[When SEALs Come Home 04] - Heated

by Anne Marsh

  “You got it.” He was pretty certain his voice was rough. Hoarse, because she tied him up in knots although she didn’t seem to mind.

  He popped open the buttons on his jeans breaking the record for speed. Her soft laugh said she’d spotted his urgency, but it was a happy sound, like she felt good because he needed this, needed her. Mercy didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Fortunately for him, he’d gone commando because a trip into town didn’t require dressing up and he’d thrown on the first things he’d found. She helped him tug the jeans down.

  “You sure about this?” He didn’t want her to feel like she had to do this for him.

  “Try to stop me.” She dropped down between his knees, watching him. Her face, tilted toward his, was all smiles. He gently tugged her ponytail free, spilling her hair around her shoulders. She was fully dressed—a condition he wanted desperately to remedy—in a fragile tank top beneath a bulky cardigan, worn blue jeans, and sweet Jesus...

  “Have I told you how much I like your boots?” And he really, really liked the three-inch heels.

  She flashed him a smile. “I borrowed them from Katie. They’re her dominatrix boots.”

  And... ooookay. Now he’d definitely like to see her with just the boots on, her legs wrapped around his back. When he told her so, however, she shook her head.

  “Then you wouldn’t be able to see the boots,” she pointed out. “And there goes your fantasy.”

  But he’d feel them, every inch.

  As she watched him, so intently he half expected her to take notes, he slapped his hand around the base of his dick. He was already hard, which seemed to be his constant state around Mercy, so no worries there. He stroked upward roughly, quickly. Dragged his palm back down again.

  She bit her lip, leaned in for a better view. Fuck. Instead of feeling awkward, he felt sexy, and how weird was that?

  “That doesn’t hurt?” Her eyes followed his palm on its next upward trip.

  He let out a low groan, and she bit her lower lip, grinning. “I guess not. My turn.”

  Yes, please.

  He tried to keep his eagerness to himself, to play it cool, but when she wrapped her hands around his shaft, nudging his out of the way, he groaned again. He didn’t normally like to sit back and let his woman make love to him, but for Mercy... yeah, he had no problem letting her take what she wanted.

  “Have I mentioned how much I like ice cream?” Laughter lit her eyes. Better yet, when she exhaled, he felt her breath on every hot, needy inch of his dick.

  “You like ice cream?” Jesus. He hoped she wasn’t grading him on his witty repartee, because all he could think about was her palm and the way she was slowly tugging it up and over him in a sweet, torturous glide.

  “Yes. And you look like my favorite flavor.”

  Yeah. Ice cream now topped his own personal shopping list. Better yet, she leaned forward and licked him like a goddamned ice cream cone, tasting him in small, wicked licks. When she reached the tip of him, she swirled her tongue around his shaft like she was trying to capture every last drop.

  His head hit the back of the couch, his hands fisting her hair. Oh, yeah. Her hands followed her mouth, covering him. Up, then down, then back up again, her tongue covering him with sweet strokes that drove him crazy. Long minutes later, he tugged carefully on her hair. Not that he wanted her to stop, but he could be a gentleman about this.

  “Honey, if you don’t stop now...” He’d be coming in her mouth and he definitely needed to hear that was okay. “I’m going to—”

  “It’s okay,” she said and nibbled on him some more. His eyes flew closed. He’d wanted to watch her do this, the visual erotic as hell, but the way she made him feel was too intense.

  Holy. Wow. Her mouth squeezed his tip, and she sucked hard and he shot over the edge, pumping into her mouth over and over with a low groan. When his dick stopped scrambling his brain and the shudders subsided some, he cracked an eye. Had he grossed her out? He pulled out, and—Jesus—she swallowed. Then smiled at him, all big eyes and a knowing grin.

  “You definitely liked that,” she said.

  “Captain Obvious.” Leaning forward, he cupped her face in his hands, dragging his thumb over his mouth. He’d been there. She’d let him... Yeah. He was so not done with her.

  He flipped their positions on the couch, ignoring her squeak of surprise, and reached for the button on her jeans. “Your turn.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ummmm...”

  That wasn’t a no, so he unbuttoned and unzipped, tugging her jeans down her thighs to her ankles. Her panties were a pretty surprise, bright yellow lace like a daisy. He dragged a thumb down the center, and her breath caught.

  “I’m going to taste you here. Last chance to change my mind.”

  Her eyes darkened and she shifted. “Joey.”

  “That’s not a no.” He could kiss her through her panties, but tasting her topped his wish list, so the lacy scrap needed to go. Hooking his thumbs in the little ribbons crisscrossing her hips, he slid them down to her knees.

  “I don’t know if I can,” she told him. “I’m not—”

  He made a mental note to kill whatever guy had taught her that she had to be quick. Had to make it fast. There was no time limit on her pleasure. Ever. Mr. Speed Demon High School Sweetheart needed a lesson. Or six.

  “The boots stay on,” he growled. “And you take as long as you need, honey.” Fuck sounding suave or giving her pretty words. What he wanted to give her right now was an orgasm to match the one she’d given him. It was going to be awkward, though, with those boots on. Fine. He’d work around it. A man had to sacrifice something to make his fantasies come true.

  He pressed her thighs open, drinking her in.

  “Oh.” A quiet sigh. Her thighs fell apart a little wider as he dragged his thumbs up, loving the feel of her. Soft on the surface but muscled underneath, toned. She had runner’s legs, and he was a lucky, lucky man.

  He leaned in. God, she was gorgeous. Absolutely perfect. He kissed her folds, sliding his tongue over the slick, sweet skin. He knew the minute she let go of all that careful control, the moment she stopped worrying about whether or not she was doing this right. She arched into him, and he pulled her closer still, sliding his hands under her butt to steady her. The only falling she did tonight was for him.

  “Joey—” His name again, but not a question. A demand. One hell of a sexy, rough, erotic demand.

  And he gave her what she wanted. He kissed and he licked, learning each intimate inch of her body. Swirled his tongue around her swollen clit, sucked her gently and then, when she started to pant, not so gently.

  At some point, she toed off the boots. He helped her out with a tug of her pants and then her heels were digging hard into his back, urging him on. Yeah, she liked what he was doing just fine. So he did it again. And then again.

  When she finally came—and she did take half of forever, not that he minded because he would willingly have kissed her for hours more—she came silently, hand pressed against the back of her mouth like she was holding back the sounds. Another time, he’d like to hear her. Like to know he’d undone her the way she’d undone him.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, sleepy and sinking into his couch like she had roots growing out of her butt. He could feel himself grinning like the village idiot, but he’d done this. Pleasured her so hard she was done and packing it in for the night. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close so her head was cradled on his chest. Minutes later, hours, half a century—fuck if he knew—she stirred and pushed to her feet. He figured she had to take a pee break so he let go.

  She hesitated and then gave another big yawn. “Good night.”

  Whoa. That was it? She blew him, he returned the favor, and then she walked out the door? “What was that?”

  She gave him a nervous grin. “If you have to ask, I didn’t do it right. You’ll notice I’m not questioning you.”

  Because he wasn’t the one walking awa
y. She reached for her bag, however, grabbing her things. Her pants and her boots. He wanted to grab her, carry her into the bedroom and love her six ways to Sunday. Especially when things had been so good, why did she need to leave?

  “We don’t have to do anything else,” he said quickly. “But I’ve got a bed. Three of them in fact. You could have your pick.”

  She snorted and bent over, swiping her panties from the floor. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”

  He jackknifed off the couch and went after her. Braced a palm on the wall by her head. “I definitely want to have sex with you, but I’m not in any rush.”

  Wait. That sounded bad.

  Apparently she thought so too, because she slapped her palms on his stomach and pushed. Hard. “Thanks for the compliment, ego boy.”

  “You were amazing,” he said quietly, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m going to be dreaming about you tonight, okay? I’m just getting the sense now that you’re tired or not ready to take this any further or, hell, I pissed you off and you can’t wait to get out of Dodge. Take your pick. Help me out here.”

  He’d take any lifeline she wanted to offer.

  Instead, she sighed and yawned again. “I was okay?”

  “Fantastic,” he said firmly. “I’ll write you a goddamned poem if you promise to stay.”

  “You write poetry?”

  “I have fridge magnets,” he admitted. “And the Internet. Between the two, I’ll manage.”

  “It doesn’t count if you plagiarize.” Now she sounded amused.

  “And yet it counts if I buy you a card and sign my name?”

  “That’s different,” she argued. “Are you planning on choosing a card for me?”

  “Will you stay if I do?”

  He sounded like a pathetic loser. He’d felt confident about tonight, but now... hell, now he had no idea. She’d brought his fantasies to life, and then she’d pulled the plug before he got a chance to really return the favor. What kind of man did that make him, letting her do all the heavy lifting, so to speak? Hell, kissing her on the couch had been as much for him as it had been for her, because he’d had to taste her or go crazy.

  “I don’t have a ride.” She set her bag down. Hallelujah. “I was going to ask you to take me back. Or call Laura Jo.” She made a face. “Which would totally negate the purpose of having dinner here and keeping our stuff on the down low. She’s a one-woman news service.”

  Great. He was the taxi service or the grist for the gossip mill. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “Spend the night with me,” he said. Even if he was just her booty call, her quick sex hookup, she could still sleep with him. He didn’t want her to leave. He wasn’t that kind of guy, no matter what she thought of him. They had a relationship, and they were dating, even if she didn’t want to admit it to the rest of the world. It was enough if she admitted it to him.

  She blinked up at him. She didn’t look like she really wanted to go anywhere, so he scooped her up in his arms. “I’ll even carry you,” he promised.

  “Okay,” she breathed, already half-asleep again. Thank God she hadn’t planned on driving. He headed for the bedroom. Being wrapped around Mercy seemed fucking perfect.

  7

  “You got a minute?” Sheriff John Tegan paused by her desk. It sure didn’t sound like he was inviting her for a coffee. The man wore an expression as serious as his ironed-to-a-tee uniform. He also didn’t appear interested in sticking around—after dropping his bombshell, he headed straight for his office.

  Mercy weighed the joys of paperwork against the joys of a heart-to-heart with her boss. Unfortunately, neither was optional. To fortify herself, she snuck another peek at her phone. Joey had texted her a picture shortly after she’d arrived at work. True to his word, he’d produced a poem. She hadn’t planned on holding him to last night’s promise, but he’d cut letters out of a newspaper and arranged them on what looked suspiciously like his kitchen table. The words weren’t his, but Robert Frost’s.

  “Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.” A little squiggly drawing of a stick man aimed something at a raging fire. She decided to assume it was a fire extinguisher, although, knowing Joey’s sense of humor, it could have been more... personal.

  “Sure,” she said to herself. Tegan disappeared into his office, and she stood up and followed him, mentally running over her last week. She hadn’t screwed anything up as far as she knew, and there hadn’t been any unusual calls or activity.

  He motioned for her to shut the door behind her, which confirmed her impression that she wasn’t going to enjoy the coming conversation. “Have a seat.”

  She sat. Keep calm. Play it cool.

  Her boss dropped into the chair behind his desk and fidgeted with a stack of paper. Unlike hers, his desk looked like an avalanche had crossed paths with a hurricane. There was no discernable order to the heaps. She itched to at least restack the stuff, but now was so not the time to do so.

  He sighed. Again, not a good sign. “You’ve been with us how long?”

  “Nine months.” Nine months, two weeks, one day and approximately eight and a half hours. Not that she was counting. She’d stuck out tough situations and tougher bosses before. She was also damned good at her job, so Tegan’s long face was unexpected.

  “Are you giving me my performance review early?” she asked lightly, trying to defuse the tension in the room. Tegan was a nice guy and good at his job. Despite the fact that he was pushing retirement age, he’d been willing to train her, and she’d appreciated the mentoring he’d offered.

  He shook his head. “Just some advice,” he said. “If you’ll take it. You’re a damned good deputy sheriff, and I’d hate to lose you.”

  “But—” She said the word for him, because she could hear it coming. She was an expert on the Oh, Shit tone. She’d heard it plenty of times before after all.

  He puffed out his cheeks and sighed again. “But there are rumors flying around this town, and I need to ask you if they’re true.”

  At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable. Growing up, she’d learned the wisdom of keeping her mouth shut. Make your accuser spell out the charges and do all the talking. She painted an expression of polite interest on her face, like she wanted to have this discussion and had every intention of holding up her end of the conversational two-way.

  Tegan paused, waiting for her to jump into the conversational gap and provide him with corroborating details. She wasn’t stupid. She stared at him politely. His conversation. His lead. God. The last time she’d had a conversation this awkward had been when LAPD had discovered their clerical backlog had led to them hiring an officer who consorted with convicted felons. That conversation had been short and to the point. They’d asked point-blank; she’d corroborated; she’d collected her stuff in a cardboard box and left the building. Do not pass Go. Instead of collecting her salary, she’d collected unemployment. So she had a good idea where this was going, but she wasn’t going to hang herself just because Sheriff Tegan had handed her the conversational rope.

  “I’m going to need you to spell the rumors out,” she said. “Because we both know Strong has plenty of those. I’d hate to pick the wrong one.”

  “Joey Carter,” Tegan said heavily. “Does that rumor ring a bell?”

  “I’ve pulled him over multiple times for speeding.” She didn’t mention her near-arrest of the man—or their bedroom activities. Sheriff Tegan didn’t get a play-by-play of her sex life.

  “Joey Carter is trouble. Always has been, always will be.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sure you think his pretty face and his military service give him an excuse, but he’s been raising hell in this town since he was a boy. He used to race his motorbike all over my ranch. He’d climb the water tower, drink beer and toilet paper the park, drag race on the highway. He couldn’t sit still for a moment and he d
amned certain couldn’t follow the rules. Maybe the military was good for him, maybe it wasn’t, but you don’t want to be dating him.” Tegan flattened his palms on his desk. “Or some of his mud might just stick to you. He’s not one of the good guys, no matter what he’s told you.”

  Tegan looked at her like answers were written on her face. She stared right back because, really, did the man think she was going to confess to her secret fantasies? Or admit that, yes, she’d seen Joey Carter last night, as a matter of fact, and she’d gone down on him like he was her high school fantasy? Her boss didn’t need to know that Joey got her hot and bothered with shocking ease—and that she apparently could do the same for him. She didn’t know where she and Joey were headed, but apparently some things were the same in law enforcement departments across the state. Her commanding officer believed he had the right to make her personal life department business.

  “I’d ask if you planned on seeing him outside working hours,” Tegan said, “but I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that.”

  “I’m not seeing him.” Her denial came too quickly.

  “Yet?” Tegan asked. “Or never? Because that’s an important distinction.”

  “Is Carter covered by the morals clause?”

  That wasn’t the right question. She should have assured Sheriff Tegan that she would never put herself in a dating situation with Joey Carter or anyone else who could jeopardize her job. The problem was, she kind of already had.

  Tegan met her stare. “I’m not part of the Joey Carter cheering section. I think I’ve made that clear. If we break the law, we pay the same price as any other civilian in the county. I don’t expect special treatment, and I’m sure you don’t either. I don’t see what business it is of the county’s who you spend your time with, as long as the guy isn’t engaging in felonies while you hold his hand. Joey, however, is a felony kind of guy. On the record, I have to remind you that you signed the clause in the contract that assures the county you’re of good moral character and would never do anything to jeopardize the sterling reputation you enjoy. I’d also remind you that you’re still on probation for two more months. Joey Carter doesn’t fit with any of those plans.”