“I was just remembering our first date. That was probably the most unromantic date that ever took place in the history of the world. I had to wear long sleeves for a month. In the middle of summer. You just lost your solitary romance point because I remembered that,” I proclaim, rubbing my thumbs down the side of his permanently stubbly face.
Tracing his lips, I draw my own face nearer as each second passes. I want his lips on mine. Stone knows it. He runs both of his hands through my hair harshly, pulling the ends, forcing my chin up to the dark, night sky. My breathing speeds as I let him have control. Feeling him breathe on my neck, in varying puffs of air, I try to think what his face looks like in this exact moment. I press myself closer to his body, his hard shaft pressing against me, nudging me in just the right place.
“Kiss me,” I order, wanting to say “make love to me” instead, but nice southern girls don’t start it. By God, they always finish it though. As sure as the sun shines, I’ll finish whatever Stone starts.
Stone laughs, a panty soaking, manly sound, and places a wet kiss on the center of my neck, my hair still locked in his grip. The rest of my body, or the parts that weren’t affected by his mere hands, buzzes to life at the introduction of his mouth and tongue. A small moan escapes when he presses his wet mouth directly below my ear, trailing his lips down to my collarbone and down the top of my cleavage. Historic divas with heaving bosoms have nothing on me right now—I can barely control my own responses to his touch. With a mind of their own, they just want more of him. All of him. I want his control. I want my own lack of control with him. I crave it.
He loosens his grip on my hair and I drop my chin to look at his face. Feral eyes glinting in the moonlight, he looks at me, one feature at a time like he’s deciding what to devour first. He’s out of control. I’ve never seen this look and I know exactly what it means. Sex. Finally. After all of this sexual tension we are going to have mind-blowing sex. And it is going to be the best sex of my whole life. I don’t even have to experience it to know it’s a fact.
I lick my bottom lip when I watch his gaze dart to my mouth. “What’s on your mind, Stone?” My placement on his lap is such that I can feel him pulsing against me. I rub myself against him again, leaning toward his mouth, and press my lips firmly against his. His large hand wraps around the back of my neck as he clutches me against him, not letting me back away a centimeter.
Our teeth meet when he says, “I’m thinking if I have your permission I want to take you to my bedroom and do all sorts of things with you.”
I smile against his mouth. “What makes you think you need my permission? Is that what you’ve waited for all this time?” I ask, my lips molding into his kiss the second I stop speaking.
He breaks away, grabs my chin to direct my gaze to his. “Once we have sex that’s it, Morganna. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I know exactly what I want. It’s a life with you in it. Always.” Remember what I said about the man knowing what he wants? There’s no backpedaling with him, so his words hit me square in the heart. That’s it. Our future might as well be set in stone. Knowing he’ll want more than a non-verbal response, I try to formulate just the right answer.
In the end I keep it simple. Two words that tell him everything. “Permission granted,” I whisper, running my hands down his tightly coiled arms. He doesn’t waste any time. Standing up, me wrapped around him like a clothing article, he lumbers at a fast pace down a small, blank hallway to his bedroom. I place a wet kiss on his neck as he slides my body down his until my bare feet reach the carpet. Backing a few steps I feel his bed behind me and sit. Stone’s fiery brown eyes haven’t left me since I moved away. His chest heaves several times in the span of one of my heartbeats.
A heartbeat that now resides in my throat, because I’m scared. Obviously not of sex; I’m scared because I don’t know what I’m missing at this point. I’m willing to bet in an hour I’ll have a new favorite activity and another reason to stay in San Diego. In the same breath, I decide that it’s okay because I have feelings for Stone. If I’m being honest with myself, I love him.
Stone grabs the neck of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid movement, tossing it on the floor. That’s the first sign that he means business. The second is when he drops his pants and boxer briefs the next moment, like he can’t stand to wear clothing another second. In two strides he’s in front of me, his shaft positioned directly in front of my face.
I swallow loudly. “I knew you packed heat, but I guess I wasn’t aware of the caliber,” I admit, eyes glued to his rigid, veiny shaft. Making a move to grab it with one hand, I’m stopped with a strong hand restraining my wrist. “What? I can’t touch? That’s no fun,” I drawl, pushing my bottom lip out in an over-the-top pout.
He shakes his head. “Not yet. Tonight. This is mine. Maybe tomorrow I won’t be wound so fucking tight. Give me the control.” It’s not a question. The dominance in his voice intoxicates me and causes every hair on my body to stand on end. All I can do is nod. My eyes wander from his stormy face to his rippled bicep, the place his bone frog tattoo calls home. It’s their SEAL call sign, if you will. I’ve never thought a career was so hot until this moment as I watch that dead reptile dance and flicker in the dim bedroom light.
“Lie down,” Stone commands, breaths choppy. I’m momentarily broken from his dominance fog.
Laying down and scooting up toward the pillows, I say, “You’re going to have to calm down a little bit. It’s like you’ve ran a marathon and my panties are still on.” I smirk. He smirks. His chest stills at once, like a magic trick.
“Like this?” he asks. “I don’t just want control of you, Morg. I have control over everything. Including myself.” Stone points at his chest and then my shorts.
Sliding off my shorts and panties at the same time, I pretend to be caught up in undressing instead of his pristine body on display. There is such a thing as rude staring. Sure, it probably doesn’t apply to situations such as this, but I want more of demanding Stone. Except it doesn’t come. His lips are too busy to demand anything from me. Tracing the inside of my leg and up my thigh, he stops before he finds out just how turned on I am, and begins his descent down my other leg. I take it upon myself to start unbuttoning my blouse before I see stars and can only concentrate on one thing.
Stone slides up my body and finishes undressing me easily, kissing each breast as soon as they are exposed. My eyes close as I relish every sensation—hot hands on my waist, wet tongue on my nipples, the grazing of his large dick as he purposefully rubs it against my leg in his unhurried pursuit.
“How can you be so good at this?” I ask in a rush of breath. I’m curious, too. It’s not an “I’m so hot and bothered and this is a compliment” question either. His lips are at my ear, tracing every pleasure-bursting cell. “It’s not like you’ve practiced lately,” I continue, eyes closed. No need to second guess; I know I’m the only woman in his life.
He smiles against my neck. “I have. Actually every day since I laid eyes on you.” Stone’s fingers brush down my stomach before gently stroking my core. “Exactly like it was in my dreams,” he explains, tracing small circles with two fingertips. A moan escapes in my next breath. “My wet dreams,” he adds. I think his words do actually cause me to become wetter.
“Kiss me,” I say. He does. Not where I intended, but I can’t say I’m disappointed. His scruffy whiskers rub against my upper thighs so I part my thighs further, giving him more room to work. My hips rise off the bed uncontrollably when he slides his fingers inside of me while furiously licking my clit at the same time. Pulling on my hair, because I have nothing useful to do with my hands at the moment, I open all of my senses. I have a solitary desire: get his erection to fill me as quickly as possible. His fingers only give me a sample of what I need.
“That feels so good,” I whisper, knowing he won’t respond. Because that would mean removing his mouth from me. “Stone. I need you inside me. Please. I want you inside me when
I come.”
His deep eyes flick up to meet mine.
“Now,” I order, knowing I have his full attention. Grabbing his face, I guide it up to mine and I kiss that man senseless, tasting myself on his lips. I don’t feel him move, but I hear him rustle beside his bed and then the crackle of a foil condom wrapper.
“We doing this, M?” Stone asks, resting his forehead against mine.
His face resting between my hands I say, “We’re doing this.” He tears open the wrapper with his teeth, in that skilled manner guys have. My muscles flex as I watch him roll the rubber down his swollen shaft.
Kissing me at the same time, he slides into me. We both sigh in relief at the same time. I lean up and kiss his neck, his jaw, and then capture his lips with mine. “I can now say I love everything about you, Morganna,” Stone growls.
“And I love everything about you.”
He slides in and out of me at an infuriatingly slow pace.
“I’ll love you even more if you fuck me like you mean it.”
He shakes his head, but the dominant man obeys me. He makes love to me and fucks me in this proverbial balance of perfection like no one ever has before. When we come at the same time, I know I’ll never get enough of this man. I want to keep him all to myself. Sometimes one good lay is all it takes to convince your heart of the feelings that were there for quite some time. Luckily for me, what Stone and I have between us is so much more than blistering passion—it’s called staying power.
San Diego wasn’t going to be a vacation at all. It would be the beginning of the most monumental love story of all time. “I’m gonna tattoo your name on my chest,” Stone whispers into the shadowy room.
“Don’t do that! It’s a bad omen,” I laugh. I’m from the south, I believe in the weird superstitions. All of them.
“Nothing can be bad as long as you’re mine,” he replies.
Steve
Present
I don’t want to look like a complete asshole, but if it does appear that way, I can always just explain that I’m concerned for M’s safety. Phillipe, Morganna’s assistant, finally got around to viewing the security footage from the night the side door was destroyed. Guess what else was destroyed? The fucking video footage. It was worse than a television from the 1980’s—all squiggly black and white lines with flashes of the door every few minutes. Basically, it was useless. After convincing her to upgrade her system, I chalked it up to faulty equipment and moved on. It would be completely warranted to just check-in today. It’s what a good best friend would do.
Morganna has another date with Alex today. Which brings their date total up to three. To say I’m shocked she hasn’t kicked him to the curb is a testament to my own willpower.
Wait, why the fuck is he still around? I truly have no clue. Part of me thinks it’s just to prove me wrong, or maybe to prove herself wrong. Perhaps it’s to prove the whole damn world wrong. She’s switched teams, she’s going after the Betas. He’s taking her out on a sailboat to go floating around or some other slow-mo, mind numbing activity.
In other words, I’m positive Morg will be bored out of her fucking mind. A couple of my buddies are going out on my boat with me. It’s a boat of a different variety—the speeding, adrenaline-pumping kind. If we happen to see Morganna and Alex while we’re out, it will look completely harmless. I’ll hold my tongue, wish them a great day, and offer to cream their backs with sunblock before I speed off. Phillipe called to tell me that she left the house, because I asked him to, so I know my timing is perfect. He also mentioned she has a Saturday video conference and she’ll be back at her home office before 4 p.m. Currently, the guys are checking supplies on the boat, filling the cooler, and getting ready to push back.
I toss the bottle of sunblock to Mav. “When is the last time you’ve been out on the water?” Maverick laughs, shifting drinks around in the cooler.
“Almost every day of my fucking life. You’re lucky I agreed to come out with you. I try to avoid all non-essential boating these days. How do you still call this fun? Keep me dry. Keep me happy,” Mav says. His sentiment is common among SEALs. When you get wet and sandy as a profession, you generally avoid cold water like the plague. Then there are the lifers who can’t get enough of the sea water blasting in our faces. I love it. I can’t help it. It probably helped me get through training when I was miserable and wet, my clothes crispy stiff from being soaked in salt water and drying in the hot, blazing sun. I’m not a masochist by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s hard to be a SEAL if you despise water.
“You are such a pussy, dude. Throw me a beer,” I order. Maverick complies, grabbing a couple brews for Cody and me, and water for himself. Then he takes his designated place at the steering wheel to drive.
“Pussy is as pussy does,” he says smirking. “Here Cody.” Maverick tosses a beer to our teammate, but not before shaking it down by his side. I chuckle.
I clear my throat, tighten the ties on my blue board shorts, and get the unpleasantness out of the way. “Just to be up front. We just have to check on her, you know, and make sure she’s having a horrible fucking time, and then we can head out and fish and eat lunch and drink beers until we don’t care if we catch fish or not.” Cody and Mav just stare at me like I’m from an alternate universe. It would seem to them that I am another person, I guess.
“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? You didn’t crack one fucking joke. You aren’t wearing your speedo. You have something to prove today, don’t you, Stevey?” Cody says, looking between Maverick and me.
Maverick doesn’t say anything, but his stony face says it all. “Say it, Maverick. Just fucking say it,” I prod. He merely shakes his head. “I’ll tea-bag you and put bleach in your shampoo bottle again. Just fucking say it.”
Cody clears his throat and moves out of the way, jetting to the back of the boat. He avoids conflict at all costs. A computer genius, his aim is damn lethal, but his social graces aren’t as rough as the rest of us. Sometimes it seems as if he doesn’t want to be bothered, other times it’s like he has some huge fucking secret hiding deep inside.
Maverick perches his hands on his hips, his smart-ass half-smile blazing. “I don’t have to say anything, do I? It’s been long enough. It’s been more than long enough. Stone was…is…my best fucking friend. If I thought you were doing something wrong or off base, you’d know it. I’d still be out on this boat with you,” Maverick says, pointing down to the floor. “But you wouldn’t have a heartbeat and there would be concrete molds encasing your pansy ass feet,” he finishes, head cocked to the side, his bone frog tattoo, the same as mine, twisting around his huge neck. “I love you Steve. I love you. But you’re being a wimpy ass toddler. I’ve watched you prance around your feelings for Morganna Sterns for too long. Let me tell you something: you don’t have the fucking body or graces to be prancing around anything. March your fucking ass up to her and lay it all out for her. She’s an intelligent woman. She’ll give you a direct answer on the spot and put you out of this purgatory misery.”
All I can do is stare at this motherfucker. He’s saying these wise things because he has Windsor. Not everyone gets that sort of fairy tale. Some stories end up in the goddamn shitter. It’s been years since Stone died. I’m not sure what measure one uses to know when they’re ready to move on. What if they’re never ready? But Morganna is. She’s dating. I cringe when I think about her having sex with the dude.
“I’ll prance circles around you,” I say, rising onto tiptoes and prancing my most delicate prance all the way around Maverick. I rub my ass against his when I complete a circle around him. He swats at me with a huge arm.
“Don’t make jokes, dude,” he commands. Cody’s beer can cracks open and explodes in his face, fizzing until he gulps several sips down. I laugh.
Humor is my fall back. “I’m not. It’s just harder than you make it seem. I can’t fill his fucking shoes, man. I can’t even pretend. It would be like asking her to play pretend. She is dating
a creative type. It’s obvious she doesn’t want the reminder of what could have been,” I explain as best as I can, but the concept is foreign. I’m also treading on thin ice. You can’t talk about Stone to a certain degree without upsetting Maverick. I’m not sure where exactly that line in the sand is, but I know when you cross it he shuts down almost completely. He always will, too. Everyone knows it and respects it. It’s how he’s moved on. Stone was my brother as well. I’m in a twisted type of brotherhood with a ghost that still holds the love that I want.
Cody chimes in. Voice low, he says, “It’s been long enough.” The fact that he has a say lets me know I’m being a real wimp because I think dating gives Cody the hives.
Maverick pushes the throttle forward and we set off at a slow speed. My eyes immediately scan for any and all sailboats. “It’s so ironic. Miss bossy pants was the one forcing me back to Windsor because she knew my feelings and now she’s fucking some douche just to avoid her own feelings. Who knows—maybe he’s a fucking shark in the sack,” Mav says. Cody chokes on his beer.
I scowl at Cody. “You better clean all that shit up. I don’t want a sticky deck.”
“How do sharks fuck?” Cody asks, ignoring my orders completely. Typical. No one takes goofy Steve seriously.
“Like they’re out for blood,” Mav explains.
I punch Maverick in the arm that’s not responsible for steering. “She’s not fucking him. There’s no way she’s giving it up that easily. There’s no way. And don’t talk about it. That’s rude.”
Set In Stone Page 4