Soak (A Navy SEAL Mormon Taboo Romance)

by Loren, Celia

  His cock bounced with excitement as he peeled back, and began to knead at her hollow, secret spaces. He ran a finger back and forth across her slick pussy lips, teasing her with different amounts of pressure. She arced her back like a wild cat. Ryder bent, returning to the jar, and the next thing Chloe felt was the slightly cool sensation of extra moisture. Lube.

  “I’ll go slow,” Ryder said, gruffly. True to his word, he nudged inside, inch by inch. It hurt, but not enough to stop. Chloe breathed deep, and gathered the pillows in her fists. She bit her lip to prevent herself from making sound.

  “Is it okay?” he whispered, voice raspy. At that moment, Chloe felt something crucial in her body loosen and give way to the new sensation. She nodded her head, and pressed herself against Ryder’s hips. And there it was, the answer to her cravings: he felt perfectly, deliciously close. She loved that she had the ability to hold his body like this.

  And so, apparently, did Ryder. She felt his hands begin to shake around her middle, his palms growing slick with sweat. His panting breath tickled the back of her neck. She could tell he was restraining himself, for fear of overexcitement. Something about that got Chloe even hotter.

  “Fill me up,” she said, experimentally. Ryder moaned, before pushing himself even deeper inside. This time, the pain gave way to pleasure faster. He reached down to cup her swollen clit, just as he peeled himself away. Chloe gasped as he pressed down, hard on her pussy.

  “You like that, baby?”

  “Yeah. I like that.” It was true.

  Ryder began to create a rhythm, moving in and out at a new speed. Chloe pushed and pulled accordingly, feeling herself stretch and flower. Unknown moans began to escape her lips. When he folded his muscular torso over her back, she could feel the defined, tense musculature of his perfect stomach. The strung beds of his pecs kissed her own softness.

  “Fuck,” Ryder said, abruptly. “I’m gonna come. Oh fuck, Chloe, you’re gonna make me come so hard.”

  She thought she could sense his cock swelling, seeking to occupy her tight hole. She clenched herself, making her body a perfect fist about him. Ryder laughed with pleasure, and slapped her ass. Hard.

  “You like that too, don’t you?” He slapped her again. Then his fingers returned to her drenched inner thighs. He rubbed and rubbed her, just as his thrusting reached a fever pitch. Chloe began to feel dizzy. The room was spinning. Her heart was racing. She imagined this was how it felt to be drunk.

  Suddenly, Ryder clamped himself onto her body, seizing her middle like she was a buoy and he was a drowning man. His narrow frame rattled and shook, and Chloe felt a sweet warmness fill her. She sighed, feeling a release not unlike the one she’d first felt days earlier, when Ryder’s face had been buried between her thighs. She was warm and then cool in rapid, alternating tides. She was aware of the tips of her nipples, her fingers, her toes, every vertebrae on her spine.

  Ryder pulled himself out slowly, carefully, and Chloe stretched her legs and arms, returning to herself. After a few moments’ personal attendance, they collided together again. She nestled into the crook of his damp arm, between his bicep and his chest. She thought she had never felt safer, nor more relaxed.

  Ryder ran a lazy finger up and down her arm, then her sternum, then the smooth surface of her belly, her breasts. Chloe was seized with a sudden, unmistakable urge to weep. This all felt so good. So perfect. And yet it couldn’t last, not while they were the people they were, in this place.

  His breath had already started to slow to a dozing pace. But Chloe turned to her man, and put her mouth close to his ear.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you,” she murmured. Waited. Ryder’s chest continued to rise and fall like a sleeping man’s.

  “No,” spoke a voice. “No, no, no!” Just like that, the sacred space was shattered. Chloe moved to cover herself, even before she could bear to acknowledge the source of the sounds. But there was Johnny, about halfway down the steps, looking unbearably babyish in his old flannel pajamas. His mouth was twisted into a rictus of sheer horror. Chloe felt her heart drop into her stomach as she imagined how much he must have heard, or seen.

  “Oh fuck,” Ryder murmured, suddenly awake beside her. He also moved to cover himself, but wasn’t quite fast enough. John put a hand over his eyes.

  “You are foul. Both of you. Foul, disgusting sinners.”

  “Johnny!” Chloe cried. She’d never heard her brother like this. His voice was acid, pure cruelty. She could feel the hatred steaming off his words. Hot tears began to collect behind her eyes.

  “John,” Ryder shouted, desperately. “Wait, John. I can explain!” But he’d already turned to thump up the stairs. The sight of his hardened back was somehow even worse than the disgust on his face. Chloe swallowed and swallowed, as if she could push the pain down. The moment was lost. All of her empowered feelings were lost. She was a small, stupid girl who’d fallen and broken everything in one night.

  The lovers waited, feeling suddenly cold and shameful in one another’s embrace, before the door slammed, damning the basement to darkness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He’d never been less hungry in his life.

  Not even after spending hours in a makeshift morgue, identifying his fellow SEALS’ brutalized bodies post-combat. Not after carrying John miles through desert, while his useless leg dangled and bled and soured. Even then, he’d been able to imagine nourishment. But the usual motivations weren’t going to work today.

  Ryder hadn’t been able to sleep a wink that night. He’d just known he was going to have nightmares, for one, and that the guilt involved in invoking Chloe-the-dream-catcher would outweigh any comfort she carried. He’d instead spent the night imagining John fuming in his childhood twin bed, lamenting the day he’d invited his brother-from-another-mother into his actual family home. He could see himself now as little more than a betrayer, a wanton, godless friend of the devil. He had brought nothing but corruption and shame to these decent, decent people.

  Yet: “Ryyyyyyder,” young Marie sang at 8am sharp, her daily morning wake-up croon sounding purer than it ever had. The pretty girl paced outside his door, waiting for what had become his ritual reply to her call. (“Mariiiiiiiiiiiie!”) Today, he couldn’t muster. He bit his lip and prayed (yes, prayed) for the ability to disappear.

  Marie tried to rouse him a few more times before he heard her trundle off to some other part of the house, where to confer with her sisters. Sisters...Jesus, that was another thing. Here he’d been, thinking all about his own skinny ass, when he ought to have been worried about Chloe. Though it’d felt like he was the one with everything to lose in a scandal, in fact it was she who had family on the line. Family and friends and faith she’d compromised, all so he could act out his inner cave-man and fuck a Mormon girl in the ass.

  The words were crass in his mind, but another, even more conflicted part of him was aware that what had passed between them wasn’t dirty. Wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t had the chance to reply to Chloe’s tender words last night, but his heart could complete the script. They were special. Or—they’d been special. Now, they were just ruined.

  “Mr. Strong!” called Mr. Christiansen, sharply. Ryder’s heart plummeted. Where did the Mormons stand on pacifism? Because it didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that when he opened the door to his host, Mr. C would be standing there with a shotgun barrel pointed at his visitor’s chest. He’d certainly have been within his rights.

  “In this family, we eat breakfast at seven sharp. You know this, son.”

  “Oh...right. I’m coming, Mr. Christiansen.” His heart lifted, in spite of itself. Surely if Elder Johannes knew anything about the events of last night, he’d already have kicked Ry out into the Utah spring with a mandate that he never come back.

  “Got something I want to talk to you about in any case,” his host finished, the deep voice sounding a little serious. Ryder’s heart clenched again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was totally going down.


  Getting dressed in solemn silence, he turned the facts over and over in his mind. The other night at the bowling alley, he’d discovered Johnny’s own deep, dark secret. Perhaps this gave him leverage. Furthermore, Chloe was John’s favorite sister, not to mention his oldest friend. Even if he wanted to sell Ryder up the river, he surely wouldn’t out of respect for his sister’s place in the community.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ryder told his reflection, tracing the black, coiled rattlesnake tattoo on his chest. It was a small ink, but just the other night Chloe had peeled away from their coitus to kiss it. “I like this one best,” she’d said, alluding to the vague tribal tattoos braiding his shoulders. “It feels the most like you.”

  “Why? Because I’m sneaky and evil?” She’d laughed her pretty laugh, the one that made him thrill down to his toes. “Because you’re smart. And you take care of yourself. You know when to be on your guard. And I like your rattle.” They’d fallen into a small heap of giggles and kisses after this remark, but her words had stuck with him. He liked that she could like his snaky qualities. The aspects of his personality that so often made him seem suspicious to others.

  “It’ll be fine,” Ryder repeated, before securing his most respectable button-down. He slicked back his hair, which was currently the longest it had ever been, and pulled his most winning smile. Who could out this face?

  As per usual, the whole Christiansen clan was gathered around the kitchen table, describing to one another their plans for the day. The twins and Martin were still somewhat bleary in the early mornings, following a lengthy spring break. They sat meditating over their school books with circles under their eyes. Chloe had been tense at breakfast lately, too. Ryder suspected that she felt antsy and useless when her father and siblings were headed to work or school, and she was left to her own puttering devices, cooped up in the house for hours with her mother and him, doing chores. On the other hand, Ryder and John were home during the days, too. They’d lately had a lot more closer-to-alone time, during daylight hours.

  “Ryder!” Mrs. Christiansen beamed. She’d been getting warmer and warmer, ever since he’d made a habit of cutting the grass without being asked to. (Which was just about the easiest thing he could have done for the family.) “I made your favorite, honey! Blueberry pancakes and bacon. Pop a squat.”

  She indicated a seat between Marie and Chloe. The latter didn’t even look up as he sat down, and he made sure to keep up the ruse. He even waited to eat until after Chloe had used the salt and pepper, so he wouldn’t have to risk grazing her wrist as he passed her the spices.

  “So how is everyone’s week shaping up?” chortled the matriarch. Young Martin immediately launched into a long monologue about his struggles in Algebra class. Everyone listened patiently, without interruption. Ryder thought he had noticed a temperature change in the way the family referred to their second-youngest son. His older sisters and even his mother had become more deferential in even the past few weeks, as if Martin’s being a man would eventually give him power and sway over the female members of the family. He was already in training, Ryder realized, to be a domineering head of household. His own Elder Johannes.

  When the little boy had finished, a small lull fell over the table as people alternately wolfed or picked at their food. But Elder Johannes set down his knife.

  “Ryder,” he said calmly, staring across the table at his host. “Young man, I think it’s time we have a frank discussion about your future plans here.”

  Everyone else set their utensils down, too. Ryder felt his muscles tense and recoil. Oh God, was this how it was going to go? A public shaming? A family-style crucifixion?

  “Of course, sir,” Ryder muttered, in the direction of his still-full plate. He prepared himself for the shit-storm. He reminded himself that he’d certainly seen worse than whatever a Mormon dad could dish out.

  “Have you given any more serious thought to committing yourself to our faith?”

  Ryder’s mind short-circuited for a moment. The whole table seemed to draw breath simultaneously.

  “Uhh,” he began, uncertainly. Just then, he felt a sharp pain in his instep, and had to bury a yelp. Beside him, Chloe continued to keep her eyes fixed on her breakfast, but he knew she’d stepped on his foot.

  “Sure,” Ryder concluded, off this not-so-subtle hint. “I think the Latter Day Saints are”—he hunted for the right word—“very generous, warm people. I just love em.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Oh, totally.”

  “I’m pleased to hear this.” Elder Johannes’ face cracked into that most unexpected of things: a big, goofy grin. Ryder couldn’t help but echo his face.

  “If you’re serious, we’d love to have you attend a few informational meetings. Very informal affairs, just fellowship, food and faith. We can provide you with some literature and testimony to set you on the path to righteousness. At last.”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question, but his host arched an eyebrow in challenge. So this was an ultimatum, after a fashion. It made sense. The church had a missionary aspect for chrissakes—naturally, they wanted his soul. It was truly amazing that he’d managed to hedge for eight weeks.

  “I would love that,” Ryder said. Everyone resumed their meals, and relief fell over the table. Both of the twins shot him shy, proud smiles. Martin even clapped, if a little sarcastically.

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” Mrs. Christiansen clucked. Even Chloe seemed pleased. A possible life flashed in Ryder’s mind’s eye: he could convert to Mormonism, couldn’t he? It couldn’t be that hard. He’d go through the motions, continue impressing the family, and one day soon, he could ask Mr. Christiansen for his daughter’s hand. Once they’d made a commitment to each other, they could leave Provo, flee North to Denver or West to California, and be free together somewhere new...

  No sooner had the image fleshed itself out than Ryder knew there were holes in his logic. He might have been snake-like, but he still wasn’t the type of man to disingenuously convert to a religion he didn’t believe in for a girl—any girl. No one he could love would ever ask him to, he was sure. Chloe hadn’t.

  “We’ll get the ball rolling then, shall we?” continued Elder Johannes. He launched into a speech about the benefits of religion, and the values of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the path of the righteous. Ryder just nodded, grateful that he’d survived this meal.

  “Wait. Wait.” All heads turned to Johnny, at the end of the table by his mother. “I can’t just sit here and listen to this anymore. Mother? Father? I’ve brought a great evil into our home.”

  Ryder thought he could sense the blood draining out of Chloe’s face, even without looking at her. His own heart started pounding like a jackrabbit.

  “What are you talking about, boy?” Elder Johannes asked. His voice had become slow and full of malice. I could run, Ryder realized. I could just get out of this chair and run until I find a highway.

  “Johnny,” Chloe pleaded. She was shaking. He could feel it.

  “What’s going on?” Celeste cried, suddenly interested in the conversation. Her Geometry book closed with a dull thud.

  “Nothing. You’re going to be late for school.”

  “Chloe, please. Don’t interrupt your superior,” Elder Johannes said. He motioned to Johnny. “Son? Do enlighten us.”

  John suddenly looked torn. Ryder recognized the fear and pain in his friend’s eyes. Still, with a trembling finger, he pointed across the table at Ry.

  “He is not sufficiently pure to enter the faith.”

  “God will be the judge of that, John. Not you.”

  “No, I know what I’m talking about. He has brought...drugs, into this house. Controlled substances, which he uses for recreational use!” John’s face seemed unsure in the lie, but his finger stayed fixed on his friend. Ryder dared hope that this was to be the extent of John’s confession. Drugs, he could defend.

  Elder Johannes stood then. His face had turned an odd
, reddish color, but his voice was as unperturbed as it always sounded.

  “You’ve been away a long time, my son,” he spoke, to John. “So you forget that our doctrine acknowledges freedom of choice. Perhaps your friend has sinned in the past, perhaps he has things to atone for. But he can make his heart clean. He can repent. Only the Holy Spirit can know his true and eternal form. The more disciplined one is in the faith, the more righteous his choices will be. Your brother can learn, if you can forgive.”

  John had clearly not expected this reaction. He fumed and huffed, even as Ryder felt Chloe relax beside him. He wanted nothing more in that moment then to hold her. To tell her that she wasn’t wrong, she wasn’t evil, she wasn’t unclean. He chose her, he realized. If he truly had the freedom to choose...he’d choose Chloe over all of it.

  “I admit I’ve made some mistakes,” Ryder continued. “I’ve certainly done some things your Holy Spirit—the Holy Spirit—wouldn’t approve of. But I am willing to accept these new...teachings.” He glanced at his lover. For the first time, it occurred to him, the religious words didn’t sound so silly. Perhaps there was something beautiful in the language of the faith, Ryder allowed. In the massive commitments these simple, proud people made, to God and to one another.

  “He’s ruined your daughter,” John spat. The words seemed to fall and sit in the middle of the table, like something gross, untouchable. Now, Elder Johannes turned to look Ryder in the eye. He couldn’t keep the truth from the patriarch. He hung his head.

  “I saw them. Last night. You don’t understand, Dad. He’s the Devil. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s fooled us all, with his fancy books and his helping out around the house. He only wanted to soil your daughter and bring shame to your house. He sneers openly at everything we believe in.”

  “Ryder? Is this true?”

  “I saw them. Naked. I saw them fornicating. Last night, while you were asleep. In the basement. On Uncle David’s old pillows.”