She took another sip of the champagne, and with her mouth full, slid down his legs and slipped his cock between her lips, bathing it in the cool liquid, rubbing him with her bubbling tongue. She sucked and lapped at his sensitive skin, suckling his balls, then drawing his shaft deep down her throat, fully enveloping him, then squeezing her lips, encircling his cock as she sucked and pulled him straight up, as hard as a concrete lamppost.
Mark was getting so engorged he thought he might spill prematurely. She purred as she licked him with the sandpaper of her tongue on his underside all the way to his tip, pulling and sucking.
He launched himself up to meet her, chest pressed against chest. “My turn,” he said. He held the back of her head and gently helped her back down to the bedspread. He took a big swig of the champagne and leaned over her sex, pouring the champagne over her labia, lapping her as he did, then trickling the liquid slowly down her slit, saving some for her opening, and, with his tongue swirling her insides, let the golden liquid drip down inside her.
Her hips rocked, her abdomen rippling like when she danced. She squeezed her own breasts. He followed up by placing his hands over hers. Taking one last look at her pink folds, he positioned himself at the entrance to her ripe, quivering peach. Her beautiful abs pulled as she gasped in anticipation of his rooting. He slowly moved into her, watching her eyes, the way her breasts raised and fell with her heavy breathing, reveling in the feel of her thighs hugging his. Her movements were as liquid as the champagne they’d poured all over each other, the places where their flesh touched igniting the flame inside his soul.
When he was fully seated, he angled back and forth in slow, deliberate motions, moving inside and out of her all the time, watching her face to judge the effect his filling her had on her. Her fingers found his nipples and she twisted one. The pain was delicious. He smiled down on her. She slid her hand between them and ringed the seat of his penis, feeling the place of their joining, squeezing his balls as he filled her delicious cave with his girth, and then stroked back and forth against her internal walls. He couldn’t get enough of her. He couldn’t touch enough of her softness, her rippling body that wrapped itself so deliciously around him, accepting him, loving him.
He pulled up one of her legs, his palm cupping the soft bend behind her knee and forcing her thigh back to the side of her chest. He twisted his body to move at a slight angle, adjusting his knees until he was perpendicular to her. She rolled to her side as he pumped her in deep rhythmic movements eliciting rolling moans. He pushed into her as far as he could go, desperate to encase himself fully in her warm channel.
She kept turning until she was on her belly. He was still buried in her channel, and spread her cheeks wide as he moved to his knees. He pulled an orange life vest from under the bench and slid it under her lower abdomen to raise her hips, allowing him deeper penetration. She groped for the blanket, squeezing as she moaned into the fabric, pushing her sex up and onto his shaft. She reached back, leaning on her shoulders and reached behind, finding his butt cheeks. She pulled him into her, grinding him deep, squeezing his flesh until his ass burned.
He leaned forward, smoothing a palm along the ridge of her spine, tracing a finger along the indentation all the way to her neck, all the while pumping into her, forcing her knees apart further. His other hand went underneath her, pressing a thumb on her nub. He ran his thumb over and over her clit, feeling the juices flowing from her.
She buried her head in her hands, using her knees to prop her little sex up against him. Spreading her legs outside his, she pressed herself against him. Her jerking motions told him she was ready to shatter. He became desperate to taste her.
He flipped her over. Sophia wore a dazed expression, already fully engulfed in orgasm. He pulled himself out and placed his mouth on her sex and sucked while she vibrated against his tongue. She came for him, moaning his name over and over again as he tasted her.
“Yes, baby,” he said between kisses. “I’ve got you. Come for me, baby.”
She raised her pelvis up to his mouth again, watched his face as he devoured her pleasure.
“You taste so good, Sophia. I’ve never tasted anything so wonderful. Ever. Come some more for me, baby.”
She writhed, moving her hips in figure eights. His tongue darted in and out while her lips swelled. He felt the hot, pulsing squeeze of her insides.
“Inside, Mark. I want you inside.”
“Yes, baby.” He inserted himself again, felt her delicious ripples, and the friction of her swollen lips, and the pulsations coming strong. She spilled over the edge, her ecstasy exploding all around him. He felt the tightening in his balls as he began to spill seed inside her, riding her orgasm, stoking the fire of her desire, which engulfed both of them.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Nineteen
Kyle was told Mark hadn’t slept in his bed the night before, and that some of his sheets and pillows were missing. He hoped his buddy had been careful, staying out of sight from Roberto and any of the other crew or staff.
Christy returned to the cabin after a workout with Gina and Devon. Kyle knew they were supposed to get ready for the shore excursion on Tenerife, but he’d decided to take of this rare opportunity—he was being lazy and not feeling one ounce of guilt. He watched the blue sky and deeper blue-green waters of the ocean, furrowed by white caps in the wake of the ship.
Christy climbed into bed with him and they looked out the window together.
“What’s wrong?” He knew when Christy climbed into bed with all her clothes on, even if they were skimpy workout clothes, that she wanted to be close to talk to him. Close enough that she could kiss away any concerns he might have.
“I think Libby’s pregnant again, and she’s just as sick as the last time.”
It had been hard for all of them when she lost the baby at almost four months, even though Coop had been around to console her. The wives took turns cooking for Coop, cleaning their house and letting Libby sleep until she got her strength back and her head cleared. She’d taken it as a personal failure that the baby didn’t survive the early pregnancy.
But this time things could be worse. Coop would be gone, since the Team was going to deploy shortly after they returned to San Diego. All of them had seen what it did to a man who had troubles at home. Wives and kids could get sick. Parents and grandparents passed away. Life didn’t just stop because they were overseas. It was a hard fact of life in the military, but especially for the SEALs, since they would frequently be out of communication for weeks at a time.
Christy was the one to organize the help, and he was proud of her for it. He brushed the hair off her forehead with his fingers, and let her slip her arms around his waist and snuggle close to him.
“I think she’ll do fine this time, Christy. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.”
“I’m worried, all the same.”
“Not everyone can crank them out as easily as you can, babe.”
She was quiet. He reared back on the pillow and twisted to take a look at what he could see of her face.
“What?” he asked.
“I want another one. Brandon needs a little brother or sister.”
Kyle was thrilled, but didn’t want to make the load any heavier than it already was since the Team was leaving so soon. He didn’t like the idea of Christy being pregnant when he couldn’t be home for it. He’d loved being able to watch every part of the process when Brandon was born since they flew him home just in time for his birth.
“We talked about waiting until I get back.” He watched her eyes. Unspoken was always the consideration he might not come back. She wouldn’t be the first wife to want to retain a little piece of him stateside, just in case.
But in matters of the family, and their having children, Christy was the boss. She gave him a warm, shy smile.
“All right, then,” he said. “Suppose we work on that before breakfast.” He kissed her neck and upper chest, following a trail between he
r breasts until he encountered the stretchy fabric of her sports bra.
“Can’t I take a shower first?” she asked.
“I think it’s completely unnecessary. I plan to get you good and sweaty all over again. Besides, I love the way you smell right now, Christy.”
“Yes,” she said as she sighed into one of his long kisses. “When you come home, from the gym, I feel the same way,” she whispered as she smoothed over the seam between his lips with her fingertips.
“So what’ll it be?” he asked. He pretended she would automatically know what he meant, and loved watching her beautiful brain struggle to come up with an answer.
As she turned her head slowly from side to side and furrowed her brow, she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
He tasted her lips, and then kissed her slow and went down to tease the place she loved beneath her ear. She arched to him, her thigh seeking the bulge between his legs. He rubbed himself against her knee and upward against her muscled thigh.
Into her ear he whispered, “We do it slow and sensual, make it long and make it last. Or, we do it rough and urgent.”
“Ah,” she said as a knowing smile crossed her face.
“So what’ll it be, girl, or boy?”
“And you can serve me up a male or female child by the way you make love to me?”
Kyle angled his face and winked, then shook his head, “No, we make a boy or a girl.” He kissed her again, this time pressing and searching with his tongue.
His face migrated down her chest until he sucked her nipple through the stretchy fabric of her workout bra, and then nipped her through the cotton. Her reaction was immediate, always what he loved best about her. She threw herself into whatever mood he was in, and he cherished every moan, every sigh, and every gentle thigh on thigh stroke, every time she showed him how much she wanted him. She bit her lower lip, her eyes sparkling.
“So, how do you know that slow and long makes a girl and urgent and rough makes a boy?”
“Because, my love,” he said as he lifted her sports bra and sucked the nipple bared to him until it knotted, “when I’m with you, anything is possible. Anything.”
Most of their group ate on the ninth floor deck, where Italian rock videos blared on twenty-foot-high screens. Mark joined them, picking up two glasses of the fresh squeezed orange juice from the machine behind the bar. He finished the two glasses in barely two gulps, and then went in search of the omelet maker inside. It was going to be a very warm day, even though it was still winter, and most the passengers were in tank tops and sleeveless dresses, applying sunscreen to their pale arms and wearing floppy hats. He noted that the Germans liked to carry walking sticks, while the French and Italians preferred zippered fanny packs.
He and the rest of his Teammates who planned to go ashore wore knee-length kakis, flip-flops and white T-shirts. All wore sunglasses, and most of them wore a baseball cap of some kind, none of the caps with any logo identifying them as Navy, or any sort of military. Though they had them, they never wore their dog tags.
He felt eyes on his back and checked over his shoulder to see Roberto deep in a discussion with two older Brazilian passengers seated at a table by the window. Though Roberto seemed fully engaged in the conversation, Mark saw he didn’t miss anything. He watched everyone around him, and when the Brazilian dancer made eye contact, his skin pricked. Perhaps Roberto knew she hadn’t slept in her cabin last night. Mark could smell her on his skin still, had been reluctant to shower off her flowery scent, but hoped no one else could smell it.
He’d known the dance instructor would search for them. Eventually, he would find them. It was only a matter of time, and Mark slowly began an assessment of the threat. He decided he might risk stashing a weapon on the lifeboat just in case their spot was discovered and things became violent, especially since he was some distance from his Teammates when he and Sophia were alone on Deck 5. Preparing and arming himself suddenly seemed prudent. He wasn’t going to tell her about it, though.
Libby sat closest to the railing, nursing a glass of ginger ale along with a piece of Cooper’s toasted bagel. Mark thought she looked pale and preoccupied. Cooper hardly left her side, rubbed her back, her neck and shoulders, asking her questions and barely getting her attention.
Mark set his tray of oatmeal, omelet, hash browns, sausage and bitter black coffee down across from Coop and Libby. Immediately, Libby turned and looked out to sea.
“She’s not well?” Mark asked quietly.
Coop studied the side of her face before answering. “We’re not quite sure what is making her so sick, but we think she’s pregnant. Won’t know until we can get to a lab.”
“But I was sick as a dog the last time,” Libby said as she turned to face Coop.
“I remember that,” Mark said gently. He also remembered Cooper being concerned last time that her violent vomiting might harm the baby, a concern that might have been justified.
“You’re going to be fine, babe,” Coop said a little too cheerily. He’d forgotten to tell his face to support his words, and the worry line above the bridge of his nose was deep, pulling in the skin around his eyes, as he squinted.
Mark decided to try to be more helpful. “The ship was really rocking and rolling last night. I think you may just be a little seasick.”
The comment sent Libby dashing for the automatic teak wood doors inside.
Coop gave him a deadpan stare. “Thanks.” He curled up the side of his mouth.
“Maybe if she gets sick she’ll feel better.”
“She’s been throwing up all night and she still doesn’t feel better. She has practically nothing in her stomach.” He held up a half bagel that looked like a mouse had nibbled on the outsides, barely touched. Mark saw the ginger ale was still half full.
Cooper’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen. “She’s gone to the cabin. I gotta go.”
Mark moved over to a long table where Fredo and Mia sat across from Armando and Gina. Armando was studying Fredo, a wide smile plastered across his handsome, tanned face that Mark recognized as a taunt. Fredo had been avoiding eye contact with the Puerto Rican SEAL, and looked pitifully grateful when Mark joined them to take some of Armando’s focus off him.
“Hey, Marky,” Fredo said eagerly, punching his left bicep. “Where’d you sneak off to last night?”
“I was on patrol.”
“I feel you,” Fredo said. Mia wrapped her arms around his bicep, squeezed herself to him and leaned her head full of curls against his shoulder. Fredo avoided looking at Armando, and wiggled his unibrow at Mark instead.
“Fredo here’s been on a mission of his own,” Armando said.
“Stop it Armando,” Gina chided, playfully smacking his arm. “You’re terrible.”
“No,” Armando said as he nodded and stared at his coffee cup and empty plate. “Terrible would have been what I’d be if anyone but Fredo was cozy with my sister.”
Mia straightened. “There you go again,” Mia huffed. “Why do I always feel like you’re my father? You don’t approve, just say something.”
“Like it would do any good,” Armando returned quickly, but he was still beaming, showing he didn’t really object to any of it.
Gina sighed and shook her head, crossing her arms. “I can only imagine what it was like in your household growing up,” she said.
“Damned straight. He practically taste-tested my food, too.”
“Well, Mama did hire that voodoo cook, you remember that? When she took on that extra job that one summer?” Armando said, pointing his forefinger at her.
“Oh, please, how could I ever forget? The one who liked meat practically raw?”
“I’m sure glad Libby isn’t listening to this conversation,” Mark interjected.
On that they all agreed.
Mia slipped her hand into Fredo’s lap and squeezed him in front of everyone. “Ready, hon?”
Fredo looked up, as if he was asking for help from Mama Guzman’s God, and
then stood.
“It could be worse, my man,” Armando said, grinning up at him.
The two of them finally smiled cordially. “Wasn’t complaining, just that—”
“He likes me to surprise him, but pretends he doesn’t.” Mia winked at Gina. “But he does…trust me, he really does.”
Mark watched the little SEAL and his bombshell walk away, their arms wrapped around each other. He was happy for Fredo, who was finally getting to exercise his protective nature. Mark knew he’d lay his life down in a heartbeat for Mia, and would have done so even before she returned his feelings.
He longed for the day he could openly show his affection to Sophia, bring her to breakfasts and dinners with his Teammates. He didn’t like that she spent so much time in a windowless cabin on zero deck, or sliding down the hallway anywhere near the Moroccan dance troupe, or around Roberto with his frustrated, third-grade libido.
Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Twenty
Two of Azziz’s friends went with Maksym to the holding cell to let the Moroccan dancer loose. The Ukrainian officer didn’t mistake the hatred that flared in the dancer’s eyes. He decided to do a little diversion as he unlocked the cell.
“Are you even a dancer?” he asked.
He heard some Arabic dialect he couldn’t understand. Someone was translating for someone else.
“We all dance in our village. We have for centuries,” Azziz returned in Russian, with icy coolness.
“But you’ve been carrying a rifle more than your one-stringed, sorry-looking guitar,” he said in English. Maksym’s surprise that the dancer knew Russian stuck in his throat like a fishhook.
“It could do serious damage if I fucked you in the ass with it,” Azziz said in Russian again. The two cohorts rattled off something between them and laughed.
“Seriously,” Maksym said, sticking stubbornly to English. “You juveniles are going to ruin the whole mission if you don’t get your souls right with God.”
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