, and I didn’t get another chance to make love to Jericho.

  This saddens me and makes my chest ache even as I slowly slip free of his arms and slide off the bed, coming to my feet with a heaviness as I look back down and see him snoring softly. His face is so boyishly adorable in sleep that I want to kiss him and smooth my hands through that wonderful hair.

  I have to leave now because, just as Cinderella did so long ago, I have turned into the housemaid with the cold light of day coming through the windows.

  I want to stay so badly I actually reach for him before pulling back and giving myself a strong talking to. Even if I were to find the courage to disobey and break every expectation Daddy has for me, Jericho may not be at all accepting of my starry-eyed adoration.

  To him, this was a one-off thing, a “hookup” as Ginger calls it, a “one-and-done” or whatever new lingo people are using nowadays. And that is just how it needs to be, I think as I gather my clothes and pull them on hastily, scurrying from the apartment and down the stairs in a rush of panicked nerves and morning-light reserve.

  The bar is empty and deathly quiet, but that Josh fellow is still around, and I see him smile at me before pointing at a door in the back and tipping his baseball cap.

  “Thanks.”

  I don’t hear if he replies or not because it takes me only seconds to run out and dive into my little Prius before pulling away at a speed that I would not accept at any other time.

  Cleo Ducaine does not speed, but right now I need to get home and be alone before I burst. I feel like a teenager right now, so full of energy and emotions, and it’s startling to think I may have just awoken something in myself that was better left unbothered.

  I’ve never felt more than brief anger or happiness. I’m the regular, middle-line poster child for being calm and sedate at all times. And yet, as I make an illegal U-turn and floor the gas, I can’t tell you at all what I feel as my emotions swing up and down.

  Sad, because I will likely never see that beautiful man again; happy, because I am finally free of the innocence that was weighing on me; relieved, because I got away without that awkward moment that everyone seems to spout off about with embarrassed chuckles.

  Disappointment, because after this, how am I ever going to go back to the old me and not be unsatisfied with Tuesday night dinners with Marshall as I stare at his ridiculous gold tooth and the sweat that is ever present in his bald brow, no matter the weather?

  The truth is that I don’t think I can. Or at least it will take some time for me to wrest my emotions back into line and go on as expected. One thing I can say for certain, as I pull into the drive and run into the house, is that I will never ever again believe that little mouse is what I am.

  I was brave and fierce last night, and I took as well as gave pleasure. I was not a disappointment. I know this because Jericho made every second of it his mission to let me know how good it felt to be inside me.

  That brings me right back to him, and I fall into a chair at the kitchen table with a teary smile. He made it so easy for me. His every word, whether gentle or raunchy, made me feel beautiful and wanted. His every touch gave me the courage to touch back and feel things I didn’t know I could.

  He was everything I could have wanted for my first time, and more, because he far surpassed any expectations I could have had. That big, gruff, tattooed bar owner has a gentleman hidden beneath the outrageous exterior, and I adore him for it.

  “Stop it. You will stop this right now. It was one night in which you fulfilled a pact. Nothing more. Sex. Just sex. No more of that, Cleo. It’s time to stop daydreaming and do what you have to,” I tell myself sternly, shaking myself back to reality as light fills my little kitchen and makes me aware of the time.

  I rise quickly then and rush through a shower, blushing at the spot of blood on my thighs before dressing in a sedate skirt and cream, button-up blouse.

  My makeup is light, classy and understated just as it should be—no red lips or eyeliner for me, and the little studs I swap out for Ginger’s hoops are just as subdued.

  By the time I’ve guzzled a cup of tea and talked to myself again, it’s almost time to go. I screech when my phone rings, looking at it like it’s a snake before huffing and rolling my eyes.

  “Tell me.”

  “Ginger, I need to get going.”

  “Oooh, don’t want to be late for your ladies’ do? You hankering to make that confession, girl?”

  “In fact, no,” I mutter, pouring myself another cup and settling in for a quick talk. “I did it.”

  “Oh, you did not,” she mutters disbelievingly, making my teeth ache as I fight not to grind them to dust.

  This is the one thing—well, one of many, really—that I do not like about her: she always doubts me, and if I know her, she will find a way to turn what I had, that magical night, into something sordid and dirty.

  “I did. I so did. I walked right up to someone and told him that I’m looking for a one night hookup to…to…”

  “Pop your cherry?” She laughs. “Was he at least better looking than Marshall?”

  I can tell that she doesn’t believe me, and since I’m still reeling and not yet as calm as I normally am, I find my temper flaring.

  “He was. He was gorgeous and sweet, and he didn’t make me beg like you thought he would! He called me beautiful and made love to me so well that I will never forget it.”

  “Oh, please. Where should I go looking for this paragon of manly sainthood?” she scoffs, giggling again as I chug my tea, scalding my tongue.

  “At the bar you told me to go to, of course.” I grate. “In fact, he owns the bar, so there.”

  I push the “end” button with an unladylike curse and just resist tossing my phone into the wall before breathing to calm myself and rising slowly. The drive over to the country club—it makes me giggle every time I call it that because it’s really just a restaurant, two tennis courts and a nine-hole golf green—is just what I need to calm myself. I sit down minutes later and start the meeting with far less enthusiasm than I feel.

  When it ends, I’m more relieved than I have a right to be, considering that these women call themselves my friends. I drive to work on autopilot, not daring to let myself think. When I arrive, I go about opening the library and doing my job with relief.

  My pace is actually hectic for a small town like Mayberry, Tennessee. I have the nursing home to get books to, the kindergarten classes to keep in line, and the other schoolchildren that slump in here in the afternoon.

  I’m just done setting up the book corner for the little ones and scanning books for the teachers to take with them, when I hear the door open with a swish.

  “Just a minute please.”

  “Take all the time you need, Peaches. I like the look of your sweet ass in those stockings.”

  Freeze. That’s all I can do as that velvety soft voice melts over me like sinful chocolate and heats my skin. I shouldn’t turn; I really shouldn’t take the risk of looking at him this soon after our night, but I can’t help it.

  I do turn and look...straight up into Jericho’s laughing eyes.

  “You.”

  “Jericho. Have you forgotten so quickly, Peaches? Do you need a reminder, seeing as we never got to have that talk I was looking forward to this morning?”

  His deep drawl brings a flush to my cheeks that I quash simply by force of will as my eyebrow rises. I’m in strict librarian mode right now and unflappable. I hope.

  “I should think the fact that I left before the talk would have indicated my dislike of such events, Mr. Evans.”

  Gosh, I sound like my freaking English teacher, and I hate it. So does he, if the narrowing of his eyes is any indication.

  See. This here is why I didn’t languish in his arms and wait for him to wake up. His sweetness last night was too much when I woke to the reality of it all. What would I have
done or said? I can’t say. All I know is that leaving was the best idea for us both because no amount of want will ever make it okay for me to fall for a man my father will not accept.

  I have a responsibility to the Ducaine name and a responsibility to my father to be the best daughter I can possibly be. That will never include being “the piece on the side” of a man who runs a bar and wears his shirts tight to show off his muscles.

  No matter how much I wish it was.

  “Peaches, I’m going to forgive your surly attitude this one time, seeing as you’re probably still emotional and unsure of where this is going to lead between us, but I won’t tolerate your looking down at me just because your daddy is the mayor and I own an old bar.”

  God! I didn’t mean to sound like a darn snob or look down on him. Jericho is the best man I have ever met, bar none, and that is saying a lot because with Daddy being the mayor and my family being so upstanding, I have to meet a lot of people. Most of whom I do not like.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you are in any way beneath me, Jericho. I swear. I just…I am not having a good morning, and it seems as if last night was a waste because Ginger won’t even believe me.”

  “Peaches—”

  “No! Not like that. Shoot! I keep making a mess of things and I don’t mean to. I just…please, just go. I can’t deal with this right now. I’m about to have a troupe of children run through here any minute.”

  Those blue eyes spark, and I see his lips twitch right before he leans over the counter and pecks my lips.

  “I’ll be right over there, catching up on my Shakespeare. Holler when you’re ready for lunch, Peaches.”

  He’s off before I can refuse. I huff in frustration when the doors open before I can do a thing, letting in thirty screaming five-year-olds and their harried teachers.

  This is my least favorite time of day. It sounds harsh, but my idea of happiness does not include screaming, snotty children, who spit in my books and leave boogers on every conceivable surface.

  Not to say that I don’t like kids, I do. I just prefer them being rambunctious to outright rude and unruly.