Under His Command (Six-Alarm Sexy)

by Kristine Cayne

  Releasing her, he raised his head. His eyes were sharp with desire. A shiver shimmied through her.

  “What?” he asked. The husky tone of his voice almost had her melting against him and forgetting all about her need for privacy.

  She pointed to the gap in the curtains. “We should close them all the way.” He blinked as though she’d been speaking Elvish. “People can see us,” she added, feeling like an idiot.

  Jaw tight, he shook his head and carried her to the far side of the room. He yanked the curtain closed. “Okay, now?”

  He hadn’t shouted, but she’d detected the undertone of annoyance. Great. This was what she wanted most in her life, and she was going to ruin the moment because of her prudishness.

  “Perfect.” To get them back on track, she smiled and massaged the base of Jamie’s skull in the way she knew excited him.

  As expected, he closed his eyes and moaned. “That feels so good.”

  She nipped his lips and drank in the sounds of his pleasure. His hands seemed to relax as well, and feeling herself slip, she let out an involuntary squeal. Eyes snapping open, he dug his fingers into her legs to catch her, and hiked her up higher. The suddenness of his actions caught her off-guard. “Oh!” she gasped.

  Immediately, he loosened his grip. “Did I hurt you? I’ll be more careful.”

  “I’m fine,” she murmured against his lips. He spun around and slammed her against the wall. It seemed like a replay of their first night together so many years in the past and of the beginning of their reunion night just a few days ago. She’d hoped Jamie would let her see this assertive side of himself again. And now it was happening. Like the mercury in a thermometer on a hot day, her excitement shot to one hundred in an instant.

  He thrust his hips against hers, and the power of it made her head bounce against the wall.

  “Fuck,” he ground out. His voice was rough, like sand on tender feet. Like a tongue on her engorged clit. She shook and trembled, awaiting his next move. His hand threaded through her hair and delicious little quakes rocketed through her entire body. Was this it? Was he finally going to let himself go?

  Tilting her head, he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. She quivered and throbbed with need. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  What? His soft-spoken question, so out of place, had her reeling. Everything inside her was screaming for him to quit being so damn solicitous, to get the hell on with it.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked again.

  Her patience snapped. “Jamie, please just stop talking.”

  He pulled back and studied her face for a long moment. She tensed, waiting for his response. How he reacted would set the tone for the rest of their honeymoon.

  Her heart started to do a happy dance when he pulled her blouse off and shoved the bra up higher on her chest. Not liking that it impeded his path from her mouth to her breasts, a path she hoped his tongue would take again and again, she let go of his neck and undid her bra, tossing it to the floor.

  He remained silent, although he did shoot her a blistering glare that made her panties even wetter. Would he ever get to that part of her they hid? God she hoped so.

  When she reached for the snap of his shorts, his hand closed on her wrist like a manacle. Shaking his head, he raised her arm and pinned her hand to the wall above her. Her pulse thudded through her veins, drowning out the sound of the waves crashing onshore. Her insides burned with a fire only he could put out.

  His tongue lashed her nipples, circling each one before picking one and latching on, sucking deep. She leaned forward to watch. The sight of her nipple and then part of her breast disappearing between his kiss-roughened lips made the fire roar. She bucked her hips against him, wanting—needing—to feel him inside. Her body cried for him to fill it.

  When he moved to her other breast and bit her nipple, she let out a deep moan. His head jerked, colliding with her chin. “Ow!”

  “Shit. I’m sorry, Rickie,” he said, his eyes filled with concern. “I got carried away and… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Erica wanted to cry. But not in front of him. Jamie wasn’t letting go at all. He’d been listening to her every sound, evaluating her pleasure or displeasure. And getting it all wrong. Had she brought him to a place where he didn’t trust his own instincts anymore?

  This had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have let herself get caught up in the moment, in the place, in Jamie. She should have insisted they talk and sort out their problems before even attempting to have sex again. “Put me down.”

  He brushed her hair off her face. “Rickie, I said I was sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  Anger fled and disappointment took its place. He really didn’t get it. She shook her head and felt as though she were turning to ash inside. “God, Jamie. Stop. I can’t take you treating me like a damn doll anymore.”

  She pushed on his chest until he released her thighs. Sliding down his body, she noticed his erection was gone. A sob rose in her throat as an immense sadness set anchor in her heart. Could they ever get past this?

  As soon as her feet hit the floor, she stumbled over to where her shirt lay, a rumpled rag, and grabbed it. He caught her elbow. “Rickie, stop.”

  She twisted away and thrust her arms into the sleeves of her blouse, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. “I—I need to get some air.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “No. I need some time to think.”

  “I don’t get the doll comment.” His expression stony, he turned and walked up the step to sit on the bed. “Just tell me what I did wrong.”

  “It’s not what you did, Jamie,” she said, her voice breaking like her heart. “It’s what you didn’t do.” With that, she turned and fled from the hero of her dreams, from the star of her nightmares.

  The thin curtain fluttered back into place, and Rickie’s retreating form disappeared from view. Jamie fell back on the bed and closed his eyes, hitting his forehead with his palms.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  He’d done it again. Ruined everything. The bitch of it was, he’d really didn’t get how. It’s not what you did, Jamie. It’s what you didn’t do. What the hell did that even mean? Enough with the riddles, already! Why couldn’t she just tell him plain and simple?

  One thing was sure—he was going to kill Hollywood. She liked it rough, did she? He’d repeated exactly what he’d done on their reunion night when he’d taken her against the wall. Right before she’d run off, she’d been melting in his hands. But something had gone wrong. When she’d made that fucking doll comment, maybe she’d meant a rag doll. Maybe he’d been too rough. Or maybe he just didn’t understand a damn thing about Rickie and what she wanted.

  Pushing off the bed, he grabbed a beer from the mini-bar and popped it open. It wasn’t Redhook, and he hated drinking from a can, but he certainly wasn’t going to get drunk on those frou-frou drinks they served in coconuts with umbrellas. He chugged the can of watery-tasting shit and popped open a second one before dropping onto the couch.

  The curtains shifted and for a moment he thought she’d come back, but it was only a breeze bringing in the salty ocean air. Where had Rickie gone? They were on their honeymoon, in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and they were fighting instead of having blow-your-mind sex. It just wasn’t right. Had she expected more romance? Had he come on too strong, too soon?

  He took another long swig of his beer. Yeah, he probably should have taken Rickie out for a nice dinner and some dancing before bringing her back to the cottage for some mattress mambo. But as soon as their plane had landed, all he’d been able to think about was getting his hands on her lush ass, and sinking his cock into her hot pussy—

  Fuck!

  Just the thought of taking her made him hard as a damn fire axe. Maybe if he took the edge off, he’d have better control of himself, wouldn’t be so damn desperate. Through his cotton shorts, he wrapped his hand around his hard-on and pushed b
ack. He groaned and a shudder shook his body. It felt good. But it wasn’t what he wanted.

  With a snort of disgust, he let go and raised the can of beer to his forehead. If he could get sex off his mind, he might be able to figure out a way to talk to Rickie. His eyes went to the curtain. Had she expected him to go after her? Shit. One more mark against him.

  He stood and started to pace the room, pausing to toe off his sandals. The cool wood felt like heaven on his bare feet. This situation was making him crazy. Even as a teenage boy, he’d never felt this insecure with a female. He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff with tension. Dani was right—he’d changed. Being with Rickie had changed him, and not for the better. The more she’d pushed him away, the more he’d let her. He’d gone against every instinct he had, just to try to make her happy. Some Dom he was.

  He’d done this to himself, and it was up to him to find a fix. But introspection had never been his forte, and the idea of visiting the fire-service shrink made him nauseated. If word got out… He didn’t even want to think about what would happen.

  But there was someone else, someone who knew him better than he knew himself. Reaching back, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Hey, Mom,” he said when she answered on the second ring.

  “Jamie?” She sounded confused, surprised. He hadn’t expected to be calling his mother during the first hours of his honeymoon either.

  “Just wanted you to know we arrived safely. And to check on Chloe.”

  “Ah. Did Erica ask you to call? Is she regretting leaving Chloe with us?”

  “Not at all. In fact, she went for a walk on the beach.”

  Silence.

  “Mom?” He pulled the phone away from his ear to check if they were still connected. They were. “You there?”

  “First, Chloe’s fine, and she’s sleeping. It is past nine here.”

  Shit. His mind was so wrapped up in the fight with Rickie, he’d completely forgotten about the time difference. He glanced at his watch, which he’d set to local time in the plane. Six fifteen. In an hour or so the sun would set. If Rickie wasn’t back by then, he’d go searching for her. “That’s—” he started.

  “And second,” she said, cutting him off. “Why aren’t you on the beach with her?”

  “She… uh….” Like an idiot, he’d walked right into that one. His mother was far too perceptive—and inquisitive—to let his comment slide.

  “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  He started to pace again, and finished off his beer while he did mental gymnastics trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t set off her bullshit detector. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” Yeah, that should do it, dickhead.

  His mother’s amusement came through loud and clear. “You’ve always been too direct to be a good liar, son. But thanks for the entertainment. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  He pushed the curtain aside and secured it with the tasseled rope. Watching the huge waves rolling in, he felt small, petty even. Why couldn’t he and Rickie just talk? After taking a deep breath, he pushed the truth out. “We had a fight.”

  “Already?”

  His chuckle sounded bitter, harsh. So unlike him. “Must be some kind of record, huh? I should call the folks at Guinness. Get into their next book.”

  “Oh, Jamie. I know how much you want things to work out with Erica. What happened?”

  Rubbing the line of pain that reached from his gut to his throat, he stepped out onto the lanai. “That’s just it, Mom. I don’t know. I do something. I think she hates it, so I do something else. She gets mad. I do the first thing again, thinking she’ll be happy. But no. She’s mad. Again.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know the specifics of what you’re talking about.” He could hear the affection and humor in her voice. Caroline Caldwell deserved a nomination to sainthood for having raised four boys and an incredibly contrary girl.

  “Have I changed much since meeting Rickie?”

  Empty air filled the line again.

  He sat on the foot of one of the padded chaise longue. “It’s okay to tell me. I did ask.”

  She sighed. “You’ve matured a great deal. You’ve accepted your responsibilities and settled down. Those are all good things.”

  “Sure, but by your tone, there’s more. Like maybe not all the changes are good ones.”

  “They aren’t.”

  “Talk to me, Mom. I’m a desperate man.”

  “And right there is the problem, isn’t it?”

  Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he raked his free hand through his hair, as a headache began to pound his brain like a boxer in the ring. Everyone seemed to be talking in tongues. Maybe he was having an aneurysm. “I want Rickie to be happy. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “It’s exactly what a husband should want. But why are you so desperate for her happiness, even at the cost of your own?”

  “Because I love her.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “There really isn’t. I love my wife. I want her to be happy. End of story.”

  “Jamie. Lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself. There’s more to it. Think hard.”

  “Because I owe her.” His voice sounded strangled.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.” His mother would have made a great psychiatrist. Or military interrogator. “Why do you owe her?” she asked.

  His mouth slammed shut and his molars ground together. It would take the Jaws of Life to free the words trapped in his throat.

  Seeming to grasp his current inability to speak, she began to fill the silence. “I never mentioned this to you before, even during the divorce, because I didn’t think you wanted to know. Perhaps you weren’t ready to admit it to yourself. But you know what, Jamie? I think you’re ready now, so I’m just going to say my piece. If you want to make things work with Erica—and I believe you do—you need to understand and acknowledge your role in what’s happened. So tell me—what do you owe her?”

  “Everything!” he blurted. “Christ, Mom. I ruined the girl’s life.” His volume had risen to a shout. He shot a furtive glance at the area surrounding the cottage, then headed inside. No need to let all of Oahu in on his problems.

  “Does she feel the same?”

  “Yes.” Had they actually ever discussed it? There’d been so much going on at the time, he wasn’t sure. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

  “In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve never talked about how getting pregnant impacted her life? So you actually don’t know anything.”

  “She had plans, Mom. She was going to be a lawyer. The pregnancy changed all of that. But my life? It continued pretty much according to schedule.”

  “And you feel guilty about that.”

  “I’m not a sociopath. Of course, I do.”

  “Enough to mold yourself into the man you think she wants?”

  He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. “No. Into the man she deserved.” His mother’s sigh hit his heart like a battering ram. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m not pussy-whipped.”

  “I never said you were, dear.”

  If defending yourself against your own accusations meant anything, he was so fucking pussy-whipped. And he’d done it all to himself. Stupid bastard. “How the hell am I supposed to fix this?”

  “Well, you start by introducing yourself to her. Let her get to know the man you really are.”

  “I’m not sure I know who that is anymore.”

  “This might sound harsh, but stop judging yourself by Erica’s standards. Because you obviously have no idea what she’s thinking or what she wants. Do what feels right and good to you. If she likes it or she doesn’t, she’ll tell you. Don’t assume anything.”

  He leaned his head against the wall and groaned. “That’s not going to help. Even when I ask her, I don’t understand the answer. The words are all English, but they don’t make any damn sense.” />
  Her laughter eased some of the pain in his head, some of the ache in his chest. “Erica is a good woman. Listen to what she doesn’t say and you’ll be just fine.”

  Christ. He’d gone and jinxed himself. Why were women so fucking complicated?

  Erica approached the cottage from the side. As she rounded the corner and the lanai came into view, she froze. Her heart gave a hard thump, then contracted painfully.

  Dressed in black shorts and an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt, Jamie sat at one of the deck chairs, a sight to behold. The setting sun sent rays dancing over his golden skin, creating caramel highlights in his mahogany-colored hair. Like a fine wine, her husband had only improved with the passing years. Age and hard physical work had enhanced the edginess in his features: the cut jawline and the sharp blade of his aristocratic nose, a reminder of his British ancestry. The whiteness of his shirt against his tanned skin emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his chest muscles.

  Her gaze flowed down to his flat stomach and ridged abs. Abs that begged to be licked. She swallowed and ran her tongue over her dry lips.

  Legs stretched out before him, he lounged in the deck chair. The position put on display his powerful thighs and calves, the result of vigorous exercise and innumerable trips up and down the practice tower.

  With reluctance, she brought her gaze back up to his face. Dark sunglasses denied her his amazing Caldwell blue eyes, but saved her from his piercing—no doubt, accusing—glare.

  Steeling her resolve, she stepped up onto the lanai. Jamie’s only acknowledgement of her arrival was a slight tightening of his lips. She pulled out a chair across from him and sat on the edge, her hands cradled in her lap. She hadn’t been this nervous around him since that day she’d sought him out, pregnant and alone. He’d had all the power. Had he chosen, he could have turned her away. Many men in his position would have.

  This time, things were different. This time, she had all the power. But only if she grabbed control of the conversation. Inhaling deeply, she filled her lungs to capacity, before slowly releasing her breath. Jamie continued to stare out at the ocean, ignoring her. “Jamie, can we talk?” Okay, not quite the power play she’d envisioned. She tried again. “I mean, we need to talk.” There that was better.