THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle

by Kristina Weaver

  “Oh, stop it! He isn’t emotionless. He just has a problem admitting to his feelings is all,” I say in his defense, shoving the entire cupcake in my mouth.

  Stress eating is a sin, Jess, I remind myself as my traitorous hand reaches for another one. Can’t help it though, the peanut butter in these babies is phenomenal.

  Lenny and Cleo both snort, and even Evie gives me a sideways glance that makes me blush. Great, now I have to explain things, things that are really embarrassing and should never be spoken of.

  “Look, the man is hot and intense in bed, but he’s repressed when it comes to his feelings. Sometimes when we’d…you know…he’d get so cuddly and we’d talk about everything and anything and…he’s a regular person guys, he just doesn’t excel at being…”

  Trailing off is not a good idea with a pack of rabid dogs staring at me, waiting for me to dish the dirt, but I have no words to explain what I know to be true. Trace, when he was Gunny, was a very…closed-off guy, but he was also so intense at times, as if those few stolen hours with me were his everything, the only thing keeping some light in his life.

  Those times were everything that kept me going, one of the reasons that I fell so hard for him. Because, no matter what, I knew that he needed me. That he wanted me. That I gave him something that no one else could.

  Here’s the thing, Trace and I, we’re the same. I understand death and making a judgement call no matter the consequences. I know what it’s like to make tough decisions because the op is everything.

  More, I know what you feel when it’s all said and done, and how sometimes you just need hard sex and passion to wash away the pain. I get him. I had him in those times. I gave him the haven and solace he needed.

  I hate him a little for not giving me what I needed in the end, but I also love the man, and no amount of telling myself I shouldn’t will change that. It was always Trace. It still is Trace, and it always will be Trace.

  And I’m it for him. I just have to get him to say it now, because darn it, I deserve the words to back up all that need and want I feel every time he looks at me.

  “Girl, stop analyzing and give us the low down. Is he flesh or mesh?” Cleo asks around a mouthful of gooey, chewed cake.

  Gross.

  “Flesh, trust me, the man is flesh. Not a robot with no feelings. He can go for hours, literally. He once went at me for four straight hours without let up. The only reason we stopped was that I started getting the burns down below and my legs lost feeling. Otherwise, he’d have kept at me. He’s flesh alright,” I purr, my recently iced crotch going so hot I have to cross my legs for fear my vagina will just take off sniffing for him.

  I need sex. God, I need sex. Now. Soon. Sometime, before I have to start wearing tube socks over long johns to keep the legs of my pants dry.

  “M’kay. That’s hot and all, but I mean…feelings?” Lenny coaxes quietly, her eyes so soft I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “He does love me. I think. I hope. I mean…he always came to me when he was on the edge, you know?”

  Lame, Jess. So lame. It’s like saying an alcoholic goes to AA meetings after falling off the wagon, I sneer.

  “Oh, honey. That’s not love, that’s a drowning man reaching for a lifejacket,” Cleo says sadly, though kindly. “You know a man loves you when he has no need of you but needs to have you anyway. Ya know?”

  Exactly!

  That’s exactly it, I think, finally feeling my heart as it starts beating again, the death of sensation of moments before, failing beneath the hope that now spreads through me.

  “Yes! Oh God, you are a genius!” I yell, taking a third cake.

  Diet tomorrow, Lord. Swear. After bacon and eggs, of course.

  “Huh?”

  “Well, let’s think about this. Lenny said he was telling the guys that Fazir was dead.”

  There go my plans to nab the rat and regain my glory in the Agency, I snort, scowling darkly. Whatever.

  “Yeah?” Lenny trills, her expression showing confusion and a little doubt. “Er, what’s that mean exactly?”

  “Well, think about it, ladies. Fazir is dead. Trace offed him months ago, if Lenny heard correctly. That means he has no reason to be here. He could just keep doing what he has been doing, right?”

  “Er.”

  “He needs some information that the guys don’t know they have, so no, babe, I pretty much think he has to be here,” Cleo snarks.

  Bitch, why’d she have to go and ruin my flow?

  “Yeah, damn.”

  “But! But he saved you. The guys say he was nuts when you died.”

  Oh yay, a deathbed declaration. How romantic. Not.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  They all share a look, and I know I’m beat when Rosie, the quiet one in the group—comparatively speaking, of course, since the Elvis impersonator never really shuts up—just bites her lip and offers me a beer from the six pack beside her.

  “Aw, honey.”

  “Shush. I don’t need empty platitudes here, you losers. I need a better plan. The ass knows I’ve been fly fishing him, so that’s out.”

  “Er, I got no idea what that means, babe.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Me too.”

  I cut them off before the rest can throw in their two cents and explain.

  “It’s like this, you have a fish you want to hook, right? But the usual means like the lures and all that just aren’t working, so you go to plan B—patience. Fly fishing requires skill and a whole lot of patience, but if you do it right, you can land your fish and then some.”

  “Oh! You’re waiting him out?” Cleo asks.

  “No, you boob,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “It’s all about knowing your target. A fly fisherman never gets into the water without a good fly, a healthy knowledge of his craft, and a firm plan. My plan was the lure, ya know, make him see something he wants and pull away, recast, pull away until he took the bait.”

  That gets me a round of oohs and aahs before they all frown and shake their heads.

  “Lord, woman, you think like a big ole stupid penis wielder,” Rosie mutters disgustedly, getting a round of yeahs from her crew.

  I’m not feeling all that charitable toward them right now, I can tell you, but I finally smile when Cleo smiles and saunters over.

  “Men think in a very linear way. They see a target and map out their whole battle plan, never once considering the emotional aspect of things. We women…well, we’re smarter because we use what we have and we’re adaptable too. For instance, look at Rosie. She’s all flash, but what hooked her man was her ability to just roll with the punches and not sweat the small stuff. Some A-hole blew up her car, and she just shook it off like a winner and moved on.”

  “Okaaay. Not getting it yet,” I say slowly, eyeing Rosie and her loud outfit of shocking pink yoga pants and a red tank top.

  I’m no expert, but that does not match. At all. Retinal scarring will occur in five, four—

  I look away quickly as Cleo giggles and blows Rosie a kiss.

  “Okay. Lenny. You think she and Storm had it easy? That man is as dense as a six-year-old fruitcake when it comes to emotions, but Len here snuck right under his defenses by using sex to reel him in.”

  “Gross.”

  I say this on principle, but my vagina starts howling her agreement immediately, begging me to call Lex off as watchdog over my bedroom door each night. Hush, you harlot. We have a goal here!

  “Trace knows how to use sex against me, guys, hence the sex ban even though it’s hurting me and making me lose a bet. I hate losing a bet. Ask Lex, he’s still got a scar from the last one I lost,” I say, wincing at the memory.

  I bite when pissed. Be forewarned.

  “That was you? Good Lord, do your teeth have teeth?” Rosie asks reverently.

  Yuuuup, I got the man’s ass but good that time. Held on like a pit bull, even when I started blacking out from oxygen deprivation. T
hat’ll teach him to laugh at me and brag. It’ll also teach him never to demand fifty bucks I don’t have. Ever again.

  “But sex is a tool. Not always, I mean we aren’t whores. Well, not much,” Cleo says, and they all titter and throw around high fives like locker-room jocks.

  Gosh, women are pigs, too.

  “You don’t understand,” I whine pitifully. “The man has a magic penis. For real. It shoots—”

  “Spunk.”

  “Sperm—”

  “No! Love potion. For definite, it must be love potion because I swear I despised him before the sex, and now I just…can’t stop mooning over him. I cried for like two minutes yesterday because I kicked him and stole his Oreos.”

  And then I stopped and ate them all. The whole packet, sans the one I gave King to piss Trace off. And I was happy. But I won’t say that because I know how unhinged that sounds. But damn, nothing is as good as Oreos. And milk. And—

  “You’re nuts!”

  “Nope. I’m honest. And screwed if he gets near me. I want sex, sure I do, but I want him to love me and, and he won’t say it if I just give away the milk for free.”

  I want to give the milk away. And the cheese. And the yogurt and the cream and the…you get the message. Why vagina? Why are you playing me so wrong?

  “But—”

  “You don’t understand! He…he knows my weakness,” I whisper, their eyes trained on me for the kill, making me sweat as the sordid truth leaps to my tongue.

  “Tell us.”

  “We can help.”

  “I need to know!” Rosie wails, throwing a cupcake at my head. Violently.

  “I…I like talking.”

  “Pshaw. You’re a girl. Mostly. I think. Mostly. Of course, you like talking,” Evie says, waving me off.

  “No. I mean I like…” oh gulp. “Dirty talking,” I admit with a groan, blushing hotly. “He talks really dirty in bed. Really dirty and, and it’s a weakness. One time he made me, have one…you know. Just by whispering in my ear.”

  That sets them cackling wildly, and before I know it I’m getting an earful of some of the nastiest bedroom talk I have ever heard. And trust me, Trace used to say some pretty wild things when we had sex.

  “Nick said that?” I ask, horrified and a little put out that the man I slept with for so long never once even used the word clit while screwing me.

  Cheated. I feel cheated.

  Lenny snorts and fans herself, pouting down at her crotch with a moan to “shut the hell up.”

  “Yes. Trust me, babe, all women like dirty, dirty words in bed. If they don’t, they’re dead or frigid, and even then, I swear Nick could make them cream their panties in minutes. The trick is to reciprocate. That’s the real power play. One time he was driving me nuts, saying the most outrageous things, and I just gave as good as I got. He blew so hard he passed the hell out and slept till morning. Of course, he woke up with a black eye for leaving me hanging there,” she titters, winking broadly.

  “And he didn’t think you were…?”

  “A slut? Hell no! The man loves it, although after that shiner, he only stops kissing me now after I’ve orgasmed.” She laughs.

  Huh.

  Huh.

  I mean seriously?

  Why didn’t I know this before?

  “And it works?”

  “Like a charm. Every time.”

  They all nod enthusiastically, and I’m just coming out of my daze when Kinsley walks in, looking harried and just plain tuckered out and stressed as she flops onto the sofa beside me and grabs three cupcakes and a beer.

  “Men need ladies in the streets but a freak in the bed,” she says matter of factly, quoting what I think may be a song. “It adds spice, and they also really like knowing they drive us so wild that we have no inhibitions. I have to admit, it’s nice to be with a man who enjoys every part of me and doesn’t judge.”

  Sure. Or with my luck, Mr. Dominant will hear me trying to stumble my way through sex talk and flip his lid. What I haven’t told them yet is that he likes control in bed. At all times.

  That’s another Achilles heel of mine. I do love a bossy man in bed. Call me a freak, but nothing makes me hotter than Trace having his way with me and making me like it.

  “You should try it. Seduce him and get him into bed. Talk dirty. Be nasty. Go wild. At the worst, he can be in the one percentile who doesn’t like sex talk. At best, you get to have good sex and stop using my Vanilla Ripple to keep your lady parts numb to the pain of unrequited lust,” Rosie says helpfully, making me groan in embarrassment.

  “Fine. One problem though. How do you seduce a man?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trace

  The sensation of a hand on my thigh has me tensing as the guys yack about the latest football stats over dinner as the women all stare at me expectantly, smiling shrewdly.

  The hand on my thigh has me stilling, and I look over to see Jess gabbing away to Lenny, completely unaware of the fact that her hand just landed on my balls.

  My cock goes erect so quickly I feel lightheaded and almost thrust into her hand, just barely stopping myself by sheer force of will. Swallowing loudly so as not to groan my need, I manage to shift closer, silently begging for more even as I know that getting action under the dinner table with ten other people in attendance is not a good idea.

  Don’t care! I don’t even fucking care that I’m grinding my teeth and ignoring everyone around me. I can’t care because Jess chooses that moment to shift her wrist and grind her palm down against my cock.

  It feels so good, so right, that I part of me is ready to throw her down on the table and take what I want. I want her naked and spread out, tied down for my pleasure.

  I want to kiss her plump lips, inhale her sighs, and taste her tongue. Next, I’ll lick every inch of her full breasts and suck her nipples so hard they’ll turn a nice dark red as they engorge with blood.

  I’m so hungry for the taste of her sex that when she grasps me through my pants I can’t stop the groan of pleasure from spilling out of my mouth. Jess stops stroking me, her hand just laying over my erection while all conversation stops and all eyes turn to me.

  “You all right there, man?” Lex asks, his grin knowing and cocky.

  My teeth clench and grind down, as I struggle to bring myself back into line, and I nod silently, battling the grimace of pure lust as the little she-devil beside me smiles serenely and starts working my dick again.

  So good. Oh, sweet Jesus, her hand on me feels so damn good I mewl like a girl, as I fork up some mashed potatoes and try to act normal, my hand shaking so much the food falls back to my plate with a plop.

  “You feeling okay? You’re flushed, Trace.”

  Kinsley’s observation is matter of fact and without accusation, but her twinkling eyes tell the story better than any words, and I watch silently as Lenny smirks and winks at Jess.

  Damn women.

  Gathering my strength, because God knows I need a truckload of the shit right now, I do something that goes against the grain of manhood and gently grasp Jess’s hand, forcing it away from my leaking shaft.

  “I, ahem, I’m fine, just need a drink,” I croak, clearing my throat, fighting against the rebellion in my shorts.

  Jess sighs, looking disappointed and put out before shrugging.

  “Plan B.”

  ***

  Jess

  God that was hot. Not just hot, but so damn scorching I couldn’t eat another bite of my dinner or hold a decent conversation if my life depended on it.

  Now I’m down to plan B, seeing as Rosie’s instructions didn’t seem to pay off too well. Truth told, I was a little relieved when Trace pushed my hand off his crotch, and not because everyone was staring at us while I fondled him at the table. Nuh-uh, I am, I have discovered, a total hussy, and touching him in public beneath the table did things to me that are shameful.

  No, the relief stems from the fact that I was two seconds away from jumping the man an
d dry grinding his pole till I won the freaking Kentucky Derby.

  Mama needs. I have needs that it turns out are a lot stronger than my moral backbone. Sheesh, at one point Trace was this close to becoming a public display at that table.

  Plan B sucks though. It really does, because despite what the girls told me, I do not think I understand seduction at all. At least, that’s what I have come to realize, as I sneak down the hall toward Trace’s room in a red silk teddy that is so short I’m glad I waxed again since Lenny neglected to give me underwear.

  According to the girls, all I need to do is slide into his room, start stripping to a seductive imaginary tune in my head, and say the most outrageous things. Easy, right? Nope. I have MC Hammer on a loop in my head, and unfortunately, I do not think anything good will come out of that beat. Especially if I’m supposed to be looking all sexy.

  The door handle groans and creaks loudly in the silence, as I push it down and I wince, closing my eyes in plain fear as three doors pop open and Lex, King, and Jericho all grin at me, giving me a thumbs up.

  Lex’s hip thrusts and salacious wink make my nerves pop to screaming life, and it’s all that I can do not to abort the mission and book it back to my room and the safety of my bed.

  I’m only stopped by the calluses I’m afraid will start forming on my fingers if I spend another night trying to relieve myself.

  Okay, Jess, you can do this. Just go in there and do what they told you to do.

  Easier said than done, I discover, as I hiss at the boys to screw off and push the door open, my chest squeezing with fear. Slipping into the room, I close the door softly and promptly fall on my ass as I trip over something and go sprawling.

  “Shit, fuck.”

  Owie! Oh God, help me, I think as I face plant on the blue throw rug, my naked ass on full display now that I’ve practically nosedived. I lay still and breathe deeply, squeezing my eyes shut tightly, bemoaning my clumsy ass to hell and back.

  Well, that’s step one all shot to hell. I was supposed to slink in all sexy like and glide toward the bed.

  “Jess?”

  The light blinks on and I cringe, wishing myself invisible when an indrawn breath and Trace’s groan alerts me to the fact that, yes, he’s looking right at me and, unfortunately, the only view he has is of my ass and the nether parts on full display.