Wanted: Wife 4 Navy Seals: A Sizzling Hot Military Romance (Wanted Series Book 1)

by Dee Palmer

  Burying his head into my neck, he whispers, “You’re so fucking perfect, Finn. How did we get so lucky?”

  He kisses me below my ear and along my neck, and I ache to feel the bite, the draw of his mouth against my skin, but he keeps the contact light. Toxic is on my other side, kissing and nibbling, driving me higher with tender touches, while Tug pumps and pushes, chasing the high I can feel start to tingle at the tail end of my spine. I know he’s being careful, steady and cautious, and I can see it’s an effort from the pulsing vein in his neck and tension in his heavy brow.

  “It’s okay, Tug. You can let go. You won’t break me,” I gasp, but there’s uncertainty in my tone.

  “Ah, sugar, a little bit like you, I’d destroy you if I let go. I’m perfectly happy just being balls deep, baby. You feel fucking amazing, and I’d only end up feeling like shit if I hurt you.”

  “Oh, okay. You feel really good, too. I was just being polite. I don’t think I could take any more.” I let out a small breath of relief.

  “Being polite?” He arches his dark brow, and his mouth turns up in a wry grin, clearly amused.

  I snicker at the way he rolls his eyes and Toxic’s incredulous expression and shake of his head. “I want to make you happy, too, you know. I want you all to be equally happy with your choice,” I offer as way of explanation, and Tug’s smile widens and dazzles before turning all kinds of erotic and sexy.

  “Couldn’t be happier, sweetheart. Right now, though, I’m going to make you come like a freight train.” He pitches up onto his hands, his forearm muscles flex and the ink which spreads from his shoulder across his chest, dances beneath the stretch and pull of his muscles. His hips sink hard against mine, and I arch off the bed.

  “Oh, God!” I cry out. Walking the finest edge of pain and pleasure is like standing at the gates of heaven while secretly praying for hell. In my heart it feels wrong, but I want it all just the same. He never increases his pace, depth or force; he rolls the pleasure around like it’s a spinning coin, waiting to choose the right time to catch it before it falls. His grip on my body is the only indication he’s close; it’s tighter, firmer, and unrelenting. It’s enough to trigger an explosion inside of me that goes off like the Fourth of July fireworks display.

  Every nerve and fiber in my body sizzles with desire and need. My heart races, and blood rushing in my ears is making me dizzy with lust and so much sensation. It’s mind-blowing and utterly intoxicating, crashing through my body. Their hold keeps me tethered, securing me to this place, and ultimately as I fall, floating and drifting from my high, their hold catches and cherishes me until I have no thoughts, no movements, just a deep and sated sense of happiness.

  “WHY ARE YOU FIDGETING?” TOXIC holds my hand as we walk toward an industrial-looking warehouse with a thick queue of people wrapped around the length of the building waiting to get in.

  “I was sort of hoping I would get time for a shower,” I grumble. I had packed a change of clothes because I knew we were going out this evening, but I wasn’t anticipating an afternoon of wild sex and swimming in the sea. My hair is a riot of tangles, with a hint of dragged through a hedge backwards, and I’m sure I reek of sin.

  “If you hadn’t slipped into a coma, you would’ve had time for a shower, sugar. Besides, you look fucking stunning.” Tug grins, draping a meaty arm across my shoulder.

  “Still would’ve liked a shower. Look at my hair!” Tug’s hand moves swiftly to my neck, and he attempts to thread his fingers into the mass of locks, the stiffness of the salt and general disarray making it impossible and completely proves my point.

  “It looks sexy, Finn. Now stop whining. You didn’t strike me as one of those high-maintenance girls,” Tug goads.

  “I think there’s high-maintenance, and then there’s meeting your friends for the first time smelling like sex and looking like I’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday.” I feel the flush in my cheeks, and a smile forms at the delicious memory.

  “You know you’re even more sexy when you get all riled up,” Tug chuckles, winking across at Toxic, who wisely flattens his lips in silence but grins wide.

  “Gah!” I groan with exasperation, but I know it’s nerves. I managed to have a hot towel wash so I really don’t smell like sin.

  The boys sailed back to the harbor while I was out for the count; however, they barely gave me any time to get ready, and patience is clearly not one of their virtues. I changed quickly into my lace cup, baby doll, white summer dress, which has a low V-cut front and tiny spaghetti straps and floats just above my knees in a swishy fabric, which is super cute. It’s a little skimpy, but my worn, weathered, light-denim jacket covers most of the exposed skin. I have some tan, and suede gladiator wedges give me a little more height and dress it up a little. My hair, however, is a lost cause but I can always say it’s a British, shabby-chic thing, if anyone asks.

  Toxic gives our names to the fierce looking doorman, and we skip the whole queue and walk into a heaving bar. It’s dark inside, as the high-level windows have been blacked out, and there’s minimal artificial light except around the stage, which seems to have hundreds of spotlights focused on the empty set where the band will play later. Music is blaring from a wall of speakers dominating the far side of the room, but it’s early and the dance floor is empty. Most tables are full, and, by the looks of it, food is still being served.

  “They clear the tables before the band comes on,” Tug shouts, and I nod in acknowledgment. I had wondered where all those people outside were going to go.

  We reach a roped-off flight of stairs, and Toxic unclips it, ushering me up to the mezzanine. It’s still noisy, but there’s more room to breathe, and I don’t think we will need to shout quite so loud to be heard. There’s another bar up here and several long tables overlooking the stage. The one nearest to us is where I recognize two familiar faces in a sea of strangers. Pink stands the second he sees us, and his face brightens, his eyes crinkle with the widest smile, those delicious dimples and straight white teeth on display. Charge is sitting back with his arm resting on the back of an empty chair but leaning in to speak to a woman. She’s not an ordinary woman; she’s a drop dead gorgeous, stunning, might-just-make-you-swing-the-other-way kind of woman.

  My heart stops. Her perfectly straight black hair is slicked back into a high, tight and immaculate ponytail. Her skin seems to glow with a shimmery, golden tan; it’s absolutely flawless. Her plump, pouty lips are sucking down on a straw, making even my mouth water. I can just imagine what that front-row view to this goddess is doing to Charge. I feel sick and have obviously frozen to the spot, because Tug crashes into me, sending me flying forward and into a tray of tequila shots.

  Skidding to my knees, I instinctively cover my head with my hands as sticky liquid and shot glasses rain down on me.

  There’s an unholy, loud roar of laughter that stops almost as instantly as it starts, though I’m too mortified to look up to see why. Ground, swallow me now. My skin is dripping wet, my dress is all but see-through with the amount of liquid it absorbed, and my knees sting like a motherfucker.

  “Wow, you really do know how the make an entrance, angel.” Charge’s deep timbre makes me jump. His hot breath is at my neck, and his eyes search mine. I try to force a smile, but it’s weak, and I give up when my eyes pool with tears. I blink them away and snap with a painful memory.

  “Unfortunately, it’s not the first time I’ve been humiliated in a bar full of people.” He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his strong arms scoop under my knees, lifting me as if I weigh nothing and carry me away from the carnage and prying eyes. I feel like a sorry-ass mess and bury my head in his chest. Kicking open a door marked private, he places me carefully on the counter top. He walks back to lock the door, and I jump down, sucking back a sob when I stare at my sorry-looking reflection. Half of my hair is soaked and slicked to my face, my dress has more splashes than a dry cloth, and I think I actually sliced an artery, judging by the blood streaming down my l
eft leg.

  “Perfect,” I mutter as I angrily twist the tap to get the hot water flowing. I yelp as I’m once more lifted and placed next to the sink.

  “Stay put,” Charge growls. His dark eyes make a quick inspection of the pathetic sight in front of him. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Do not move from here, understand?” I nod at his demand, and he flashes a quick smile. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t want to stay here. I just want to go home. I don’t want to be remembered for this, and I really don’t want to meet Miss Perfect, not like this—actually not ever. My heart drops, and a swell of sickness hits me that I might have to spend a night watching Charge look at someone else the way he just looked at me. I hate this; I hate any little hiccup, which cripples me with self-doubt and insecurity.

  I straighten when I hear the door handle click, trying desperately hard to trample my anxiety into the ground. Or am I just plain jealous? That would at least be a normal reaction.

  Returning with a small box with a big red cross on it, Charge sets about cleaning up my legs. The cut isn’t as deep as I thought, but it won’t stop bleeding all the same. I keep a wad of cotton wool pressed on it, while he does his best to clean up the tequila from my dress, hair and skin. I jump when I feel his tongue on my shoulder, and I tip my head to allow him the access to drag it all the way up my neck to my ear. I shiver when he pulls back, mourning his absence with a soft exhale.

  “Hmm… you taste like salt and hard liquor. Not quite as sweet as you normally do, but just as sexy.” His deeply sensual voice seems to drop an octave. His eyes darken, eyelids drop, and his impossibly long lashes frame an incendiary glare. Even so, I can’t shake my residual self-image, which is looking like the very poor relation to Missy Fucking Universe he was cozying up to moments ago.

  “Oh, yeah, I feel so sexy right now.” I cross my arms, and my attempt at humor falls flat as my laughter dies in my mouth.

  “You want me to prove how sexy you are?” He arches his brow high and confidently pulls a wolfish grin.

  “No.” I lean away from his draw, because I don’t quite believe the conviction of my words and need the space.

  “No?” He leans into my retreating body, closing the distance and then some. I swallow the thick lump in my throat and cough to clear it enough to speak.

  “You know how on our dates you want to know it’s just you who’s turning me on?” I watch his eyes take in every detail of my face, curious and searching.

  “Yes?” he responds.

  “Same goes for me, Charge.” I tip my chin defiantly even as my stomach tightens with knots and nausea.

  “I’m not following you. You think this”—he spreads my legs, making my heart jump and all the air leave my lungs in a shocked gasp, and steps up, pulling my ass forward so his rock-hard erection scorches my panties and melts my core—“is for someone else?”

  “I don’t know, Charge. You tell me.” My voice wavers, though I’m pleased I can speak at all, because my heart is thumping so damn hard, I can’t hear myself think. The way he’s staring into my eyes, into my soul, is utterly mesmerizing.

  “No, angel, I’m going to show you,” he growls.

  His hands dive under my dress, and he roughly pulls my panties off, bunching them in his hand and pushing them into his pocket. Then his mouth is on me, his hands gripping my bottom, lifting me high and hard against his body. My legs wrap around his waist as his demanding tongue devours me, stealing my breath and shattering my sanity. Is this really happening?

  Charge is always so in control, and at this moment, his eyes are feral, his breathing is ragged, and his touch is wild and wonderful. He crashes us against the only flat wall, and his lips draw back, his teeth raking my bottom lip, and a low, gruff grumble vibrates through his chest. When he bites down, I cry out. His eyes never leave mine, and I can barely breathe for their intensity. His damn gaze sears right through me, so raw, filled with so much emotion, desire, and passion. My heart blazes, and my blood is on fire. I feel like he has branded my soul.

  I can feel him fumble with his zipper, and in an impressive, swift, and perfectly positioned lunge, he buries himself so deep I choke out a cry. I’m starved of oxygen, and my open mouth hangs open from lack of air.

  “You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans against my lips, and I sigh with a smile, feeling a warmth I’ve never felt before, like being enveloped in the world’s biggest blanket. His hips start to move, grind, and pump slowly in and out of my body. He feels so good—so damn good. My hands rest on either side of his face, holding him as much as he’s holding me, rooted. I drop them to his shoulders and begin to travel down toward his chest. His reaction is instant, as with one hand he snatches both of mine and pulls them high above me, slamming them against the wall as he pulls back and starts to pound into me. I feel like I’m falling, and I need to hold on to him. His grip is not just firm and forceful; it’s fucking painful.

  “Charge, my wrists…you’re hurting me,” I pant out between his brutal but exquisite driving thrusts. He stops and looks up to his hand and then back to me. His face clouds with something I don’t recognize, pain maybe but something unsettling, though he shakes it away, and it’s gone so quickly I think it might have been in my head.

  “Sorry, angel.” He loosens his grip, but keeps my hands in place when I really wanted them free so I could run my fingers through his glossy, dark hair, grip his broad, built shoulders, and dive beneath his black, button-down shirt and touch his skin. My fingers twitch to feel his skin. My body aches for that too; skin-on-skin contact would be so damn perfect, but not right now, not in a public toilet.

  He steps closer, as if he wants to be a part of me; he’s so close, so deep, I can feel him everywhere. His gaze is too much, and I feel the explosion deep inside, a small rumble that flashes through my body like a wildfire, sizzling my nerves and rolling through me with wave after wave of pure, unashamed ecstasy. His mouth covers mine to stop the scream from escaping my lips, but my climax keeps pounding through my body with every pump of his hips. He keeps me soaring, prolonging this unbelievable orgasm, until with a deep grunt and sudden push of air from his mouth, he stills and comes inside me, so fucking deep, my eyes are trickling with tears.

  “Angel, did I hurt you?” he asks with concern etched on his handsome face. I shake my head because I still need a moment before I can speak, but when I do, I can’t stop the most enormous smile from spreading wide across my face.

  “No! God, no. Ruined me? Yes. Hurt me? No.” I suck in large, unladylike gulps of air, and my legs begin to tremble uncontrollably and only stop when Charge eases me onto my feet. “That was unexpected.” I let out a nervous laugh as I notice Charge stiffen and his face change from relaxed and sated to stern.

  “I didn’t want to do that.” His brow furrows, and he runs his hand round the back of his neck. I feel like I’ve taken a bullet to my chest.

  “You didn’t?” My voice catches, and I don’t even try to hide the hurt his words caused.

  “Fuck! No, that’s not what I meant,” he snaps, then softens his tone when he continues, his hand now cupping my cheek. “I didn’t want our first time to be in a goddamn bathroom, but you looked so… I couldn’t not touch you. You have no idea what you do to me, angel, but I’m sorry I lost control. I will make it up to you tomorrow. You deserve better than this, Finn. I’m truly sorry.” His words soothe away the sting, and his pleading eyes obliterate any residual pain.

  “You’re forgiven.” I lean up to kiss him on the tip of his nose, and he smiles with my playful gesture. “And you have nothing to make up for. Having someone who is unable to keep their hands off me is not only a first, but it has to be the sexiest fucking thing ever.”

  “Even if it means having sex in a bathroom?” He cocks his head in disbelief.

  “Yes, because this wasn’t just sex. This was phenomenal sex. There’s a big difference.” I hold out my hand for him to return my underwear. I can see his brows knit together as he weighs his options.


  “This dress is way too white and way too short to go commando, unless you really want everyone to think I’m a—”

  He growls his interruption.

  “Do not finish that sentence.” He hands over my panties, which I quickly slip on. “Not even as a joke.”

  I straighten my dress and check my reflection. I look a hot mess, just not quite for the same reason I came in here. My eyes meet his in the mirror.

  “You know this encounter didn’t really prove I got you hard.” I scoop my hair up into a band, and turn to face him.

  “I know, but until I can introduce you to Flick, it’s the best I could do. I wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow to prove how very fucking wrong you are.” He takes my hand and leads me back out into the main room.

  “Flick?” I place my hand on his chest to stop him. He twitches under my touch, and his eyes close. I don’t know why, but he answers my question so it certainly wasn’t that.

  “The woman you jumped to all the wrong conclusions with earlier. I take it that’s who you thought I was thinking about?” I drop my hand and avoid his gaze, fisting the hem of my dress with my now free hand.

  “Maybe.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I feel incredibly embarrassed, because I was so quick to assume the worst.

  “Maybe, my ass. First off, she’s a lesbian, and second, it’s only you, for all of us. So how about we go over there so we can show off our girl.” He beams the sexiest damn smile, but I glance nervously over to where he’s about to lead me.