Under Fire: The Admiral

by Beyond the Page Publishing

  “Not a damned one.” He circled an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you back to your place.”

  He took the key from Gemma’s hand and unlocked the door, pulling her inside. He kicked the door closed, holding her to him. He was never going to let her go.

  Chapter 17

  Ben kicked the door shut, pinning her against it. His hands on the wood on either side of her, his forehead rested against the door, his cheek pressed against hers. His jaw began to quiver then his whole body quaked. Gemma worked her arms around him, his weight and his leather jacket she still wore making it difficult for her to move.

  “I thought I’d lost you again,” he said, shifting enough to get his arms around her.

  “I’m okay . . .” She couldn’t finish. Hell, she couldn’t even remember what she’d been going to say. Ben’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Fear, relief, need and . . . love.

  He kissed her and the heat, the intensity, scrambled her brain. She hung on until he broke the kiss and was glad he had her pinned or she would have slid to the floor in a puddle.

  “I thought I would never get,” he said between breaths, “to tell you I love you.” He delivered a lip-bruising kiss that opened the floodgates to her desire. Her fingers dug into his back, her body melded to his. Her tongue flirted with his. “Not get to spend the rest of my life with you.” He delivered another dizzying kiss.

  “Help me elp meHeget out of this damned jacket,” She said when they came up for air. He yanked her away from the wall, exchanging places as she stripped the offending jacket from her shoulders, unceremoniously letting it drop to the floor. He leaned against the door, pulling her close. His hand found the small of her back, moving her hips against his. Her breath came faster as her hands roamed his body. And what a body it was. She skimmed her leg up his side, pressing the heat between her legs against his leg. His one hand caressed her breast, the other dropped to her ass, squeezing. The world swirled around her. Her body throbbed. Every muscle ached for him.

  “What about,” she kissed him, “taking it slow? Waiting a few days before”—he kissed her neck—“we get naked together.”

  “Fuck taking it slow. You and I are going to live every moment as it comes.”

  “Bedroom,” she moaned.

  “Yeah.” His voice was raspy. She tripped on the discarded jacket and kicked it away. They shuffled, twisted, and turned down the hall, banging one side of the wall then the other as they held each other kissing desperately. They reached the guest bathroom door and Ben tried to disentangle himself from her.

  “Condoms,” he said.

  Gemma yanked him back against her. “My room,” she said against his mouth, at the same time tugging his shirt from his waistband. Their feet tangled and they bounced off the wall again. Ben clasped the backs of her thighs and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his hips, hooking them at the ankles, her arms tight around his neck. They both hissed in a breath as those all-important body parts came together. He thrust his hips and she rolled hers, the cloth between them doing nothing to dull the heat. Ben got them through the door and hesitated.

  “What?” she gasped.

  He set her down on the low dresser next to the door. She kept her legs around him and pulled the shirt the rest of the way out, sticking a hand down the front of his jeans. He grabbed her hand and went still.

  “What?” she said between gasps. “What’s wrong.”

  “I . . . want . . . to take this . . . slow.”

  “Slow?” She jammed her hand in farther, finding the tip of his erection. “But you just said . . . I don’t want to wait any longer.” Her voice was frantic. “I want . . . you now.” Her fingers slid over him. “You want me.”

  Ben let out a strangled laugh. “Not . . . that kind of slow. I mean . . .”

  She rubbed her breasts against his chest and a storm of fire and ice engulfed her.

  “I want to go slow . . . so I can remember every second of our first time . . . our first night together.”

  And wasn’t that the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her?

  “Okay?”

  She bit her lower lip and did a bobble-head thing. He laughed again. “Is that a yes or no?”

  “Both. I want you so bad my teeth hurt, but I want to please you and if going slow pleases you”—she gave him a long kiss with a lot of tongue—“then going slow is what we’re doing.” She reached under his shirt and ran her palm up across dark hair to a nipple and pinched.

  Ben put his hands on the hem of Gemma’s pullover and inched it up slowly, finally getting it over the cups of her purple and black lace bra. The sight of her breasts rapidly rising and falling damned near made him come. He dipped his head to kiss them. Gemma stopped him, holding his head with her hands.

  “Ben.”

  The grimness in her voice snapped his head up. God, if she wanted to stop now. He gathered all his self-control. “Do you want me to stop?” He said it slow and deliberate, his voice not sounding like his own. Her eyes went wide.

  “Are you crazy? No! Before we . . .” She inhaled deeply, causing her breasts to rise so high he was sure they would escape the purple and black lace. “I haven’t had any . . . ah, fuck. My boobs are mine. I haven’t had anything fixed. I have scars and my tat . . .” The words spilled out in rapid fire and he let out the breath he’d been holding in fear of what she would say. He almost laughed in his relief but contained himself.

  His hand went to one of the boobs and its lace cover. “I want you.” Her peaked nipple pressed against his hand. He worked the lace down, and as he bent to take in the nipple he was overcome with Gemma’s intoxicating scent mixed with a delicate perfume. She arched, pressing her breast to him and banged her head on the wall. He lifted his head. Her warm hand found its way inside his shirt, her fingers tracing across the slash on his side. “Are my scars holding you back?” he said as her warm fingers caused him to suck in a sharp breath. She sucked in her lower lip and shook her head.

  “Not at all.”

  “Same here. Nothing is going to hold me back.”

  “I do have a question,” she whispered as he kissed her ear.

  Ben pulled his head back. “What? Is something wrong?” His mind played through explanations as to why she wouldn’t be comfortable having sex.

  “Is there any reason doctors don’t like to do it in bed?” She tipped her head and cut her eyes away then back. “My bed is really very comfortable.”

  “This doctor will do it anyplace as long as it’s with you.” He grinned and lifted her off the dresser. Gemma coiled one arm around his neck as her hand kept on rubbing his erection. Which must be where all his blood was because he couldn’t get his feet to work and he stumbled, falling back on the bed with her astride him.

  “Right.” She stripped off her shirt, tossing it away. “Where.” Her hips moved back and forth. “I want you.” The warmth between her legs slid over his painfully hard dick.

  He released the front clasp of her bra and had no idea why she was concerned about her breasts. He rose, sucked one and then the other as she worked the snap and fly on his jeans. Ben moved under her, adjusting himself so he could sit up farther. Gemma shrugged completely out of the bra as she tilted and rotated her hips, rhythmically creating a mind-fogging friction. With a minor protest from Gemma he boosted her up and off him, pressing her back on the bed then levering himself up on an elbow to lean over her.

  Gemma ran her fingers through his hair, down his neck and over his shoulders as he tried to free the button on her pants. Not satisfied with his progress, Gemma took over yanking and sending a button popping against his belly. She arched and worked the cloth past her hips to her thighs, where he took over. He stood and maneuvered them to her ankles and stopped to remove her shoes, finding it difficult to look at anything but the barely there purple and black panties. Shoes gone, Gemma kicked her pants off and began to work out of the panties.

  “No.” He grasped her hand. “I want to do that.”
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  She sat. “Only if I can do this.” She shimmied his jeans down his hips and well, his erection jutted out. Gemma didn’t hesitate a beat. She grasped him, sliding her hand along his length to cup his balls as she took him in, her brown eyes looking up at him. As much as he wanted to stay like that for-freaking-ever, he stepped back. Before he could explain that another few seconds of that and he would finish, Gemma flopped back on the bed cupping her breasts, her hips lifted slightly off the bed. “My turn.”

  “Ahh, fuck.” He kicked his jeans from around his ankles and went to his knees between her legs, sliding his hands up her thighs over her hips until his fingers were hooked inside the top of the lace panties. When he had them to her knees she lifted one leg and yanked her foot through the opening, sliding closer to him. He put his hand between her legs and rubbed as he kissed his way up her thigh, going damn near crazy listening to her sounds of pleasure. He slipped his fingers inside her and she cried out, “Yes, like that,” when he moved them. Her hips surged to the rhythm he created with his lips and hand until she clawed at his shoulders.

  “Come here,” she commanded in a low voice that sent tremors rippling through him. “I want to feel you on me. Feel your skin against mine.”

  “Whatever the lady wants,” he said. She hooked her legs around him, his balls resting against her hot wet center, the end of his jerking cock against her belly. Until now he’d been able to keep it under control.

  “Remember . . . what I said about,” he swallowed hard, “taking it slow?”

  “Hmmm.” She kissed his shoulder, then playfully bit it. “Sure do.”

  “I’m ready to go fast now.”

  She bit down hard on his shoulder and reached between them to grasp his cock. “I’m past ready for fast.” She growled and twisted under him, guiding his tip lower. He reached between them, covering her hand with his, and took over the guiding part, putting only his tip inside, wanting to be sure her body was ready. It was hot and slick and he slid in slowly, then withdrew.

  “I thought you said you were ready for fast,” she cried out, her hips lurching upward in an attempt to keep the connection. “I want you . . . in me,” she said in a commanding growl. “Deep in me.”

  That was it. He thrust inside her hard. “Fuuuck” was all he could say or think of as she encased him. And he froze. They’d forgotten the condom. “Condom,” he croaked as he withdrew.

  Gemma twisted and turned from under him to reach the drawer in her night table where the condoms were. For crap’s sake, by the time he got to fuck her they’d both not only be old but gray! Her fingers found one and she used her teeth to open the foil package. Ben took the condom from her covered himself, then moved over her and finally into her. And he forgot all about slow. She bent her legs and braced her feet on the bed to counter each one of his deliberate thrusts, their bodies slamming together in an absolute glorious rhythm. Their lips locked together, their tongues darted, mimicking what was going on with lower parts of their bodies. Her hands stroked the bulging muscles in his shoulders and back, gliding down to his tight ass digging her fingers into the pumping muscles. Starved for air they broke the kiss. Ben put his head next to hers gasping, pumping harder and faster as her own tension built. To keep from crying out she locked her lips onto his shoulder and sucked, tasting his salty sweat.

  “You’re getting close,” he groaned into her ear, slowing the rhythm. “Do you . . . want me to stop . . . make it last longer?”

  “No. Don’t stop. Don’t slow. Hurry.” He didn’t have to be asked twice. He pounded harder, taking her crashing over the edge, coming so damn hard she saw stars. Ben groaned as her internal pulsing closed around him. His body tensed and shattered with his own release. After a long moment, he carefully lowered himself onto her. She reveled in his weight, his warmth, the musky scent of sex and the fact he was still inside her.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said, looking down at her. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He gave her a devilish grin. “In this bed. Doing what we just did.”

  “So, the taking it slow is definitely off the table?”

  “Definitely.” He rolled to his side, bringing her with him.

  Gemma raised up on an elbow so she could look at Ben’s chest and belly, at the scars. “Does it make you feel uncomfortable for me to touch these?”

  “No. They’re part of me. Who I am.”

  She laid her hand on the ragged unrepaired slash and shivered, remembering how her fingers had slipped inside the horrible gash.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben covered her hand with his.

  She pushed back to look at him. “What do you remember from that night?”

  “Not much. I remember being on the road. Nothing of the actual accident. You. Your voice. Things you said to me. Maybe the only real memory is you.”

  “Pain?”

  “No. No pain. The injuries I had would’ve caused excruciating pain. I’m lucky I have no memory.”

  She sighed. He most definitely had been in pain. “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “Almost eight months off and on. Mostly on.” His hand stroked her side over the curve of her hip. “From infections. That water we were in . . .” His hand stilled mid-stroke. “You weren’t sick after?” His eyes searched hers.

  “No.” Not unless you count the heart sickness I felt thinking you were dead.

  “What do you remember?” he asked.

  Every single second. “Seeing the car. Seeing you inside. Trying to get you free.”

  “What did I look like?”

  “Ben . . .”

  “I want to know. No one would tell me.”

  “Okay.” She traced a finger along the right side of his head above the hairline. “There was a long deep gash here. Your scalp was flapped.” Her finger trailed over his eye. “Your eye was swollen shut.” She laid her palm on his cheek. “Here was scraped and cut. Your chest was slashed,” she ran her hand where she remembered the injury, “here to here.”

  “What . . .”

  She put a hand on his mouth. “No more remembering.” She kissed the scar. “Tonight is about letting go.” She worked her mouth lower. “And moving forward.” He hissed in a breath when her tongue went up and down the length of his shaft.

  She straddled his legs. “I always thought the third time is the best.” Her hands stroked the inside of his thighs.

  He raised his head up to watch what she was doing. “Yeah?”

  She ran her thumbs along the crease between his legs and hips. “Yes.” She leaned, trapping his erection between her breasts.

  “Why’s . . . ohhhh,” he groaned, “that?”

  “By the third time you know what your lover wants, likes.” Her tongue drifted over the slit on his tip. “You reach optimum gratification and gratitude.” She put emphasis on gratitude, playing into his promise there would be gratitude. “Knowing you’ve given your lover what they want.”

  “Then you . . . should be . . . out of your mind with gratitude.” He sat, pulled her to him. “Let me get some gratitude.” He rolled her off him.

  “You think you know what I like?” she teased.

  He nodded. “This.” He wrapped his lips around a nipple and tugged, flicking his tongue over the tip. “This.” He spread her legs and kissed and sucked his way up and down the inside of her thighs, not touching her core as she whimpered. “This.” He turned her over, resting his legs between hers, kissing her shoulders as he rubbed his erection against her. Her body shuddered with each kiss, suck and swipe of his tongue. He lowered himself onto her and placed his lips against her ear. “I’m feeling a lot of gratitude right now.” He slid off to lie on his side beside her. “But I think there’s a way I can . . . eh . . . get some more.”

  “Mmmm?” She rolled onto her back. “I’d be very thankful if you got gratitude.”

  Ben moved between her legs and did just that and she was very thankful.

  Ben watched Gemma sleep. She was on her stomach, ha
lf her face buried in the pillow. He eased away from her in degrees. For one he didn’t want to wake her, and two, it was difficult to leave her. He could lay there forever watching her sleep and be perfectly happy. That is, if he didn’t need to relieve himself. He lifted his head off the pillow. Gemma’s lips spread into a crooked smile and one eye opened partially.

  “Where?”

  He kissed her cheek. She snuggled under the covers and her hand groped his crotch.

  “Bathroom. Then kitchen. If I don’t get something to eat soon I’m not going to be able to walk, much less make you happy again.” Her smile widened. “Go back to sleep.” He kissed her shoulder.

  Gemma rolled on her back. “Not if there’s food. There’s a list of nearby takeout places in the kitchen.”

  “Nope. I want a fried egg and cheese sandwich. How about you?” He traced a finger from the hollow in her throat, under the covers between her breasts down to her belly button.

  She sighed. “You cooking?”

  “You betcha. You stay here, I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.” He rose and pulled on his jeans. “You have coffee?”

  “Yes.” She sat up. “I’ll show you . . .”

  He sat on the bed and gently pushed her back to the pillows. “It’s not like that kitchen is huge. I don’t think I’ll have a problem finding what I need.”

  “My coffeepot is a French press, do you know how to use it?”

  He leaned and kissed her forehead. “Only way to make coffee is with a French press or drip pot.”

  Ben rummaged around the kitchen cabinets and had no problem finding what he needed. He put the water on for the coffee, set the grounds in the bottom of the press, sliced cheese and heated the pan for the eggs, all the while thinking about the sex with her. How fan-freaking-tastic it was. How happy he was. Maybe love was what made the difference. Yeah. Love. It made him feel good to say it.

  He found a loaf of bread in an old-fashioned breadbox, sliced it lengthways and removed most of the crust. He spread mayonnaise over the slices, a lot on his, and arranged them on two plates. The teakettle howled and he poured the hot water into the press.