The Titan Series: Military Romance Boxed Set

by Cristin Harber

  “So sweet.” He bit and nibbled when his mouth came to a torturous stop. Languidly, he placed her ankle back on the bed. His tongue swirled behind her knees.

  Shivers erupted on her legs. A moan escaped her lips. His name fell from her mouth, aroused and husky, and her head twisted on the bed.

  He smiled against her skin. His tongue snaked up the back of her thigh, cleaning away the ice cream, replacing the sticky cold with his mind-bending hotness. His branding kisses caressed over her cheek then skipped to the other side.

  “Please, Brock.” She turned her head again, hoping her urgency would be conveyed. But he trailed his lips down her thigh, slowly, as the ice cream melted on her body.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” And again, he repeated the ankle lift. The gentle sucks, the insane laps, clearing away the coldness and nuzzling into the sweet spot behind her knee. His lips were chilly but his tongue so warm. “Tastes even better.”

  I had no idea that could feel so… amazing.

  “There’s a new spot.” Cold lips dragged.

  Her breathing was erratic. “Uh-huh.”

  One hand smoothed the back of her legs, nudging her open, then swept across her wetness. “You like it.”

  She nodded. “A lot.”

  “Good to know, angel.”

  Somehow, having her wrists tied together, her eyes blindfolded while his fingers explored her, made angel sound sexier than ever before. She pictured herself sprawled inches from the massive wood headboard. The carved bedposts feet away. Her body clenched, wondering how and when Brock would make use of the ropes he had cut. He wouldn’t be delicate with her. Not now. Not when she’d be crying out his name.

  “No more teasing. I was wrong.” Broken breaths barely allowed for complete thoughts. “I just need you.”

  His fingers drifted over her bottom, damp from her juices. He feathered his hands up, moving his muscled body between her legs. “The buildup’s too much? My sweet angel needs relief?”

  “Yes.” She pulsed, needing his tantalizing touch again. But he tormented her instead and laid his heavy shaft along the ridge of her rear, stroking up and down. She widened her legs, searching for friction against her clit, but the position she wanted seemed painfully out of reach. Completely impossible.

  “Want some help?” His voice was guttural. Antagonizing.

  “Yes.” She nodded, wanting to see and loving that she couldn’t. “Touch me. Tease me.”

  His chest pressed against her back while his lips toyed with her earlobe. Brock’s hand slid down her sides, cupping her hipbones. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes.” Her hands jerked at the ties. “Brock, please.”

  The pads of his fingers smoothed forward. He toyed in the damp curls, curving and caressing until he found her clit. The tease was so needed, so unexpected. It stole her breath, revived her need. She felt swollen and ready.

  He sucked down the back of her neck. His weight crushed her to the bed until he slid to the side. One quick move and she was flipped over. Arms still overhead and bound, legs free, and knees bent. He had to give her more.

  The end of a rope tickled her stomach. Electricity sprouted across her skin. Oh, how’d I forget so fast about the other ties? Her sensitive flesh went on red alert, and Brock scratched the cut end from her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, over her clit, then made fast work of securing a ligature around her ankle. Straightening her leg, he tied her ankle to a bedpost. The other leg didn’t receive the same finesse. It was bound and tied in a second.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could sense him. Feel his gaze and knew it was centered on her, open to him.

  “Beautiful.” He walked along the side of the bed, flipping additional ropes in his hand. Each slap made her shiver. He leaned over to kiss her lips then tied her already-bound wrists directly above her to the headboard.

  Arms together, legs spread, and blindfolded. Her body couldn’t wait for whatever came next.

  A small spoonful of ice cream landed on her nipple. His tongue followed its path as it melted and slid to her breastbone. His fingers tweaked her other nipple as he busied his mouth. With each pinch and tug, her body jerked. Her pussy clenched. “I have to touch you.”

  She wanted to. Needed to. Her fingers would latch onto him, drawing him closer. Ending this torture.

  “You will. But I’m not done yet.”

  Ice cream dropped onto her belly button. His lips encircled it, his tongue lashing into the delve of her stomach, while his fingers brought her to the brink of agony. One hand palmed her breast, massaging and tugging. The other hand curved over her mound, two fingers finally pressing in.

  “Yes.” It was all she could manage. “More.”

  Incoherent thoughts. One-word pleas. Her legs struggled against their bindings. The rope scratched into her flesh, sending lightning strikes screaming up her legs. His fingers began to fuck her, in and out, roughly pushing her toward a climax she was dying for.

  Sarah’s back arched. His hands worked in tandem. Stronger. Harsher. Everything she wanted. And then his cold lips kissed her clitoris, and she lost her mind. Her body thrashed, and she cried for her husband.

  “Come for me.” It was a command. Its rumbles pulsed against her intimate flesh. He had no intention of letting her fall away from this. His eagerness, his determination made her love him all the more.

  Her climax sealed her eyes shut behind the blindfold. Fireworks exploded, rocketing, radiating to every tied-up limb of her body. Her legs quaked. Her fingers interlaced, locking into a struggling, surviving clutch.

  Brock maneuvered over her and lifted the blindfold from her eyes. Sarah blinked. His smoky eyes and chiseled face hung above her as she focused. He stared, deep and meaningful, touching her soul, until she could semi-regulate her breath. Still tied but able to see, she picked her head up, her lips meeting his, and she kissed him until his arms wrapped under her, hugging her to him.

  His erection pushed into her, slowly, inching in. “I love you, angel.”

  His lips swept over hers. His tongue stroked hers. His arms remained around her, hugging while he stroked her from the inside out, owning her. Driving her mad with love and comfort and devotion.

  She could come again just from the sound of his voice, from knowing the profound commitment Brock had made to her, to their family and future. He still hugged her, still stroked her, but it was faster and deeper. His breath raced with hers. They were sticky, sweaty, and in sync. Her climax rolled through, and his followed. Brock moaned and bit onto her shoulder, groaning and spearing her deep.

  “I love you too.” Her superhero. Her husband. Their new life together. She loved it all. In a few hours from that moment, they’d be showered and dressed, standing before their family and friends to recommit to their promise of love. But in his arms, knowing that he’d given her more than she’d initially known she wanted, Sarah vowed to always take the risk, to be his Gamble. Brock and Sarah Gamble. Together forever, always searching for their more.

  THE END

  I hope you enjoyed Gambled. Please take a moment and leave a review on Amazon. Thank you.

  CHASED

  CHAPTER ONE

  Asher McIntyre left the keys in the front door of his Georgetown row house and stared at the note taped to the mirror right inside the door. His heart thudded, more angry than apprehensive. He didn’t need to read the printed paper to know who it was from.

  He turned to his alarm system panel. It blinked disengaged and ready to arm. He had turned the pricey piece of garbage on that morning. His note-leaving friend had officially upgraded himself from creepy to criminal.

  Asher couldn’t stand in his doorway all night and growl at a piece of paper. It was safer to turn around, walk to a coffee shop, and call for investigators to sweep his townhouse, just like they’d done with his car and office days ago. But his head pounded after hours of congressional hearings, constituent meetings, and lobbyist meet-and-greets. He wasn’t in the mood to
smile pleasantly if he accidently bumped into a reporter or blogger. His soured attitude would be speculated about and end up as political fodder. Every misstep would be analyzed for the next six weeks, until Election Day.

  Asher cracked his neck, snagged his keys, and took a step inside. His shoe echoed on the hardwood floor, and he swiped the note off the mirror.

  Dear Congressman McIntyre,

  Still watching you. Still waiting. Time to right your wrong. Let’s meet soon.

  Best wishes,

  Maxwell

  Asher shouldn’t have touched it. Could have read the note’s nonsense while it remained taped to his mirror, but he didn’t want the stupid thing mocking him until the investigators came. He shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, and pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. Is all this worth it?

  He scrolled through his contacts and found the special agent who had handled his previous notes and hit send.

  It rang once. “This is Murphy.”

  Asher scowled. “A new note was waiting for me today.”

  “Give me one second.” The agent excused himself from someone on the other end of the line. “On your car again?”

  “Nope. Inside my townhouse, taped to a mirror.” He paced his living room. An invasion of his privacy wasn’t anything new, but Asher had no idea what Maxwell was after.

  “Son of a bitch. Don’t touch—”

  “Too late.” Asher tugged off his tie, tossed it on the couch, and headed for the wet bar.

  He ignored the People magazine he’d thrown there the night before. It wasn’t his type of magazine, but his campaign consultant had mailed it to him. The headline stared up from the bar. A fifty most beautiful people list. Five bucks said his name was on that list somewhere, and for the next few weeks, he would have invitation after invitation to events that he didn’t care about from women who wanted to appear with him like he was their fashion accessory. Every time a list came out, the same charade unfolded, and every time, it gave him a headache.

  “Are you kidding me? You know better than to touch evidence.”

  That made Asher chuckle. Murphy was formal because he was supposed to be. But they were about the same age and had the same get-the-job-done disposition. By the time they found Maxwell, he and Murphy would probably be buds.

  Asher poured a glass of scotch and shrugged. “Sorry, man. Anger got the best of me. I would’ve stood on my front porch, giving the finger to anyone interested, but then I’d have to deal with that picture on the front page of the Washington Post. One nuisance at a time.”

  “I’ll head your way with a couple guys. We’ll be discreet.”

  Asher swirled the drink in his hand and walked into the kitchen. “Thanks, man—”

  Another note was centered in the middle of his stainless steel refrigerator. His Georgetown home was where he crashed, not really his home. That was in New York. Asher had no personal items in DC, certainly not a picture magnet of his sister and her best friend. They were younger by five years and had spent the past week in Disney World for a wedding reception. The picture on the fridge showed them posing in front of Epcot Center.

  His hands shook, and his jaw cemented shut. A harsh breath flared through his nostrils. “Murphy, send the whole goddamn FBI.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “There’s a recent picture of my sister and her best friend, along with another damn note from Maxwell. Aren’t they cute?”

  ***

  Jenny Chase tugged her carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment. The flight from Florida to DC had been bumpy, and she wanted off the plane. In the seat beside her, Molly was unfazed and casually powering on her phone and listing off where they should grab dinner before they headed home to their apartment in Eastern Market.

  As long as Jenny could grab a cocktail, she didn’t care where they ended up. Molly’s phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then kept going.

  “Jeez, popular much?” Jenny watched her best friend’s phone continue to vibrate.

  Molly laughed. “Just Ash. I’m sure whatever it is, it’s super important, and I need to know super right away.” She slipped the phone into her purse. “Let’s have pizza delivered instead of going out.”

  Just Ash. Just the man that starred in every fantasy that Jenny had ever had since she could remember fantasizing about a guy. Of course, he was probably the star of many women’s dirty imaginations. He was Hollywood handsome and Washington powerful. That combination did wicked things to a woman’s fantasies.

  Jenny silently chanted, “It’s only Ash.” Only Ash…That was how she needed to think about him because both Molly and Jenny had given up that anything would develop.

  Shoot, even now her cheeks felt warm. What thirty-year-old woman couldn’t kick a high school crush? How many nights over the years had Jenny confided to Molly that she loved her brother? Too many, all starting back in high school when she’d circled his name in hearts. Even when Ash had flirted with her in college, the sparks had never panned out to anything more than heated glances and breathless moments.

  Jenny tried to act nonchalant. “Maybe you should see what he wants. That sounded like a lot of phone calls.”

  “Text messages too,” Molly added. “He hates to be ignored. Not everyone hops to his attention when he wants something. Drives him crazy.”

  Kind of like he drives me crazy. Jenny shuffled through her purse without reason. Pathetic, really, but every time he came around or called, she became a mess.

  Over the years, Asher had become rich and famous. Incredibly important. She wasn’t in the same ballpark as him with her hodgepodge of jobs. Nothing that would constitute a career. Jenny helped her sister, Sugar, with the gun shop and range she owned. But mostly, she honed her craft. She was an actress. A few good parts here and there. A few commercials. A couple of cable pilots that had never taken off. But live performances were what made Jenny’s heart flutter and pound.

  Much like Asher McIntyre did. She laughed and ignored Molly’s sideways glance. Her mind had come back full circle to him. No one stacked up to him because, like it or not, she’d been in love with him since she’d met him. Just like no other type of acting stacked up to the roar of an applauding crowd on opening night.

  Whatever. When she needed an Asher fix, all she had to do was read a newspaper or check a tabloid. He was all over it, pretty girl hanging on his arm.

  Molly nudged her. “Jenny? Pizza? You okay with delivery?”

  “As long as we stop and grab a bottle of wine.” They moved into the plane’s aisle and trudged into National airport. The crazy flight was the topping of a crazy week. Jenny couldn’t comprehend that Sugar was married now. Her sister was the wildest, toughest girl she knew, and Sugar had basically eloped in Vegas, adopted a kid, then celebrated her wedding reception at Disney World. Sugar always knew what she wanted and got it. Me? Not so much. Part-time gun-range assistant, full-time wannabe acting star. At least it kept the bills paid and offered a super lax schedule.

  “Wine. Good deal.” Molly nodded.

  They rounded the corner from the long hallway into the airport waiting area. Six men in black suits waited, watching each passenger. Their stances and their looks screamed that they were packing heat.

  Jenny knew those types all too well. Hard to ignore them when Molly worked with the high society of the political world, and when Ash was the Asher McIntyre, Mr. Rising Star Politician, the congressman who was soon to be the senator to New York State. Hell, probably soon to be president, give him enough time. And even if he didn’t carry that title, he had any number of Most Eligible, Most Handsome, Most Beautiful crowns that had been printed for the whole world to see the smile that about made Jenny pass out from hormonal over-exposure.

  Congressman today. Senator in a little more than a month. President…whenever he wanted. His career was just another reason why nothing would materialize into a relationship. Ash was world famous; everyone hung on his every word. And she was clinging to an acting career where no
one seemed interested in watching her say anything on stage. Stop that! Big audition in a couple days. They’ll love me.

  The leader of the suits brigade stepped in front of Molly. “Ms. McIntyre, Ms. Chase, come with us.”

  Molly turned to her, rolling her eyes and cracking a smile. “Guess I shouldn’t have stolen the bathrobe, huh?”

  “Should’ve checked your text messages and voice mail,” Jenny whispered back.

  No matter how many times law enforcement escorted Molly somewhere for work or inspected their apartment after the McIntyre family had another threat, men with badges made her nervous.

  Other passengers streamed around as the obvious men encircled them. “Congressman McIntyre has asked that you come with us.”

  “Of course he has.” Molly was used to the protective detail routine. She never looked concerned. “And you are?”

  “Special Agent Murphy—”

  “FBI?”

  The man nodded.

  “Give me a second to talk to Ash.” Her best friend fished her phone out of her purse, hit a button, and had a fast conversation that ended with her mouthing, “Fine. We’ll go with you.”

  Jenny picked up her carry-on bag and let the men whisk them to baggage claim. “Least we don’t have to take the metro.”

  Why not have an armed caravan take them home? It was the perfect ending to a crazy week and crazy flight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Asher stared out his sister’s living room window. The FBI entourage pulled up and double-parked. He’d had the apartment swept, and nothing out of the ordinary had turned up.

  Molly jumped out of the black SUV.

  He kept watch. Waiting. Waiting… And there Jenny was, back turned toward him. He wanted to look away. Needed to, in fact, but didn’t. His hand rubbed over an ache in his chest. He’d been forcing his thoughts away from Jenny Chase for the better part of knowing her. Little good that had done.