Under the Covers

by Roz Lee

  Her knees went weak and the wet between her legs had little to do with the shower. She groaned and leaned her forehead against the cold tile, letting the hot water beat against her nape and waterfall down her back. She snapped out of her lust-induced lethargy when an arm snaked around her waist from behind. Reacting on instinct and years of self-defense training, she responded to the threat. She went limp, became a dead weight against the arm imprisoning her, and in the same instant she channeled all her energy into her right arm. Her elbow connected with a solid thunk, and her attacker fell back.

  Adrenaline shot through her as she spun to face the intruder, ready to do anything in order to survive. It took a second for the muttered curses to register, and less than that for her to recognize the man doubled over, one hand supporting him on the counter behind his naked ass, the other rubbing his ribcage where her elbow had connected.

  "God damn, woman! What did you do that for?"

  Suddenly self-conscious, she shut off the water and grabbed for a towel. Drew. "I'm, uhm…." She searched for the right word. "Sorry?" It would have to do. She wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the shower. "You shouldn't sneak up on a woman like that! Did I hurt you?"

  His face contorted in pain as he straightened to his full height.

  Chapter Eight

  "Yes, you did. Are you happy now? I'm going to have a hell of a bruise in a few minutes."

  Bree swept her wet hair away from her face and reminded herself whose fault this was. "Well." She huffed out a breath. "I'm not sorry. Not really. What the hell did you think you were doing? I could have killed you!"

  Drew reached for her, and in less time than it took to blink, he'd discarded her terry cloth armor and pulled her hard against him. "I doubt that, but it would be nice to see you try." His tongue captured a drop of water trailing down her neck. "Want to give it a try, darlin'?" He swept her hair from her left shoulder to her back and repeated the tongue maneuver on that side. "Umm. You taste good. Like a muffin right out of the oven, all hot and moist."

  Shit. Every nasty thing she'd ever thought about him flew right out of her head, replaced by thoughts of doing nasty things with him. What kind of defense could a woman have against being compared to baked goods? None, especially when every thought in her head involved this man and chocolate, or rather this man covered in chocolate.

  "I could eat you right up," he purred as his lips and tongue emphasized his desire to do just that. One hand at the small of her back held her steady while the other found the heat between her legs. He parted her swollen folds with deft fingers, and like a heat-seeking missile, his middle finger went straight for her most vulnerable spot. "Ah, yes. I should have known your muffin would come with its own honey."

  Her knees gave out then. Drew took her weight easily, supporting her entirely with the one hand on her back. Her head lolled as if her neck were made of rubber.

  She arched over his hand, thrusting her pebbled nipples toward his mouth, silently willing him to shut up and taste her. Talented fingers coaxed honey from her secret stash as his mouth worked its way south. "Sweet. Tart. Have I ever told you how much I love lemon cake?"

  His fingers delved deep, once, twice, then left her honey pot to spread the sticky confection on one nipple. She was limp as a ragdoll, lost in the way he made her feel, hot, sexy and feminine. She didn't need sight to know her nipple and puckered areola glistened with her juices, and that Drew couldn't take his eyes off his creation. "I've got to taste you. Christ, you're manna to a starving man."

  Thank God. She was going to die if she had to wait a minute longer.

  His lips captured her breast, devoured it, devoured her. Masculine sounds of satisfaction vibrated from his gut to her breast. Her hands, limp at her side, came up to bracket his face, to hold him to her so he'd never stop what he was doing. His teeth grazed, then bit her nipple and she cried out, her voice echoing in the small, tiled room. Despite her grip, he pulled away.

  "Now, the other one." Hot fingers swept into her again and came back to coat her other nipple with heated nectar. His tongue swept over the crested peak, sending a lightning bolt straight to her core. Honey flowed hot between her legs as he pulled her nipple into his mouth, consuming her will and igniting a firestorm of lust.

  She dragged her head up and caught her reflection in the mirror above Drew's hunched shoulders. Wild. Drugged with need and lust. She clung to Drew, fusing him to her breast, but it wasn't enough. She had to touch him. She had to have him. Now. Inside her.

  She reached between them and found him hard, hot and ready. "Please," she begged as she closed her fist around his already sheathed cock. He'd come prepared to take her in the shower!

  Without breaking contact with her breast, his hands cupped her ass and lifted her feet off the floor. Cold tile pressed against her back and she wrapped her legs around Drew's waist, positioning him at her entrance. He lowered her and flexed his hips at the same time, driving his cock balls deep with one smooth, powerful stroke.

  "Got to have you. All of you." He'd finally released her breast to focus on fucking her. Bree couldn't have been happier. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his neck.

  He tasted salty and his scent, a combination of sunshine, sweat and man, drove into her as relentlessly as his cock. His hands flexed on her ass, controlling her body, positioning her to take all of him. Every upward thrust brought him deeper, it seemed, and a step closer to breaching every barrier she'd put up to protect her heart. None of that mattered right then. All that mattered was her primitive need to give herself to this man and an equal need to possess him in every way possible. She clawed at his shoulders, dug her heels into the small of his back, and when her body began to spiral upward and out of control, she sank her teeth into his neck and held on to the solid anchor his body provided.

  ****

  Drew rubbed the new bite mark on his neck. Hell and damnation. If wanting Bree didn't kill him, having her probably would.

  God-damned vampire. That's what she was. Maybe she wasn't sucking his blood, but she was sucking his sanity right out through his little brain.

  He'd meant to have some slow, soapy, slippery shower sex. Instead, he had bruised ribs, claw marks on his shoulders and dental impressions on his neck. Nothing short of a turtleneck would cover the damage, and there wasn't one of those within a thousand miles. He craned his neck to see the scratches on his back in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He'd need to tend those soon. As soon as Bree got out of the shower, he'd take his turn. The scratches weren't too deep, so a little soap and hot water ought to do the trick.

  She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and still looking like she'd been thoroughly fucked. She'd towel dried her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. Red marks on her chest and the sides of her neck indicated a recent brush with his five o'clock shadow. He knew her nipples would be red from his attentions. He hadn't been gentle with her, and for once, that didn't bother him in the least. He brushed past her, and as he turned to pull the door closed, caught a glimpse of her ass as she bent to pick a pair of panties from the drawer. There, in Technicolor, were perfect impressions of his fingers where he'd grabbed those soft globes and held her for the fucking she'd deserved.

  He smiled to himself as he closed the door. He should feel guilty about marking her, but he couldn't find a trace of that emotion in regards to what he'd done. In fact, he liked seeing his marks on her, knowing he'd put them there in the throes of passion. He'd never raised his hand against a woman, and he never would. But leaving his mark on her so she'd see it and remember he'd done that to her and that he'd marked her as his? Well, that damn well turned him on.

  Drew cranked the water on and stepped under the cold spray. For once, she'd gotten as much as she'd given. It damned sure wasn't going to be the last time, either. He had plans for Bree Stanton. If he had his way about it, she'd wear his mark for the rest of her life.

  How he was goi
ng to convince her of that was something he hadn't worked out. Yet.

  ****

  Triton was one of the most exclusive restaurants on the ship, and its décor reflected its status. If the sea god had a lair, Bree imagined this is what it would look like. Colorful fish swimming in the floor-to-ceiling aquariums comprised three walls, creating the illusion of being underwater. A film of water cascaded down the fourth wall, a sheet of glass that looked out onto the mortal world. Her feet sank in the sand-colored carpet as the Maitre d' led them to a table, partially secluded by shimmering kelp that rose from the floor and swayed with imaginary ocean waves.

  She'd been expecting dinner in Zeus's Temple, the main dining room, but this would more than do. Triton's chef was said to be one of the best in the world, lured to the Lothario by a generous salary and the promise of abundant women in his free time.

  Bree took a moment to appreciate the opulent surroundings. She was glad she'd chosen to wear the satin evening sarong, even if it did cover less than the cotton daytime versions. The table was set with delicate china and crystal. The gold flatware shone bright against the blue watered-silk tablecloth. Music hummed in the background, just loud enough to keep conversations discreet without diners having to shout over it. Bree imagined even a sea-hag would look stunning in the subtle lighting. A waiter in a full tuxedo handed her a menu, then melted into the shadows without a sound.

  "This is lovely. You didn't have to bring me here."

  Drew looked genuinely surprised. "I asked you to dinner." A simple declaration, as if that explained everything.

  "I meant we could have eaten somewhere less expensive." There were several restaurants onboard that weren't included in the all-expenses paid ticket price. Triton was the most expensive of them, even for the crew who, like everyone else, had to pay when they ate at the premium restaurants onboard.

  "Don't worry. I can afford it." He sounded peeved that she'd question his ability to provide. Typical macho caveman reaction, she supposed. She hadn't come here to argue. That would probably come later. All she wanted to do was enjoy the meal, and maybe have some civilized conversation with Drew, something they'd never managed before.

  "I didn't mean to insult you. I just meant I would have been happy with a lot less."

  Their waiter glided back to the table, and Drew waved him off again. She peeked over the top of her menu to see Drew's jaw clenched tight and his gaze drilling a hole through her skull.

  "You shouldn't have to settle for less," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't sell yourself short." He waved the waiter back and without consulting her, ordered for both of them. "I hope you don't mind. I've eaten here plenty of times. I know what's good."

  She did mind, but he'd ordered what she was going to order for herself, so there wasn't any real reason to be upset. What fascinated her was his admission.

  "No problem. Look, Drew. Don't take this the wrong way, but how can you afford to come here so often? I know that when the ladies menu doesn't have any prices, the place is really expensive."

  He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the tabletop, flipping his salad fork over and over, studying the movement as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He looked at home in these surroundings, just as he did in scuba equipment, or when subduing kidnappers with an automatic weapon in one hand and a knife in the other. There was plenty she didn't know about Drew. She didn't think he was going to answer, so when he spoke, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  "I have money. Or I should say, my family has money."

  "Huh." What was she supposed to say to that? The closest she'd ever been to having money was when she received the full academic scholarship to college.

  "My mother comes from old Southern money."

  Must be nice. "What about your dad?"

  "He's retired Navy."

  Bree stared at Drew. His face was impassive, but she knew he was hiding something. She mulled it over. Navy. Whitcomb. "Oh my gosh! You're dad's not…?"

  "Admiral Andrew Jackson Whitcomb the Third. Yeah, that's my old man."

  Bree sank against the padded chair back. Holy smoke. Everyone in Washington, D.C. knew Admiral Whitcomb and his Southern socialite wife. Their parties were written up in all the papers and talked about in offices all over the District. "That makes you…?"

  "A screw-up," he offered.

  He couldn't be serious, but the expression on his face said he was. "I was going to say, Andrew Jackson the Fourth."

  "I'm that, too. I did what was expected of me, went to Annapolis just like all the Whitcomb men for the last hundred years or so, but I'm not cut out for the political side of the Navy. Dad almost had heart failure when I went into SEAL training instead of playing the promotion game. Then, when I went over to the DIA, I think he would have disowned me if he could have done so. Fortunately for me, I'd already come into the trust funds my grandparents set up for me when I was a kid."

  "Funds? As in more than one?"

  "Yeah, more than one." He sat up, crossed his forearms on the edge of the table, and leaned into them. "What about you?"

  Bree wanted to crawl under the table and disappear rather than tell him about herself. "Not much to tell."

  "Oh, come on. There's got to be something. I told you my deep dark secret, so now you have to tell me yours."

  "I don't have any secrets." That wasn't strictly true, but she wasn't about to tell Drew anything, especially now.

  "Then tell me something that isn't a secret." His eyes twinkled and a wicked grin split his face. "Help me out here. I just confessed, and I'm dyin'."

  No way was she telling Drew how she'd grown up living one day to the next, their meals dependent on whether her mother could keep her job long enough to collect a paycheck. All things considered, she and her younger sister Kayla had done all right for themselves, but she wasn't going to get into that with Drew. Not in this kind of restaurant, the kind her mother could never have gotten a waitressing job at, much less eaten at. Bree did the only thing she could. She changed the subject.

  "Okay, I'll tell you something that's not a secret." She leaned in, crooking her finger to signal Drew to come closer. "I'm going to have you for dessert." Drew's eyes grew dark, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He wasn't thinking about his family, or hers. Not anymore, and that was a good thing.

  "I'm going to taste every last bit of you." She ran her tongue over the curve of her top lip, then reached for her wine glass and sat back. Drew remained hunched over the table, staring at her with a blank, glazed look. A sense of power and not a little feminine satisfaction washed over her.

  The waiter setting their plates on the table snapped Drew back to reality. Bree smiled to herself as Drew attacked his food as if someone might take it from him any minute.

  She took her time, savoring every morsel for the enjoyment of the exquisite meal, and also to torture Drew. He'd cleaned his plate and sat back, once again eyeing her as if she had morphed into an alien bent on abducting him. Bree leisurely cut a morsel of chicken and brought it to her mouth. She placed it on her tongue and closed her lips over the tines of the fork. A groan came from the other side of the table as she slid the fork from her mouth and savored the tender chicken. She swallowed and flicked her tongue out to capture an imaginary bit of flavor from the corner of her mouth.

  "Christ. If you keep that up, I'm going to die right here."

  "Keep what up?"

  "Don't pretend you aren't doing that on purpose." He shifted in his seat, one hand beneath the tablecloth. "I'm in pain. Finish your meal, and let's get the hell out of here."

  She folded her napkin and placed it on the table. "I'm finished. I've arranged for dessert to be delivered to our cabin." Drew's eyes blazed hot, and determination lined his clenched jaw.

  "I'll see that you get dessert."

  "No. Tonight it's my way, or not at all."

  A muscle twitched in his temple. "What way is that? Exactly."

  If she thought
for a second Drew would hurt her, she would have been concerned about the way he'd said those few words. But Drew wouldn't hurt her. Ever. At least not physically. She was all too aware that he alone had the power to break her heart, because she'd long ago given it to him. When she left, she'd leave it behind. With a man who didn't want it, didn't want anything but her body. That worked both ways, the body part at least. She wanted his, and he was going to give it to her. He might not be happy about it, but he'd like it. She was sure of that.

  "I said I'd bring the handcuffs. I did. Tonight, you're mine."

  He raised one eyebrow and his lips twitched in…amusement? "What if I don't want to be yours?"

  "Oh, you do. Right now you're hard as a post, and your balls are turning blue. You've been staring at me like I'm an alien, and I'm inclined to indulge you in your little fantasy."

  "What fantasy is that?"

  Bree leaned over the table and crooked her finger at him. He leaned in and she whispered, "The one where you're my prisoner, and I take advantage of you. The one where your cock is mine to do with as I please. The one where I give you hell, then take you to heaven."

  "You think this is my fantasy?" He growled.

  "I know it is. You're a generous lover. You give your partners what you think they want, when you want more. You want a woman to give you what you want. I'm that woman."

  "What do you think I want?" His voice was steadier now.