Enemy Zone: Enemies-to-Lovers Standalone Healing-Love Military Romance (Trident Rescue)

by Alex Lidell

  I taste toothpaste and heat and everything that is Cullen Hunt. Feebly, I try again to push him away, only to feel my whole core flame with desire as he turns the kiss hard in retaliation. The demanding, unyielding intensity of the connection becomes some wild, living thing that drives away my better reason.

  Dropping his hand beneath my thighs, Cullen reaches up from below and impertinently grazes the inside of my sex. Bringing out his hand, now thickly coated in my betraying glistening wetness, Cullen lets out a predatory growl.

  I forget to demand answers as to why he’s in here. Forget the objections that have been swirling on an endless loop through my mind these past days. Forget any rebuff or argument I know I’ll fool neither one of us with.

  Whatever magic Cullen Hunt has over my body, it’s started, and I can’t stop the ride. Don’t want to.

  With me seated on the high bench, Cullen fills all of my vision as he looms over me, his calloused hands sliding across my wet stomach and rib cage to fondle my breasts. Teasing my nipples into hard points, Cullen pinches them just to the edge of pain that has me writhing against him, the moisture dripping from my core having nothing to do with the spewing showerhead.

  An uncontainable moan rises through me, only Cullen’s suckling on my tongue keeping the sound from carrying across the entire gym.

  The guys. Shit. Pulling my face away from Cullen’s, I glance frantically at the locker room door. The women’s locker room door.

  “Mmm,” he says, the devious self-satisfaction on his face flickering through the steam. “Better keep your voice down if you don’t want them to hear.”

  Smirking, I reach over to cup his balls in my hand, the thick sac heavy against my hand, the shaft already hard and pulsing. Gripping my wrist, Cullen pulls me away from his vulnerable cock and—grabbing my other wrist into his same palm for good measure—pins my hands above my head. The position exposes my breasts, and I gasp as Cullen crouches before me. His mouth descends to my jaw, my neck, nipping and licking his way down my collarbone and cleavage until it’s my erect nipple that is fully in his mouth, pulling it inside even farther.

  As Cullen draws the flat of his tongue across the sensitive tip, I feel jolts of need shoot from my aching breasts all the way down to my sex. My hips buck, my hands pulling at the restraint that has no give. Somehow, that wrenches the heat inside me another notch and it’s all I can do to stay quiet as Cullen switches his attention to my other breast, the tip of his tongue outlining it in perfect pant-inducing circles.

  Lowering my hands, he places each on his muscled shoulders and grips my chin between his thumb and index finger. “Keep your hands here.” The warning in his raspy tone vibrates deliciously along my nerves. “Or else I’ll make use of mine all over that gorgeous ass.”

  I glower at him, my sex pulsing with need so badly that I can’t think straight. Raising a warning brow at me, Cullen trails his thumb down my rib cage and navel, halting just where my panty line normally sits. He caresses me back and forth in horizontal strokes, so, so close to where I want him. Need him. And yet not deigning to actually go there.

  My toes curl, my hands digging into his shoulders.

  “Cullen,” I warn him.

  He sends me a devious quirk of his lips and backs away.

  I release an indignant noise at his retreat, but the man doesn’t go far. Instead, his palms skid to my inner thighs right above my knees. Without any subtlety at all, he shoves them wide open and dips his head between them.

  I cry out, no longer caring about staying quiet, as he lets his forceful tongue loose all over my folds. It’s a good thing my ass is planted on the high shower bench, or I might slide right down to the floor.

  “Quiet,” Cullen orders, punctuating the command with a tiny bite on the inside of my thigh that nearly has me coming right then and there. My hips buck so intensely that Cullen’s grip on my thighs tightens into immobile iron bands, his overpowering strength demanding that I endure every moment of his teasing.

  I whimper as his long vertical licks become faster and faster, and just as my pleasure starts to zoom upward, he enters me with two fingers. My channel clamps around him in approval, my nails digging into his shoulders mercilessly as my need ratchets up and up and up toward the inevitable climax.

  I realize that he’s stopped licking only when I feel his lips close tightly over my swollen clit. Tightening his hold on me, Cullen gives one quick nibble before sucking with so much pressure that it almost hurts. But then, the edge of pain morphs to blazing pleasure, my orgasm driving me up and up before plummeting me into a mind-blowing abyss.

  Again. And again. The shock waves of pleasure rake through me, Cullen extracting each new wave with the plunge of his finger inside me until my core is cinching down and pulsating. As I slump breathless against the cool tiles, Cullen backs out into the locker room, leaving me aching at his departure.

  Fortunately, he’s not gone for long. When Cullen steps back in a moment later, he already has a condom out of its packaging and is rolling it up his substantial length. Gripping my hips, Cullen lifts me to my feet and props me against the wall of the shower stall. Guiding one of my heavy legs around his waist, the man plunges inside me in one swift motion. Even through the still lingering haze of my climax, I feel myself stretching, widening to accommodate the great length of him inside me.

  With Cullen’s mouth beside my ear, I hear his breathing accelerate into an almost desperate huff. He judders forward into me, thrusting and advancing with powerful strokes that send shock waves of rising pleasure through me.

  Again. Again. Again.

  Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

  My breathing grows ragged, my body rousing despite itself as his pulsing cock hits something deep inside. Looking up into Cullen’s face, I watch the water frame his powerful square jaw, his tense forehead as he meets my gaze head-on. The desire and need flashing in his eyes send a wave of sensation through me that’s as powerful as the one rushing from down below.

  My mouth opens, his descending on it savagely. Deeply. I taste myself on his tongue, feel his groan reverberating through every fiber in my body. His cock gives a final throb inside me as if my body is milking him dry. When he reaches between my legs to brush his thumb over my singing clit, I sink my teeth into his shoulder just to keep from keening as the pleasure takes me.

  We stand like that for a few moments, his muscles trembling while mine melt against him, his cock still in my channel as we recover.

  “Cullen?” Liam’s voice cuts through both the bathroom and my haze.

  I freeze, my hands tightening on Cullen’s shoulders.

  Cullen tips his head back. “Yeah?” he calls without a care in the world.

  “Need to show you something,” Liam yells back.

  “In a minute.”

  Running his thumb along my cheekbone, Cullen opens his mouth as if to say something, but then steps away without speaking. Still mute, he pulls me back under the spray, soaping me up and rinsing off the soap bubbles with typical Cullen-like intensity. Settling me back on the bench, he disposes of the condom and begins to take care of his own shower.

  I know I should leave. Should hurry to towel off and get decent, but I don’t. Instead, I sit and watch mesmerized as streams of soap run along the grooves of Cullen’s chiseled form, the tattoos shifting as the muscles flex beneath glistening wet skin.

  I think I should say something. But I don’t do that either. And neither does he.

  28

  Cullen

  Cullen knifed up in his bed, the movement violent enough to send both his king-size pillows careening to the floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his chest feeling as if a vise was cinching tighter around it with every rapid breath. Flinging his legs over the side of his mattress, he gulped down air and attempted to swallow. He had to struggle to do it, and the motion alerted him to the rawness of his throat.

  Despite knowing exactly what he’d find, Cullen pressed his fingers against the radial pulse a
nd glanced at the clock to count the beats. Yeah. Pounding away at one eighty. He had to calm down. Forcing himself to slow his inhales, he focused on the here and now. An empty room. A blank wall. A tick-tock tick-tock of the wall clock. The clean smell of soap wafting from the sheets. A few minutes later, his breathing began to even out, but the feelings of panic and uneasiness remained. He rubbed his breastbone and closed his eyes, only to peel his eyelids right back open again.

  Shutting his eyes only made the nightmare images flash in exaggerated technicolor, and even though they’d been mere flickers, they still left him feeling nauseated.

  Good fucking morning.

  Cullen glanced up for long enough to register that the sun had started to rise, sliding into his room through the slight parting in his curtains. His alarm clock showed that he had at least two hours before he’d need to be in the office, though. Thank God. He stood, feeling vaguely headachy, and headed into his attached bathroom.

  Grabbing the plastic cup he used to wash out his mouth after brushing his teeth, he filled it to the brim with cold water and guzzled it down. Then, he did it again, feeling parched. Fuck. He almost felt like he was coming down with something, but he doubted he was so lucky. No, this was just a side effect of waking from a bad dream, something he’d done many, many times.

  Too many times to count, really.

  Yet, recently, he’d had more than his fair share—as if his mind was making up for the interlude it had taken during the two nights Skylar had shared his bed. His cock twitched as he recalled the different side of Sky he’d taken in the shower three days ago, the way the streams of water slipped around her luscious breasts while her sex clenched with pleasure.

  Damn it, apparently it was possible to have a panic attack and an erection at the same bloody time.

  Doing his best to clear the mud and other things from his brain, Cullen thought back to last night. Did he forget to take his prazosin? It’d become such an automatic habit of his that he had to think hard to recall whether he’d stopped to knock back the pill or not. But he’d gotten a fresh cup from his kitchen last night—the small clear cup he held right now—so he knew he had. He always took his meds.

  It was disconcerting to think he might be backsliding. Maybe he needed to get with the doc and look at the dosage again, even if it meant enduring another lecture about shoulder surgery. Prazosin never got rid of his nightmares completely, but the past week was the worst he’d had since getting back stateside. And tonight’s… Jesus. There’d been the usual bright explosion followed by acrid choking smoke. Shrieks of pain and fear. Lots of blood. A child no longer breathing. Bar had been there, as he often was. Yet this time, Sky had been there too, yanking a little girl from his arms. Yelling that it was all his fault. That he’d killed them. And then she was the one dying.

  Which was impossible. That hadn’t been how things had gone down at all, but in his unconscious state…

  Goddammit.

  His heart rate, which had been starting to slow, was pounding too fast again. Dropping his head into his hands, Cullen forced himself to take more deep breaths. Why wasn’t he calming down? Concluding that a cold shower might help, he hopped under the punishing ice-cold spray, his gaze catching a golden bottle of shampoo that certainly wasn’t his. He must have grabbed it from the shower at Liam’s place by accident.

  Without thinking through what he was doing, Cullen seized the bottle and flipped open the cap, taking a whiff. Passionflower filled his senses. He knew it was passionflower specifically because it said it there on the side of the bottle. It was funny. He didn’t even know what a passionflower was, yet the fragrance suited Sky so well. As did its name. He’d never known any woman as passionate as Skylar Reynolds. And those times she’d shared his bed, he’d awoken peacefully.

  Maybe she’d be a better cure for his PTSD than his prescription drugs. He’d certainly never told anyone else about the content of his nightmares. But when Sky asked, it seemed…right. Safe. And it could never happen again. Afghanistan was Cullen’s burden to carry, not hers. His father had been right—Cullen dragged violence and destruction with him wherever he stepped. The least he owed Sky was to not expose her to it.

  So long as they both enjoyed it, occasional sex was the most he could allow himself. Fortunately, Sky seemed to be of the same mind. At least her body certainly was.

  Turning off the shower nozzle, Cullen wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the shower just as his phone rang. Snatching the thing from where he’d left it between the two sinks of his vanity, Cullen hit Answer without bothering to look at the caller. “Hunt.”

  “Cullen?” Catherine. Shit. “Is something wrong?”

  He should ask the same question of her—if she was calling before he even arrived, that didn’t bode well—but he didn’t know if he could do it just then without biting his assistant’s head off. “What is it, Catherine?” Still too snappish. Dammit.

  “I’m afraid I need to take a personal day. I have a family emergency.”

  “What happened?” he asked, finally sounding more human. “What can I do?”

  “You can calm down, for starters,” Catherine said sternly. Apparently Cullen hadn’t quite schooled his tone as well as he thought. “It’s a normal people emergency, not world war three. My daughter is ill and I need to take the grandkids today. I know we’re behind—”

  “Take all the time off you need,” Cullen said. He’d cut her off, but at least he no longer sounded like some pissed-off hothead. Catherine was the most dependable employee on the planet, and the last thing she needed was his problems.

  “Thank you,” she said. There was a pause, and he braced himself for her to inquire about his shitty attitude. But thankfully, she didn’t. “Hopefully, it’ll just be for today.”

  “You take as much time as you want, Catherine.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to say something more lest the woman made herself sick trying to be in two places at once. “In fact, call Skylar Reynolds. She’s a quick enough study and may be willing to cover.”

  “Thank you, Cullen,” she said again before disconnecting, her voice infused with more gratitude than he deserved for just doing the right thing.

  Tossing the phone back onto the vanity, he reached for his towel, only to have the damn electronic contraption start up again. This time, he had enough sense to check the screen before hitting the answer button. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got something you want to see,” said Liam.

  “I highly doubt it.”

  “It’s about Reynolds.” Liam paused. “I got her background file back.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Cullen strode past the bustling reception area toward the elevator, barely saying hello to Rachel before heading into his office.

  Liam was already waiting. Seeing Cullen, the former SEAL swung his legs down from where he had them atop Cullen’s desk and stood, the leather portfolio in his hand looking ominous.

  “Are you about to tell me our little dispatcher is wanted for murder somewhere?” Cullen demanded, taking his seat, the chair reclining slightly beneath the force.

  “No. But I will tell you to be careful.” Opening the portfolio, Liam spread several sheets over the desk, his finger tapping against the first one. “Skylar Deanna Reynolds, daughter of Grace Reynolds and Sergeant Patton Reynolds, US Marine Corps. Father’s military record is sealed, but Lucy, one of my data miners—”

  “Your hacker, you mean.”

  Liam lifted one shoulder. “Eh, potato potahto. Anyway, he lost his shit on some civilians overseas and should have been dishonorably discharged, but the corps ended up sweeping it under the rug and basically sent him quietly home.”

  Cullen’s jaw tightened. “I take it he packed the violence with him?”

  “So far as I can tell, she was in every emergency room within a seventy-five-mile radius from her place as a kid. They rotated to try not to go to the same place too many times in a row. The bastard eventually died, but then she h
ooked up with another asshole who wasn’t too unlike Daddy. Jaden Something.”

  “By hooked up, you mean—”

  “That she’s engaged, yes. Or was. Until just a few months ago.”

  Engaged. Cullen tried and failed to feel nothing at that word. Sky had never mentioned being engaged. Not that she owed him an explanation of anything since they weren’t even together but…well, it seemed like the kind of thing that might come up.

  Unless it was being hidden on purpose.

  Cullen tapped a finger on his desk, pulling himself together enough to work through what Liam was saying. An unstable ex-military father. A similar fiancé. “So you’re telling me she has a thing for violent military assholes like me.”

  Liam’s eyes flashed. “Not like you, Hunt.”

  Yeah.

  “Anyway, that’s not what actually has me worried. It’s what finally happened at the Manhattan Post, where she and Jaden were working. She’s there for about a year, new and hungry for a break. And then Fleet Week comes, and she decides that maybe the military owes her for all the trouble. So she gets into a private event at one of the dives, claims some marines assaulted and attempted to rape her, and writes the kind of exposé that would be front-page news and get Fleet Week banned all in one go. Except she gets caught and fired instead. Becomes a persona non grata in journalism. Hence—”

  “Hence her working for Denton Uncovered.” Cullen shook his head. Bullshit. It had to be bullshit. Skylar was tenacious and smart and too damn stubborn and reckless for her own good, but she didn’t use people for her own gain, and she certainly wouldn’t invent a crime. “If she claimed someone tried to assault and rape her, I fucking believe her. In fact, I’m not sure I like you even implying otherwise.”

  “Cool the hell off, asshole,” Liam snapped. “You want someone to tell you what you want to hear, get a whore. All I have are facts. I don’t know what happened, but I know that instead of going to the police with her allegations, she went straight to the editor, nearly destroying four careers of boys with impeccable records. This is what it all looked like.”