Wanted: Wife 4 Navy Seals: A Military romance

by Dee Palmer

  “The money doesn’t matter.” His fixed impassive expression heightens his stern tone.

  “Doesn’t matter? It was five thousand pounds, Daniel! Who does that? Who keeps five thousand pounds in their trouser pocket?” I’m yelling now, but I am so cross. All the anger and hurt from this morning and the pain from my nightmare are all combining to make me more than a little unstable right now, and I have no intention of falling apart in front of Daniel again.

  “Well, not to state the bloody obvious, Bethany, but I do.” He goes to stand, but I know if he gets close I’ll crumble. I grab my bag and head for the door. He can’t follow, I hope. He’s in is boxers.

  “Lock the door when you leave.” I run down the stairs and onto the street. I jog to the end, when I hear him shout my name. He did follow me, but just to the door. He looks really mad. I’m not going back there today, maybe not ever.

  THE TRAIN TO the South Coast town nearest to my mum’s care home takes just over an hour, and if you are lucky, there might be a drinks service. The coffee is disgusting, but the tea is bearable, even if it is served at a nuclear temperature. I take a tea and a couple of raisin flapjacks, as I realise I haven’t eaten much since lunch yesterday, and my tummy grumbles loudly in acknowledgement of this self-deprivation. I try and spend every other Sunday visiting. This is not one of my weeks, but if I have to be out all day, it’s a perfect use of my time. Besides, right now I could really use my mum. I dig in my bag and find my iPod. I put my earphones in and select Snow Patrol Eyes Open album to listen to on a loop as I watch field after field speed past. I catch myself in the window as we pass under a tunnel, and even in the faded reflection, I can see my eyes are red and swollen. I rest my head back and close my tired lids hoping to sleep before the haunting lyrics of “Set the Fire” bring more tears.

  I wake just as we near the hills of the South Downs. The sheer expanse of green is a stark contrast to my normal urban terrain. It is beautiful, and when she was able, I would take my mum to walk up one of the beacons for the breath-taking views. It was such an effort, it would take most of the day, but she can no longer make that climb. Most visits we sit in the conservatory or walk around the gardens. The buses don’t run on Sunday and it’s a five-mile walk, which at a good pace I can do in an hour. The gravel drive sweeps up to the main Georgian house. More modern accommodations have been added to the side, but the main house holds most of the facilities: games room, lounge, conservatory, and dining room. I sign in and am told my mum is in the craft room.

  I open the door and swallow a lump back as she turns to face me. She is bathed in sunlight from the large window and, with her pale clothes and grey hair, she is encased in a warm glow and looks like an angel. She smiles at me, and I hope in my heart it’s a good day. On a good day she remembers my name, remembers who I am, and she talks for hours about our life, about the holidays we had, the meals she likes to cook, and how I was never there, always off gallivanting. I take a seat next to her and put my bag at my feet. She takes my hand and squeezes, hers are soft as silk and warm to my cold.

  “Hello, my dear. Have you come to help me with these flowers?” She points to a spread of wild flowers, which have been carefully pressed, losing only a little of their vibrant colour. She laughs a little and looks into my eyes. I can see the extra wrinkles form in her brow as she fights to remember. “I think I am going to need all the help I can get. I’m getting in a pickle. What’s your name, my dear?” She smiles at me, and I feel the tingle of tears behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.

  “My name is Bethany, and I would love to help, if you don’t mind.” My chest pinches, but I manage to smile.

  “Not at all, not at all. My daughter usually helps me, but she isn’t coming this week.” She pats the table to make a start.

  “No, that’s right.” I murmur, happy that she remembers this is not my week. We spend the day making pictures with the flowers and a book mark for me. We read and have afternoon tea on the patio. I would normally head home after tea, but I stay a little longer. I know I’m hoping she remembers me before I leave, and I also know it’s not going to happen. We settle in her room and I put on one of her favourite films, Gone with the Wind. I know this was before her time, but I think it was my Gran’s favourite, too, so it may well be a shared memory. I will have to slip out before it finishes. It’s over three hours long and the last train back is at nine. Tara is burning, and I choose this time to leave. She is asleep in her chair, so I kiss her on the head. I wouldn’t do this if she was awake, only if she knows who I am.

  I look outside the front door. Wow, my luck just keeps getting better. The heavens have opened up. I didn’t grab my coat in my hurry to leave, and I don’t have enough money for a taxi. I hunch my shoulders and walk out into the rain. Twice in one day, soaked to the skin in seconds, a new record for me. It’s dark, and the paths are poorly lit with sporadic street lighting. The cold rain is trickling down my neck, its seeps through my jumper to my bra, and through my jeans to my panties. My soft canvas pumps squelch with every step and are unlikely to survive the night. I am cold in my bones, and my body tries to compensate with violent shudders. I hear a car draw up slowly behind me, and I pick up my pace. In my peripheral vision I can see it gaining on me, and I start to jog looking for a road to turn down or a house with lights on to walk up to. The car pulls in front and stops, my heart stops. I hear the door open, but turn before I see who gets out. I run flat out when I hear the loud commanding voice. “Will you stop fucking running away from me!” I skid to a halt and turn, my eyes squinting against the driving rain. It’s him. Daniel is standing against his opened door. He gets in and reverses next to me, screeching to a halt. He leans over to open the passenger door.

  “Get in the car.” He demands curtly. I hesitate. “Get in the fucking car, Bethany!”

  “No, I mean I would, but I’m soaked and your car, your leather will get ruined.” I bend and add a small smile.

  “Get in the car, if I have to ask again I will put you in myself, and believe me, you do not want that.” He looks fierce. I grab the door and slide in, hovering above the seat in a poor attempt to keep the leather dry. “Just sit down, Bethany. Put your belt on and sit down.” His voice is softer, and his eyes crinkle in a gentle smile. I sit and pull my seatbelt across. He starts up the car when I have an idea. I unclip the seatbelt and the car instantly starts to ‘ping’ at my disobedience. “Bethany, I swear,” he grumbles.

  “-No, look I’ll only be a minute, I really don’t want to ruin your leather.” With that, I pull my sweater over my head and put it in the foot-well behind my seat. Daniel coughs, and I can see his eyes widen. I undo my jeans and peel them down my wet legs, taking my dripping socks with them. I put them on top of the sweater and reach back to clip the seatbelt in place. “There, damage limited to a minimum, but some extra heat might be good.” I grin and vigorously rub my naked arms.

  “You honestly think I’m going to be able to concentrate on driving with you sitting there half naked, wet and pert? I’d rather risk the leather than crash the whole bloody car!” His voice is deep, throaty, and he sounds deadly serious.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t…” I go to reach for my clothes but his hands stops me.

  “It’s fine. In fact, from where I’m sitting it’s more than fine.” He flashes a playful grin that borders on wicked. “Not so shy now, Miss Thorne?”

  “Well, you’ve had your finger in my arse, just how shy can I be around you?” I raise my own brow at my rhetorical question.

  “Fair point, Miss Thorne.” He presses some buttons, and I feel a warm glow radiate across my back and on my bottom. He also points a stream of warm air directly at my body. I shiver slightly, but I am starting to warm through. It is silent in the car, and I look out into the darkness. We hit the motorway, and neither of us has spoken.

  “How did you find me, Daniel?” I break the silence first.

  “You never answer your phone. Why don’t you ever answer your phon
e?” I can hear the frustration in his tone.

  “That’s another of my things, the phone, I mean. My phone is for my convenience. I use it when I need it, not to be at everyone’s’ beck and call. It’s for emergencies only.”

  “This was an emergency!” I jump at his volume. He lets out a long breath, his voice a little softer when he speaks again. “I found Sofia’s number in your flat, and she told me, after my twelfth unanswered call to you, that you were probably visiting your mother, but she didn’t know the name of the home, just the name of the town. Do you know how many residential care homes there are in this town?” He still sounds irritated.

  “No.”

  “Lots!” The car goes silent again.

  “Bethany?” His deep voice breaks the silence but not the tension.

  “Mmmm?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” His voice is soft and soothing. It needs to be, as I am instantly on edge.

  “How did you…who told you?” I suck in a sharp breath.

  He sighs softly. “No one told me. No one needed to tell me, and before you start berating yourself that you were a lousy lay,” he pauses and almost whispers, “you were amazing.”

  “Does it matter?” I ask softly.

  “Yes and no.” I look at his face all hard lines and strong features, but his smile is sweet and kind. He reaches over and holds my thigh gently tracing circles with his thumb. I feel the electricity with each stroke. “No, I still would have wanted you, but yes, I would have taken more care with you, if I had known, if you had been honest with me.” He grumbles the last part.

  I laugh at this. “Really? And how would that conversation have gone exactly? Would I have told you before you told me you were going to punish me, before you told me I was going to scream your name when you make me come, or after you told me you were going to fuck me hard all night? At which point was I going to disclose that nugget of information and not see you running for the hills?”

  “I don’t run, Bethany.” He calmly replies. “And we will never know how that conversation would have gone, will we?” He is quiet for a while before he asks. “So are you telling me that you didn’t want me running for the hills?” He looks at me with a raised brow but not an ounce of doubt in his expression.

  “No, Daniel, I didn’t want that. I wanted last night. But this morning--after this morning I don’t want…” I drop my head, unable to finish this line of thought.

  “Bethany, what did I do to make you think what you thought?” He voice is laced with genuine concern.

  I pause for endless seconds before I answer. “It was the money that made me think it, the other things just made sense after the money.”

  “What other things?” He catches my eye and he looks genuinely shocked.

  “You took me to a hotel, Daniel. A hotel we had to drive past your apartment to get to. You said it didn’t matter about the information about my family, and your friends the other night said that you’ve never had a relationship that you didn’t pay for.”

  “You heard that?” he interrupts.

  “I’m staff, Daniel, we hear everything.” I am quiet, and I barely voice the words, “You never kissed me.” My body jerks as he swerves the car on to the hard shoulder and punches the hazard lights. In an instant, he has released my seatbelt and has pulled me on to his lap, his hands gripping my face as he covers my mouth with his. I go to gasp, and he takes this opportunity to dart his hot moist tongue in to find mine. His lips are full and soft, his kiss is heated, demanding, breath-stealing, everything I wanted last night and so much more. His hands move to my hair, and he grips, causing a moan deep in my throat. He moves his mouth, hungry for mine, his tongue dipping in and around, tasting and swirling with mine. My pulse is racing, and a fire in my core makes me shift on his lap, fully aware of the massive erection straining in his jeans. He moans and presses harder against my mouth. My hands move to his hair, tentative at first, then hungry too. The glossy strands slip between my fingers, and I grip and pull, securing his head as I return each of his heated moves with my mouth. He pulls my hair back, breaking our contact. My eyes are glazed, but his are feral. He rests his forehead to mine and takes a deep calming breath. I’m still panting.

  He picks me up and carefully places me back on my seat. He leans his strong arm across to grab the seat belt and places a warm soft kiss lightly on my lips before returning to his seat.

  “Have I addressed that concern for you, Bethany?” His tone is calm yet commanding.

  “Yes, Daniel.” I smile and drag my lips through my teeth, tasting the tingle he left behind.

  “Good, now for your other concerns, allow me: I took you to the hotel because I wanted to have breakfast in bed with you, and my housekeeper is away, and I have no food at my place, as you will know from Friday. I thought it would be special and would give us some more time in bed.” He turns a sinful grin my way. “The other night my friend was referring to the fact that I do not have relationships. My relationships are business relationships, and as such, I do pay for them. I make a great deal of money from them, but I do pay in some fashion, either with my time or financially.”

  I pull my legs to my chest and turn in my seat to face him. I don’t know if he is telling me the truth, or whether I just want to believe what he is telling me, and that is a worry.

  “You weren’t there.” I hate that I sound so needy; that he makes me needy.

  “I know, and for that I am truly sorry. I woke up and went to find the night manager about opening up the boutique downstairs. I wanted to get you something to wear for when we left. I didn’t think you would be comfortable leaving the hotel in the same clothes. I thought I would be back before you woke up.” He has a slight frown. I can’t help thinking if he hadn’t been so thoughtful, none of this would have happened.

  “That’s unbelievably sweet. I can’t believe you would do that and I can’t believe what a complete shit that makes me.” I let my head drop, feeling the rightful rush of shame.

  “No, don’t. You’re not, not at all. When you explain it all like you have, I can understand why you felt the way you did, and why you reacted the way you did.” He is quiet for a while, and I ask something that’s been swirling around my head since I met him.

  “Daniel, what do you want from me?” He flashes me a wicked smile, and I tingle with heat and anticipation.

  “What I want, what I would very much like, is to start over, now that you know I don’t think you are a whore.” I lightly snort, I am not sure I’m quite ready to joke about this yet, but a ‘do-over’ sounds good.

  “Ok.” I return his grin.

  “Good girl.” His tone is sensual, and he waits a few agonizing minutes in silence before he continues. “Now, what I want you to do is turn and face the front and put your feet on the dash.”

  “Oh,” I let out a heavy breath.

  “Oh,” He exhales slowly. I put my feet on the dash and wiggle down. He presses a button to fully recline my seat. “Now Miss Thorne, I want you to do exactly as I say.” I can see his grip on the steering wheel tighten and his knuckles whiten. “I want you to run your fingertips slowly from your knees all the way down your thighs up your stomach right up to your perfect tits. Skate the edges of your bra and then back down your sides, to your thighs and back to your knees.” My fingers twitch and start to follow his instruction. My light touch almost tickles, and I wiggle and flinch as my contact touches my side at my waist. “Hold still, or I will pull over and use that seatbelt to restrain you.” I feel his hand grab the inside of my thigh, the heat scorches my skin, and I breathe in sharply. I continue to stroke my body, my skin hypersensitive to my touch, and I feel an increasingly desperate need to move. I moan and grit my teeth. I hear him chuckle as he drops his hand to the apex of my thighs and draws his finger back and forth along the top of my panties. “I want you to hold your tits and pinch your nipples, but I want you to picture it is me holding your firm soft tits, and it’s me pinching and tugging a
t your hard aching nipples”. Oh fuck, he has the sexiest voice. I reach for my breasts and moan as my back begins to arch. “Miss Thorne.” He sternly brings me back to attention. I let out a frustrated breath. “We can stop if you would prefer? If you are too frustrated?”

  “No. No!” I slowly release a breath. “No, Sir.” Trying my hardest not to reveal my continued frustration, I do not want him to stop.

  “Good girl. Now you are going to want to move, but it’s really important that you keep still. I can’t have you flailing about while I am trying to keep this car on the road. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes, Sir, I understand.” My throat is dry, and I swear you can see my heart thumping against my chest.

  He resumes his leisurely trail of his finger along the edge of my panties, and I release some of the building ache from my breast with a gentle squeeze. “If that is me who is supposed to be doing that, don’t you think I would be a little firmer, pinch a little harder?” I follow his instruction and am rewarded by a guttural noise from his throat. He slips his finger beneath my panties and into my wet soft folds. He draws a sharp breath, and I bite my lip at the ecstasy of this movement. “Fuck, Bethany, you’re so wet.” He shifts in his seat but keeps his finger deep in my folds, curling up and around. I swallow and fight to remain still. I can see his jaw clench, and I know he struggles, as I do, to keep control. He slows his movement. “I think we need to finish this later.” We are nearing the outskirts of the city and there is more light in the car now. My face is flush, and I am struggling to catch a decent breath.

  “No, no, Daniel, please, please, don’t stop.” I am wound so tight, I’m not above begging right now. He laughs.

  “All right, Miss Thorne.” With that he plunges as deep as the angle of his arm will allow and curls his fingers enough to put pressure on a sweet sensitive spot inside while simultaneously using the heal of his hand to rub my clit. He has me trembling instantly. I can’t breathe, and I push my head hard into the seat to stop any involuntary movement from my body as it spasms and contracts in wave after rippling wave of intense orgasm. I can’t help my legs clamping together, trapping his hand, and extracting the last bit of pleasure from the slow and tortuous movement of his finger. I shudder, and my skin is sprinkled with a million goose bumps. “Should I turn the heaters up?”