Cruisin' For A SEAL: SEAL Brotherhood #5

by Hamilton, Sharon

  She pulled away and he removed his arm from her shoulder. Okay, so he’d crossed a line there.

  “Mark, I know it sounds crazy, but that afternoon we had—” she stopped and drew in a big breath again.

  He was all in at this point. It was either going to be really bad or pretty freaking good. He was hoping for the freaking part.

  “That afternoon,” she began and looked up at him innocently.

  God, he wanted to kiss her again. She kept staring at his lips, too. The lady was driving him nuts. Her body was a furnace, sending constant messages to his body parts that of course had now waked up and were screaming for more.

  “It changed me.”

  There it was. Did he want to hear this? Hell, yes, he did. He’d go down in flames, but he’d let her finish and take as damned long as she wanted to. Every second he could have with her thigh against his, her arms lightly brushing against his, the way her hair smelled, how good it felt to match her breathing. He elongated the breaths and she followed. She followed his lead. He was pacing her. Holy shit, she was getting aroused!

  Into the abyss he plunged. Her eyes longed for something he knew he could provide, and it didn’t belong to someone who would have such an asshole friend as the prancing Brazilian stallion. It belonged to a guy who grew up driving pickup trucks and worked on his body quietly, who knew how to dish out pain, but was sent in to stop it. Who could blow up a bad guy but tenderly console a child. There were no dance floors for that kind of person, no cheering crowds or intoxicated fans.

  He found the strength to say it at last. “It changed me too, Sophia. I only wish I’d met you before you got engaged. And I know that sounds crazy, but if you’re not sure, then my personal opinion is you should think about it further before committing your life to someone.”

  He had to stand up. He stared out the plastic windows at the sea beyond. Something about this wasn’t fair. No mistaking the attraction. But he couldn’t take another man’s woman, no matter how much he wanted her. He braced himself and turned to face her. Looking down on her beautiful face, he knew he had to do the right thing.

  “Sophia, I feel like I have to apologize. It was one thing to hook up when I didn’t know you were already taken. But now that I know you have a fiancé, it would be wrong to take advantage of you, indulge in something I know we both want, but shouldn’t. I don’t want someone that way. I don’t want any regrets afterwards.”

  She examined her crossed ankles. The red dress had hitched dangerously high on her thighs. The red flower clip over her ear was askew and in danger of falling out.

  “I’m going to break it off, Mark. I know now I wouldn’t have so many doubts if it was right to go ahead with this marriage.”

  “Not because of me, you’re not.”

  “No. Yes. Well, partly. I don’t think I’d be as attracted to you if I truly loved Matheus the way—”

  It was way too soon for her to be saying things like this. He willed her to keep her mouth shut, no matter how much he wanted to hear that she felt for him even half of what he felt for her.

  “It’s more than chemistry, Mark. It’s like one of those paranormal books I read, like a fating. For some reason, meeting you has turned my whole world on its axis. Does that sound absolutely crazy?”

  Mark turned and looked back out to sea. Damn. The right thing was still the right thing. He was going to have to get away from her or they’d be fucking their way from Italy to Brazil. Not that that was an unpleasant thought, but it wasn’t right. She was going to have to convince him. He didn’t want to talk her into something she’d regret later.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her. “No, honey, it doesn’t sound crazy.” He didn’t touch her, but she leaned over and kissed him on the lips anyway.

  “Do you—” Her stopping was a good thing. Safe.

  “I’m a sailor, Sophia. He stepped up to the plate and gave you a promise, and you gave yours. I can’t promise that kind of thing, sweetheart. I’ve got to be totally honest with you.”

  “But maybe we could just be together without promises. I’m not sure I want anything with a date and a ring, either. I think you helped me realize I don’t want that anymore. I’m not ready, Mark.”

  He held her hands in his, continuing to kneel in front of her. “Now you’re talking my language. But all this is up to you. Your call. Your decision completely. I don’t want you to have any regrets, and I don’t want to feel like I got in the way of something that would have worked for you, do you understand?”

  She nodded, and then gave him that little smile, just like the one that had warmed his heart that day at the café with the sounds of traffic and footsteps on cobblestoned streets in Italy. As ancient as love stories in the Bible and before, that little smile from this woman filled his heart with hope. Perhaps he had found someone after all who could handle his ways. Perhaps she could handle his sorrow and loss. Perhaps she could soften and heal him.

  “I want to give this a go, Mark. Not so I can go back to Matheus. Because I get the feeling if I don’t let myself have this time with you—no promises, here, because it might be a very short time. But if I don’t give this to myself, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I truly believe that.”

  He was overcome, staring down at their entwined fingers. “Then baby, I’m your guy. For today, for the time until we get to port, and then we’ll see where it goes. If you’re sure.”

  She didn’t hesitate. She kissed his fingers and smiled back at him. “I’m sure.”

  Chapter 12

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  She ached for him to touch her, and she wasn’t trying to hide her longing for him. Her body felt alive in his presence. She’d grown up loving to dance, feeling she could follow a partner’s lead, be compliant and acquiesce to his movements. That’s what good dancing was, following the man, always following the man, regardless of whether or not he kept time with the music or took even steps. Whatever he did she would mirror.

  It was no different now. She wanted to follow Mark’s lead, hoped he’d take her in his arms, play her body like an instrument. Command she lean and turn, command her to show him what she wanted. When he reached out and put his palm on her cheek, she turned her head and kissed him there. She held his muscled forearm with both her hands, sliding down to his elbow and up his arm to his shoulder, over the corded muscles there and up to the strong muscles at the base of his neck. She traced the shape of his ear, moving his hair behind it, rubbing behind his ear and down under his jawline, tickling him and beckoning him to lean into her.

  And he did.

  The kiss was delicate. The taste of his tongue made all her lady parts ache for the feel of that tongue on her sensitive sex. She felt herself swell, becoming moist, and needing him inside her.

  He removed his hands, pulled at the vinyl she was sitting on, and found it would move. She pulled the long pad next to her as they simultaneously dropped them to the floor of the little lifeboat. He guided her to lie back on the soft surface while he covered her with his body.

  Their hands explored each other, his finding room under her red dress, beginning to peel down her dance stockings, smoothing over her backside, flesh on flesh. She helped him remove her underthings until she lay back naked from her waist down, watching him.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked again.

  She nodded her head, watching the way a few strands of his hair fell forward at the sides of his face. She tucked them behind his ears. “I want you, Mark.”

  He slammed her with a deep kiss and she heard and felt the guttural groan deep inside his chest that vibrated hers when she softened to accept him. The sound of his passion made her skin tingle. She bent her knees to the sides as he rode her mound and pressed himself against her through his cargo pants.

  “Baby, I’ve been dreaming about doing this practically twenty-four-seven,” he whispered to her ear as he gave her lobe a gentle bite. Her hand felt the ripples of his forearm muscles tense as his f
ingers found purchase under her skirt, between her legs. He gazed into her eyes and swallowed, like his mouth was parched, just as he slipped two fingers inside her.

  She was filled with need, though his fingers deliciously coaxed her juices. Another deep groan emanated from him as he felt the slickness and ease with which those fingers moved in and out of her.

  He began kissing her neck, down lower to the space between her breasts, then carefully lifting her dress up, kissing over the red satin bra she wore underneath. His tongue found its way under the fabric to suck on her nipples, first one and then the other. The delicious sucking sounds he made caused her to arch, pushing her breasts further into his mouth. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she moved up and down against his bulging package.

  Her fingers breached his waistband, smoothing down his backside. With one hand he undid the button and zipper on his jeans. With his large hand over hers, he guided her to his shaft until she felt the smooth surface of his cock, then reached further to take his balls and squeeze them.

  Her hand worked on his shaft, moving up and down as he groaned into her chest. He began kissing her lower, until she held his head between her palms, sighed, arched up to him. He was looking at her bare sex. With a quick inhale he dipped his head down and allowed his tongue to travel the entire length of her labia, lazily pushing aside the delicate tissues and then rubbing inside and against the walls of her channel as he pushed inside and sucked.

  Her body jerked as he ran his teeth over her nub, coaxing it into a stiff little peak, causing her to hiss with delight.

  “You like that, baby?” he whispered, watching her face, his lips glistening with her juices.

  “I like all of it, Mark. All of it.”

  “You taste so sweet,” he said before he bent and lapped at her again.

  Her fingers sifted through his shiny brown hair, squeezing and then releasing his scalp. At last, the shuddering inside her belly overcame her and she arched back into a long deep moan as the beginnings of a powerful orgasm began to take hold. He fed on her passion, his face full of the delight at her taste, which turned her insides molten.

  Through half-closed eyes she watched a glistening smile consume his face.

  “God, Mark, I’ve missed this.”

  “Me too,” he said as he sucked at her quivering peach.

  She needed him to ride her orgasm, let her fly, and as if he’d read her mind, he quickly shimmied out of his pants, climbed over her and lay back down against her chest. She pulled her dress over her head but left her red satin bra in place. Mark reached around her back to the clasp and released her to his waiting lips, to his callused hands that kneaded her pillows of flesh. As he moved higher, she could reach his cock, and she stroked him, covering him with a condom he hadn’t noticed she held. Then she guided him, raised her knees and her pelvis to receive him.

  His shaft lay in wait at her opening while he brushed the hair from her forehead, kissing her face, her eyes, and her ears and under her jaw. But his clear blue eyes searched hers as he began to thrust inside slowly at first.

  She arched back and gasped as he filled her to the hilt, pushing deep, stretching her pulsing and swollen channel.

  Her hands felt the juncture between them, ringing his cock, squeezing his balls as he rooted inside and then pulled out and then pushed back in again. There wasn’t anything in the world she wanted to feel more than his hardness impaling her and demanding to be fed.

  The slow rhythm he began was setting her insides on fire as he undulated his hips. She felt the muscles of his butt cheeks flex and soften as she pulled him deeper into her, and she heard the guttural response from deep in his chest. He pulled her legs up, folding her knees at her ears pressing down on the backs of her thighs as he fucked her deep. She began to clamp down on him with her internal muscles, her involuntary spasms making him writhe and moan into her ear.

  “Baby, baby,” he whispered.

  “Oh, God, Mark. Oh, God—” but her words were cut off as he sucked at her mouth, consuming the low, guttural scream forced from her breath to his.

  “I want all of you, baby,” he said between kisses. His tongue was demanding, his body hard and wound tight but performing controlled and fluid movements as he claimed her in every way possible.

  His heavy pace ignited a blaze in her belly as she felt on the verge of shattering in his arms. She needed urgently to squeeze his waist with her thighs, hug his torso into her chest, clutch the hard muscles of his buttocks and grip his back, massaging and clutching the muscles she felt underneath her palms. He picked up the pace and, just when she felt like she couldn’t take any more, she fell into a deep rolling orgasm that sent her flying over the waters of the sea.

  Her body rocked, as he responded to hers, as he hurried to join her, plunging deep in several long strokes and matched her pleasure with his own, tensing and pushing, deeply into her core.

  Before he could search her face, before he could wipe the sweat from her forehead and give her that lopsided smile and say something really soft, which she knew he would, before all of that, she realized she wanted him all over again.

  Her addiction to his body was seated, fully positioned, blooming, pounding in her head, her belly and between her legs. She’d never desired someone so completely in her whole life.

  Chapter 13

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  Roberto searched everywhere in the shadows of Deck 5 and realized she’d probably gone back to her cabin. He doubted she’d go with the American to his room, but secretly, in a twisted sort of way, he hoped she had. Then he could get her fired. She’d be his captive until Brazil. He could complain about her to Matheus, who then wouldn’t listen to her protestations about how Roberto had mistreated her. Served her right. He’d lusted for her since before she’d met Matheus. In fact, on a fucked-up twist-of-fate day, Roberto had introduced them and they were soon off like a couple of fuck puppets.

  He’d had to endure the detailed descriptions of how hot she was, how she liked to scream and exactly what else she liked. Matheus must have known how it made his dick lurch when he told these stories. All he could do afterwards was either drink to oblivion, work on himself, or find someone to use immediately. Did he know what a fucking bitch it was to be the Latin Lover’s best friend, when he owned a piece of woman he was incapable of riding hard and long? Matheus was too gentle for the likes of her. She needed pain, and she needed to feel the full dominance Roberto was sure only he could provide.

  He pushed aside two of the darkly made up dancers with the strange instruments, sending one to the floor of the crew deck at zero. He was glad he didn’t understand their Arabic, these Middle Eastern pricks.

  “Yeah? Well your mother fucks pigs, you donkey dick,” Roberto spat in Portuguese at the little troupe.

  The hatred in their faces mattered little. He used it as fuel to stoke the fires of his need to possess, to conquer and, if he was completely honest, destroy. He’d destroy his friendship, all right. But Matheus was from a rich family, and could pay for all the therapy.

  All Roberto could do was get thoroughly lost and fucked, perhaps if he got angry enough, find solace between Matheus’s woman’s thighs, and then run like hell to avoid the police. Revulsion at the thought of living in a cage for the rest of his life kept him from going over the top. Didn’t mean he didn’t fantasize watching her beg for her life, or seeing Matheus watch as he demonstrated how to thoroughly pump a woman senseless. And about how after he’d seen her debased that way, no way would Matheus love her. That’s when Roberto could fuck her good and proper, and hope that it hurt.

  The shouting behind him intensified and he turned just in time to see one of the sand people come at him with a sword. His fluid training in Capoeira, which he’d studied since early childhood in the dirty favelas and back streets of Rio, kicked in immediately, and he focused his need to punish on the little Arab, turning the sword back on the guy and slamming him down on the floor with the blade to his neck.

  He
pressed the silvery blade against the sweaty dark skin of the dancer until a line of red blood appeared.

  “How hard do you want me to push?” he asked as he made sure to back up the question with a wild grin. “Yes, I’m crazy. Do you know how many people I have killed with my bare hands?”

  The Arab was rolling his eyes, trying to find his buddies, who had taken off down the hall screaming, trying to get someone else to intervene.

  Roberto spat to the side.

  Cowards.

  He enjoyed the tiny trickle of blood that found its way to the dirty gray metal floor. He halfway wanted to slice all the way through the guy’s windpipe, feel the crunch of the blade as it shattered his upper cervical vertebrae and severed the head. The expression on the man’s face would remain in death. He’d seen it before.

  But not today, he decided. He threw the sword behind him and almost hit a cook carrying a tray of dishes, which came crashing to the ground. The little Italian’s eyes got wide as he bolted down the hallway as if chasing the bowls rolling and bumping along the floor.

  Roberto picked up his attacker by gripping his shirt and righting his body. He’d peed and shit himself, and Roberto didn’t want anything more to do with his stinky, shivering body. The guy would be ruined, Roberto thought, almost as surely as if he’d been raped in the ass.

  For a second the man didn’t know whether to run for cover, which way to run, or to wait for Roberto’s next move.

  “Boo,” he barked to the Arab. That was all it took for the man to waddle at high speed down the hallway and disappear around a corner.

  Crew had begun to gather. Whispers and pointing didn’t bother Roberto. He searched the faces and didn’t see an officer or the ship’s entertainment director, who was a spineless gay Frenchman who never liked to confront anyone. He already knew Jacques was afraid of him, and probably didn’t care for the Arab dancers he was forced to hire. It was the first time Roberto had ever seen Arab dancers, too, who had been brought on at the behest of one of the junior officers. The Arabs were worse than Chinese when it came to blending into the harmony of the staff.