Big Bad Marine

by Jackie Ashenden

  She should never have said anything, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. And now he was going to give her a couple more days, she knew she should be grateful. But she had a horrible feeling that if one more night wouldn’t be enough, then a couple more days wouldn’t be, either.

  Take it or leave it, he’d said. Which meant she was going to have to take it. And pretend that it was enough.

  “How?” she asked huskily, leaning into the intense heat of his body, letting that burn away the painful doubt that sat inside her. “How do you want me to show you?”

  His fingers curled tighter in her hair while he slid his free hand over her hip and around to cup her butt, easing her closer so the hot length of his hardening cock was pressing against her thigh. “That mouth of yours is always getting you into trouble, darlin’. I bet we can find another use for it.”

  A hot, prickling sensation erupted all over her skin, excitement beginning to build inside her. Except they were in the middle of a parking lot at a highway diner and there weren’t many places they could take this. Was there?

  She pressed her fingers against his chest, her gaze drifting to that sexy mouth of his. “Where shall we go?”

  He smiled, lazy and intent. “Into the car, Rosie girl. I’ll find us a place.” Then he let her go, moving over to the Impala and opening the door for her.

  She got in, her heart racing, the slow burn of desire beginning to smolder to life inside her.

  West took them down the highway, heading into a wilderness area where there was nothing but flat plains and scrubland for miles around. But eventually he stopped, pulling into a dusty side road that didn’t look like it went anywhere at all. He parked the Impala beneath a tree – the only cover there was – then he turned off the engine and reached down to push his seat back.

  Rose watched him, her heartbeat thundering in her head. Because she knew what he wanted, it wasn’t all that difficult to work out. It was what she wanted, too.

  “Get over here,” West ordered, pointing down to the space in the footwell of the car, between his spread knees.

  She did what she was told, clambering awkwardly over the stick and then sliding down to kneel between his thighs. He was sitting back, looking down at her, a hard, fierce look on his face that stole her breath.

  “Are you sure you want this?” he asked roughly. “To be down on your knees in front of me?”

  She wasn’t expecting the question and it took her a couple of seconds to register. Then she frowned, not sure where he was going with this. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He leaned forward and reached down, gathering her hair tight in one of his large hands and pulling her head back, making her gasp. There was an intent look in his eyes, like he was trying to teach her something. “What about now?”

  Her mouth was dry and she had to force the words out, because she was pretty sure her voice was in the process of vanishing. “Y-Yes, I want this.”

  With a smooth twist, he wrapped her hair around his wrist and pulled it tight, sending prickles of pain washing over her scalp. For some reason that turned her on even more. “You’re not afraid though.” He kept that fierce stare on hers. “And you should be.”

  “Why?” The ache between her thighs was building, a thick, delicious heat coiling through her veins. He was leaning over her, authoritative and tough and dominant, and there was nothing about any of it that wasn’t turning her on. “You don’t scare me, West. You never have.”

  A bright, hot spark leapt in his gaze. “I’m not a good man, Rosie girl. And you shouldn’t look at me like I’m some kind of hero.”

  “I wasn’t.” She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. “Why do you think you’re not a good man?”

  West stared at her for one long, aching minute, his expression unreadable. Then he reached for her hand and guided it between his powerful thighs, to where he was long and hard and thick beneath the denim. “Can you feel me, little girl? That’s how much I’m getting off on you kneeling in front of me with my fist in your hair.” He pressed her hand down and she could feel him getting even harder. “But if that’s not enough to give you a hint, how about this?” The grip on her hair tightened as he pulled it, hard enough that the pinpricks of pain became more intense. Then he leaned forward, his gaze inches from hers. “That guy you were flirting with? I wanted to smash his face in for daring to look at you. I wanted to hurt him. Because you’re mine, Rosie girl. So, tell me. Would a good man want to do that?”

  Her heart was tender and painful at the fierce glint in his gaze. At what he’d said, which was obviously intended to scare her. Except it didn’t scare her, not in the slightest. She’d always wanted to be his and as for the threat of punching someone… Well, she’d wanted to punch that waitress who’d made eyes at him the day before, so perhaps they were even?

  “I know what kind of man you are.” She didn’t flinch from his stare, showing him she wasn’t afraid of his jealousy or his possessiveness. That she wasn’t afraid of him. “I’ve always known. You’re the man who protected my sister and protected me. And I don’t care what you’d do to anyone else, you’d never hurt me. And that’s all that matters.”

  The silver edge in his eyes glittered as he searched her face for another long second. Then his grip on her hair eased, though he didn’t let her go entirely, and he sat back, settling himself against the seat. “Unbutton my jeans.”

  Rose took a shuddering breath, her mouth dry, the tender feeling in her chest aching. Did he believe her? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe last night hadn’t been enough to show him that he didn’t scare her. That nothing he did to her scared her. Why he’d even want her to be afraid, she had no idea. She had no idea why he didn’t think he was a good man, either. But maybe that was something she could find out later.

  Now though, all she wanted to do was prove she was his.

  She lifted her other hand and touched him, putting it on his thigh and sliding it up, feeling heavy, powerful muscle tense beneath her palm. He’d taken his hand off hers where it rested over his cock, so she shifted her fingers to where the button lay against his flat stomach. They were trembling a little, so it took her a couple of goes to get the button undone.

  “Good girl,” he growled, holding her hair tight. “Now grab that zipper.”

  She did as she was told, tugging on the tab and pulling it down. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears and she was incredibly conscious of how his big, rangy body was stretched out in front of her, just sitting there, and some part of her liked that. How he was waiting for her. As if he couldn’t do anything until she chose to move.

  That same part liked it even more when the metal teeth of his zipper separated and she slid her hand inside the denim, not waiting for orders this time, just doing it. Just touching him, hot and hard beneath her fingers.

  West hissed and she glanced up at him. His eyes were silver bright, clashing with hers, the muscles in his jaw taut.

  She wasn’t the only one who was desperate. He wanted this, too. He wanted her.

  “Get me out, darlin’,” he ordered roughly. “Put your fingers around me.”

  And she did, pulling down the cotton of his underwear, taking out the hard length of his cock, sliding her fingers around him. His skin was smooth, hot, and she loved touching him. Loved the feeling that he was this hard for her, because of her.

  She hadn’t touched him like this before, not even the night before because then he’d been the one doing things to her. But now it was vice versa, now it was time to return the favor and suddenly she couldn’t wait.

  Rose slid her fingers around him, gripping him in her fist as his hand tugged gently on her hair, pulling her forward.

  “Open your mouth.” The low growl of his voice rolled over her, all gritty and rough. “Suck me, baby girl.”

  But even now, even here, she couldn’t resist a tease, putting out her tongue and licking the head of his cock instead, a delicate taste.

  West made a full-on animal sound
deep in his throat, then pushed her mouth down on him.

  She thrilled at the possessiveness of the touch, at the impatience of it, and then everything went out of her head completely as the taste of him hit her like a drug. Salty, musky, delicious. God, she never thought it would be like this, that he’d taste so good, that it would make her feel powerful, because it did. There was something about having him in her mouth, about the tight grip he had on her hair, about the harsh sound that escaped him as her lips closed around him, that made her feel like she was the one in charge of this. Not him.

  It made her want to open up and take him deeper, so she did, taking as much of him as she could, her grip tight around the base of his cock.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

  If he wanted her to reply, he was shit out of luck. She sucked him instead, not questioning the urge, just going with it, sucking him in deep then letting him slide almost all the way out, before drawing him back in.

  “Christ, darlin’.” He sounded breathless and she loved that, so she did it again. And when his hand wrapped around hers where it gripped his cock, and showed her how to pump him, she loved it even more.

  Then she kind of lost herself in what she was doing, in the heat and the taste of him. Feeling the pressure build inside her, too, so much that she slid a hand between her own thighs, touching herself to ease it.

  But he was wise to that, and caught her wrist before she could. “No,” he ordered in a thick, pleasure-roughened voice. “This isn’t about you. This is about you apologizing to me like a good girl. And good girls don’t give themselves sneaky orgasms, understand?”

  She nodded, unable to stop the throaty moan that escaped her as his hands tightened on her head and in her hair as he took charge, directing her movements.

  “Nice and slow. Show me how fucking sorry you are.”

  His hips were beginning to move, thrusting up into her mouth and she took it, showing him indeed how extremely sorry she was and loving every second of it.

  “Fuck, Rose.” Another thrust. “Suck me harder.”

  So, she did, until she could feel a tremble in the thick, heavy muscles of his thighs, his hips jerking, his hands tightening painfully on her.

  But she didn’t care. She was the one who’d brought him to this point. She was the one who had him shaking and cursing.

  She was the one who’d brought this strong, powerful man down.

  And she relished it, even when his thrust went out of rhythm and he arched in his seat, holding her head down on him as the climax hit, making him growl and curse, pouring himself down her throat. And she took it and loved that as well, because she could.

  Because she loved everything he did to her.

  Eventually, his grip eased and she looked up at him, wanting to see what she’d done to him. His head was back against the seat, his eyes closed, a flush to his strongly carved cheekbones. The cotton of his T-shirt stretched tight as he heaved in deep, ragged breaths.

  He had the most ridiculously thick lashes, a deep, dark gold lying still on his cheeks, and Rose would have been quite happy to kneel at his feet for the rest of the day, just watching him.

  Then those long, thick lashes lifted almost lazily, and she was treated to one of his sexy, slow-burning smiles. “Apology accepted, darlin’. Now, take off your jeans and your panties, and get in my lap.”

  It was awkward as hell and the task wasn’t made any easier by her cramped position, or the fact that her fingers were shaking as she did as she was told. West didn’t help, merely watching as she struggled with peeling her jeans and panties down, and getting them off. Having his gaze on her was disconcerting and irritating, and yet also somehow a huge turn-on.

  She was flushed and breathing hard by the time she was done, and then she had to get into his lap which was awkward as well. But this time he helped her, his hands on her bare skin as he pulled her up so she was sitting facing him, her knees spread on either side of his hips, her hands resting against his chest.

  It was erotic doing this with him by the side of the road where anyone could drive past and see them. With the sun through the windshield hot on her back and the feel of rough denim rubbing the inside of her thighs, his rapidly hardening cock pressing against the tender flesh of her sex.

  That steady gaze of his made everything that much hotter, too, and she caught her breath, spreading her hands out on his chest, loving the hard feel of him under her palms.

  “Back pocket,” he murmured. “Should be a condom there. Get it out and put it on me.”

  She nodded, reaching around, sliding her hand into his pocket, finding the packet and drawing it out. At the same time, she couldn’t help rubbing herself against him, the head of his cock sliding against her clit and sending sparks of white-hot pleasure through her.

  West made another growling sound, grabbing a fistful of her hair again and pulling her head back, baring her throat. “Naughty girl.” He nuzzled against her neck, making her shiver. “Do that again and I might have to get myself off while you can watch.”

  She flushed, because that sounded really, really hot. Except it probably meant she wouldn’t get anything out of it and she thought she’d probably die if he didn’t get inside her. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just do as you’re told.” He let go of her hair and glanced down at the packet in her hands. “Now, darlin’. I don’t want to wait.”

  God, she didn’t either.

  Ripping apart the packet, she took out the condom and after a brief moment of annoyance where she tried to figure out which way was up, she put it on him. He reached out and helped her, his warm hand around hers as they both rolled the latex down.

  Then as she tried to position herself, he slid his fingers between her thighs, stroking her pussy slowly, lightly, watching her as he did so.

  “West?” She shivered.

  “Only slowing it down,” he murmured. “Getting you good and wet.” He made a low sound of approval in his throat as his fingers dragged over her slick flesh, making her gasp. “And you’re pretty wet already, aren’t you?

  She was and she didn’t care. She wanted more. She wanted him inside her. “Oh, not this again,” she muttered. “Just f-fuck me already.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do, darlin’, remember?” One finger circled her clit and she panted. “Ever heard of delayed gratification?”

  She pressed herself against his hand. “No and it sounds dumb.”

  “Better get used to the idea, Rosie girl.” He slid an arm around her waist, his hand pressing against the small of her back, urging her hips forward. “Because you’re going to get very familiar with it. Especially when it comes to fucking.”

  But Rose wasn’t listening, not with his fingers stroking and circling, making her thighs tremble and drawing another moan of pleasure from her.

  He drew her closer, so her upper body was held against his chest, the heat of him even more intense than the afternoon sun outside.

  She broke out into a sweat, panting as his finger found her clit again, light little touches as his other hand slid up her spine to the back of her head, easing it forward to meet his mouth. Then he kissed her, deep and hard, tasting of coffee and desire, a strong kick that had her fingers curling in the cotton of his T-shirt.

  Then, right on the point of an intense orgasm, his hand pulled away to rest on her hip, pushing her down at the same time as he thrust up, impaling her.

  The orgasm rolled over her unexpectedly, catching her hard and she screamed helplessly into his mouth, shuddering over and over, blind to everything but the intensity of the pleasure and that powerful male body beneath hers. Holding her as he thrust and kept on thrusting, hard and sure, taking her through that climax and up the side of another.

  His mouth on hers was slow though, even leisurely, a burningly sensual kiss as he moved inside her, long and lazy, until she was shaking again, his T-shirt bunched in her fists, trying to urge him faster
with her hips. But he wouldn’t be rushed, taking his time, guiding her movements on him with his hands.

  She thought she couldn’t do it again, that a second time would kill her. And then she didn’t care, because if she died, it would be a fantastic way to go. Death by orgasm, administered by West O’Connor in a black Chevy Impala, on a dusty roadside in New Mexico. Or maybe it was Arizona, she’d lost track.

  But soon which state she was in was the least of her worries because she could feel it building inside her again, like a wave, an honest-to-God freaking tsunami. Then she was shaking and shaking, holding onto him as it broke, as the orgasm swept her up and washed her clean away.

  And the very last thing she was aware of was his arms holding her tightly. Keeping her right there with him.

  Keeping her safe.

  9

  Rose found them a motel near Winslow that night, cheap and cheerful, not that West gave a shit. He just wanted a bed – hell, even a couch would have done – where he could strip her bare and lay her out, take his time exploring her luscious body, all the ways he could make her scream.

  All the ways he could show her what a bad bet he was, too.

  He’d hoped that interlude in the car on the side of the road would have given her pause, especially after he’d pulled her hair and pushed her mouth down on him. Except she hadn’t seemed to mind that, not one fucking bit. Which was a worry. And he’d gone gentle on her after that, as well, which was also a worry.

  At least, it would have worried him if he’d paused to think about it. But he didn’t want to think about it and so he didn’t.

  Another couple of days, that’s what he’d promised her, so there was no point regretting what had already happened. No point in overthinking it, either.

  She’d find out who he really was soon enough and then it would be all over. Plenty of time for recriminations then. But not now.

  Now, she still looked at him like a hero and he was asshole enough to want her to keep looking at him like that for a while longer.

  After they’d checked into the motel and he’d made them both come a couple of times more, he’d gotten pizza delivered to their room, putting the box on the unsteady dining table in the corner by the TV. Then he made Rose get out of bed and eat sitting at the table like a civilized person.