by Seton, Cora
“Your turn,” she said, pulling the edge of my shirt up. I released her, only briefly as she pulled the shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. “That’s better.” Her eyes fell to my chest, and her hands ran over every inch of my chest like she couldn’t not touch me. Or maybe that was what I was projecting on her, because I couldn’t stop touching every inch of her caramel skin.
My cock was straining against my jeans, tucked beneath her. Clothes were torture. I needed them gone. I unbuttoned her jeans and the zipper made that soft scrape as it opened for me. One of her bra straps had fallen down her arm, and the skin looked too good not to touch. I pulled her close and dropped soft kisses along her bared shoulder, her collarbone, her neck.
“Clothes. Off,” she demanded and she pulled away from me. She dropped her jeans to the ground and stared at me expectantly.
*
Charlene
Standing there in my bra and panties, I waited as Jesse slowly stood up. He unbuckled his pants, and pulled the belt away. He dropped it, watching me. Fucker. He was trying to kill me with a slow strip tease. The bastard. He unbuttoned his jeans, and slowly lowered the zipper. Wetness pooled between my legs, an ache rising there that needed him to fill me with that beautiful cock he was unleashing.
The jeans fell to the floor, and he stepped out, taking all the time he could to torture me. His cock tented his boxers, and he was in no hurry to lose the underwear. I reached for them, but he grabbed my hands. “Nuh-uh. Your turn again.”
I grinned. “Like this?” I slipped the other bra strap from my shoulders so the cups still covered my breasts. His eyes watched every movement I made like he was dying of hunger. Taking pleasure in the agony I saw in his eyes, I reached behind me and unclipped the bra, letting it fall to the floor.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he grunted. “Naked. There needs to be naked. Lots of naked.”
I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and slid them halfway off and paused. “Is it your turn yet?”
“No,” he groaned. “Take those off or I’ll tear them off with my teeth.”
I laughed, throwing my head back, which proved to be my downfall. He grabbed me and tossed me on the bed and then I wasn’t sure where my panties ended up. In fact, when he appeared over me, he was naked too. I drank in every bit of him, from the muscles tensing in his arms as he held himself over me, to the flat, corded muscles of his stomach, to the long length of his thick cock jutting at me, already covered in a condom. When had he done that? Was there a condom wrapping World Record?
I gripped it, sliding my hand up and down. I licked my lips, wanting a taste.
“No,” he whispered. “Not this time, baby. I need to be inside you. Deep inside you.”
He gripped both my hands and pushed them down to the mattress, holding them together with one large hand. With his free hand, he guided his cock to my entrance, and slowly pushed inside me. The delicious stretching sensation was quite possibly what I loved most about sex, that moment when he entered me, so slow, prolonging the feel of him deep inside me.
He kissed me, long and full, his body pressed against mine, skin against skin. His lips burned against mine, my breath vanishing from within my chest. He released my hands and brushed his thumbs over my cheekbones. His hips thrusted forward, and I gasped, not prepared for the force with which he entered me. My god, that felt amazing.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered.
He looked concerned. “You okay?”
“Yes, I mean… you take my breath away.”
He began to move. I wrapped my legs around his torso and dug my heels into his ass. Someone moaned. It was both of us together. I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. Flesh stitched together with love and safety. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. The world melted away until both of us were clenching in ecstasy, tumbling off the cliff into the void of post-coital bliss.
Chapter Twenty
Jesse
‡
I wasn’t sure how long I slept. Actually, I hadn’t slept that good in forever. I stretched out and pulled the warm body next to me close. She had a slight snore that was so damn cute. Just the feel of her naked body was enough to wake up my lower body. I pressed my pelvis against her ass, running my hand over her hips.
“You keep that up and I may have to punch you,” her sleepy voice mumbled out.
“You’re awake,” I murmured. I kissed her bared shoulder, her cheek, anywhere I could reach.
She didn’t move. “There have been executions for lesser infractions than waking me up.”
I chuckled. “So grumpy.”
“It’s still dark out. I’ll be not grumpy when the sun is out.”
Was this how it was going to be in San Diego? We hadn’t even talked about if we were morning people or not. I nuzzled her hair with my nose. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she replied. “Now shut up. I’m sleeping.”
“But I’m awake,” I replied, thrusting my hips forward. I cupped her breast and rolled the tip between my fingers.
“Go back to sleep,” she mumbled. “Seriously. Will kill you. Have connections.”
I smiled in the dark room. Even grumpy, she was adorable. Life in San Diego was never going to be boring. I settled back next to her, the feel of her warmth against mine. In a couple hours, we’d be getting up and getting ready to leave for the airport. I was going home with the best Christmas present ever.
The End
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About the Author
S.M. Butler is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of new adult romantic suspense and military romance with a penchant for Dr. Pepper, ice hockey, and world domination, but not necessarily in that order. She lives in Texas under a not-so-secret identity with two monsters, writing books and planning the next step in her evil plans into the twilight hours of the night because that’s when it’s quiet in the house. She loves to hear from readers.
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Rules of Engagement
Delilah Devlin
Website | Newsletter
Blurb
Callie Murphy’s never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances don’t exist outside of books and she’s seen first-hand how transitory love can be after watching her mother fall in and out of marriage.
Derek Tilden hammered home that truth when he joined the Navy to become a SEAL—he was the boy who couldn’t wait to see the world and she was the girl ready to plant deep roots. Now he’s back and asking her to marry him one last time…
Chapter One
‡
Callie Murphy had never been one to moon over a man. Fairytale romances were best left to novels. After all, she’d seen first-hand how transitory love could be after watching her mother drift in and out of three marriages, only to be left disappointed when “true love” faded. However, the video Callie watched for the thousandth time stirred a wistfulness inside that left her feeling restless and thinking about what might have been.
Just the sight of that warm, steady gaze enveloped her in warmth. The deep timbre of his voice as he sang raised the fine hairs on her arms and caused her nipples to prickle, because she remembered that same voice murmuring in her ear in the darkness.
Knowing she’d never get his approval for security’s sake, she’d snuck this recording of their Skype session using a plug-in
installed on her computer because she’d wanted something of him to linger after they’d said their goodbyes. This recording been made before their final breakup. Now, watching and listening to him was a form of self-torture. Wearing desert camouflage pants and a brown tee stretching across a well-muscled chest, his dark hair a little shaggy and his beard scruffy, he was all man. All complication. Those piercing blue eyes stared into the camera at her, steady and determined, and Callie couldn’t help the tears welling in her eyes.
Prickles of dismay swept over her as she imagined some other woman, someone not her, on the receiving end of one of his calls, being serenaded with that husky, smooth-as-silk voice. The last time he’d proposed, she’d been firm, making it clear she had no interest in leaving behind the life she’d built in Two Mule, Texas while he was set on a career in the Navy. Rightfully, he should have moved on. No one here in Two Mule would ever fault him. No one really understood why she kept refusing him, but then they hadn’t walked in her shoes through her childhood.
Her mother had followed that “broken road,” uprooting Callie three times, from the friends she’d made, from the roots she’d tried so desperately to sink deep into every place she’d lived. She’d never make that same mistake. Love faded, turned bitter and dark. When love ended, good people drifted apart, or worse, struck out at each other. She’d lived it, first-hand.
So when Derek had stood on her doorstep that last day before heading back to Little Creek, where no doubt his team would be deployed on more dangerous secret missions in the Middle East, Africa, or whatever foreign hellhole the powers that be scrambled a SEAL team for, she’d shut the door on everything he’d offered, despite the fact he’d been sincere—and despite the fact her own heart had twisted inside her chest at the disappointment darkening his eyes.
Watching the video now, him seated on a narrow cot strumming a guitar while he sang about roads leading him straight to some other woman, Callie couldn’t help sniffling. He’d known even before that last proposal that she’d say no. And yet, here he’d been, reaching out to her, letting her see inside his heart as he strummed out his pain.
Watching him as he’d given her a smile, and then sat back to pull his guitar across his legs, she remembered everything she’d felt—nostalgia for their long-shared past, irritation he’d never give up, and joy, deep inside, that his love had never waned, because she was selfish like that. Although she’d been unwilling to hitch her star along with his, she’d depended on his love.
She’d met him in high school, and they’d dated steadily. They’d even been one of the shining couples of the royal court at homecoming. At that time, she’d been carried away, in love, forgetting the hard lessons she’d learned, because he’d been so attentive, so affectionate, bringing her flowers on every monthly anniversary, giving her a tiny diamond promise ring in their senior year.
They’d talked about the future, but only in vague terms, her in terms of the house she’d have and the kids she’d want, him of all the places he wanted to see. One day, close to graduation, he’d arrived at her mother’s house to tell her he’d signed enlistment papers and would be heading to Coronado, California for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training as soon as he graduated, and her world had come tumbling down.
She knew enough from listening to him talk to his friends about Navy SEALs to realize what he intended to become would put him in incredible danger. “How could you do that?” she cried, slapping his chest.
Derek reached out his hands, but she dodged backward. He’d stood, brows drawn down into a wrinkle and scratched his chin. “I thought you’d be happy. You know I don’t want to go to college, but this could mean everything to us. We’ll travel—”
“You’ll travel. I’d be stuck in the desert in California or on the East coast while you…” Her voice broke, causing her to pause and suck in a deep breath. When she had herself back under control, she leveled a narrow-eyed stare on him. “Have I ever once said I wanted to travel?”
His dark brows furrowed in a deep frown. “Well, yeah, you dream about goin’ to Paris.”
“For a week.” She glared, all her anger there for him to see. “How could you do this to me?”
His mouth firmed, and his expression closed. All the sparkle in his blue eyes dimmed. After that, the last days of high school had been a misery because he’d barely spoken to her.
Which only reinforced what she’d always known. Love never lasted. And his love of adventure was stronger than anything he felt for her.
Still, they hadn’t been able to completely break their bonds. Their mutual attraction was just too strong. They’d entered another phase of their relationship and seen each other off and on over the ten years he’d been away, even going on a dates when he was in town, which they’d both enjoyed. She’d written letters and sent him care packages filled with homemade cookies when he’d complained about mess hall food. “Met” his buddies through their correspondence, telling her how much they enjoyed her cookies and through the Skyped conversations they loved to interrupt with friendly shoves and wide grins. She felt she knew them. After all, this on-again, off-again connection had been going on for a few years.
The last time Derek had leave, he’d been a constant fixture on her doorstep. But once again on the last day before he caught a plane back to Virginia, he’d asked her to think about marrying him.
“Callie, I love you, have loved you for so long,” he’d said, holding both her hands. “But we’re not kids anymore. We both deserve more. Marry me. You don’t have to see the world—be my world. The rest will all work out.”
She’d swayed toward him, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes, her body still humming from his lovemaking. But she’d shaken her head and slowly pulled away her hands. Maybe out of habit. She wasn’t sure, because dear God, that time she’d been tempted to say yes.
The moment she’d withdrawn, she’d seen his jaw tighten. He’d given her a small smile. “Baby, I can’t do this anymore,” he’d said, his voice raw. “I won’t bother you again.”
Seeing him turn to walk away filled her with panic, and her breath lodged painfully in her chest. “Derek, I’ll write.”
“Don’t,” he’d said over his shoulder, a hand dropping as though he were tossing something away.
That had been five months ago, and she still heard that single, bitter word repeat in her dreams. Now, it was too late for anything but regrets.
The doorbell rang, and she closed the screen just as Derek ended the song and stared one last time into the camera. She’d frozen that moment dozens of times to read his expression. There was a hint of a promise, a firmness in his jaw. He’d made up his mind about something. He’d known even then he was going to move on if she didn’t give him the answer he longed for. The song he’d chosen, Broken Road, had said it all.
What had he expected? She’d told him on a dozen different occasions that they had no future, because he was the boy who wanted to see the world and she was girl who wanted to plant deep roots. But at last, he’d taken her at her word.
The doorbell rang again. She glanced down and grimaced. Today was her day off, and she was still dressed in her pajamas and a tatty old robe. It being the first week of December, the morning air would hold a little frosty bite. But what did it matter?
“Coming,” she called out, pasting on a polite smile. When she swung open the door, Margie the mail lady was waiting there, a friendly grin on her broad face, which exposed a gap from a missing tooth. Something that always caught Callie’s eye. Hadn’t the woman ever heard of partials?
“I have a package for you. It was too big to put inside your mailbox.” She handed the box to Callie. “You got big plans this weekend?”
Holding the package against her chest, Callie snorted and hoped the other woman wouldn’t linger long on her stoop. “This is Two Mule. Unless I hit the lottery, it’s gonna be the same ole, same ole.”
Margie gave her a wink. “Well, maybe you’ll have a better weekend than you expe
ct,” she said, her smile turning sly. “How’s that handsome boyfriend of yours doin’?”
“Not a clue.” Callie shook her head. “Derek and I broke up a while ago.”
The older woman sighed. “A damn shame that. He’s a good-lookin’ man.”
Callie’s smile was getting stiff, but at last, Margie waved and backed off the porch.
“Thanks for delivering this…” she called after the postal lady, “…whatever it is.” She closed the door, eyeing the return address. There wasn’t one.
After heading to the kitchen counter, she dug for scissors in a drawer, then slit the packing tape to open it. Inside was a large book, an album, she realized. She pulled it from the box and flipped the cover back, only to draw a deep, sharp breath. The first photo was of her and Derek at the prom, both looking so young and in love. She flipped more pages and realized this album was Derek’s, because every page was filled with pictures that chronicled his life—his time with her in high school, his years of training, each graduation, pictures of his friends looking dusty and tired, sitting in some tent or barracks, interspersed with more pictures of her—ones she’d sent of her life, ones he’d taken when they were together. The album spoke of a disjointed life, but one that included the things that were most important to him, her, and his new military family.
Callie burst into tears. It was all too much—the melancholy that had lingered ever since she’d watched the video—now this? Her heart broke into little pieces as moisture tracked down her cheeks and her nose began to run. She wanted to pitch the album into the nearest trash can so she didn’t have to look at it again, but she kept it open, held at arms’ length so her tears wouldn’t spot a glossy page. Why had he sent this to her?
