Surrendering To Her Sergeant

by Angel Payne

  He seriously needed to be inside her.

  He fumbled first with the ties of his shorts and next with the condom he’d stashed in the Velcro pocket. Thank fuck he’d had high hopes for where this would end tonight, though the journey had possessed more twists than the road to Serenity’s bar down in Mexico. But there was no stopping him now. Without even kicking off the shorts, he lined himself up to her tight sheath.

  “Colin and Flynn,” he said into her ear. When she stiffened again, he scratched his nails into her forearms. “We’re erasing them tonight, Ava. Stay with me so we can do that. We’re drowning them with this, with us. They’re not here anymore. I am, and I’m not going anywhere. Tell me you understand.”

  Her head bobbed beneath his. “I—I understand, Sir.”

  He slid a kiss along her neck. “Good girl.” His dick swelled a little tighter. It had been so long since he’d spoken those words. It had been even longer since he’d relished speaking them. “Now…tell me who made your ass hurt so good tonight.”

  “You,” she whispered. “It was you, Sir.”

  “And tell me who you want here now…at the entrance of your perfect, sweet cunt.”

  “You.” She released a high sigh. “Please, Sir!”

  “Who do you want to fill you, and fuck you?”

  “You.” She trembled and pushed against him. “God, Ethan! I need it! I need you inside me. Fuck me now!”

  With a triumphant growl, he slid into her tight, ready channel. He was fully seated within delirious seconds—not that he rested there long. It didn’t just feel good physically to fuck her hard. It fed the reaches of his Dominant’s spirit. It opened a dungeon inside him that had been dark and neglected for so damn long. Tonight, the dungeon was still there—only now, it was alive with her passion, illuminated by her beauty, vibrant with her cries as he thrust into her over and over again.

  Soon, her shrieks resonated with his name. “Ethan—Sir—I can’t last much longer.”

  “Same page, sunshine.” He reared back, letting his hands trail into the juncture of her thighs. His gasp escaped with hers when he slid a finger over the hard knot of her most tender nerves. “Give this to me too, Ava. Every screaming second of it.”

  She complied in glorious detail, arching her head back, unleashing a groan that threatened to blow off the roof. Every muscle in her passage utilized its Kegel workout from this afternoon, squeezing down on his cock. Electricity sizzled in his balls, zapping the way for the hot milk that shot from him like liquid fireworks.

  “Fuck! Ava!” He grabbed her by the hips and rammed her back hard on his shaft, needing to give her every last hot drop. Like the act of claiming her, there was more than carnal fulfillment to it. He’d asked her for so much. Despite her fear and despite the pain, she’d given it to him. In return, she deserved every measure of his passion, too.

  He gentled his hold as his limbs went slack, anticipating she’d pull away, too. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and the day had been one for the unexpected. As soon as he let go, Ava turned around and reattached herself to him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Though the move dislodged his cock from her, he smiled and wrapped her back up in his arms.

  Instantly, his senses were blanketed in peace. Fuck. Peace. When was the last time he and that word were on speaking terms? But for this collection of moments, there was no other term to encompass this complete connection of his mind, body and spirit.

  Because of this incredible woman.

  On that thought, he forced himself to shift far enough away to see her face. Her high cheekbones were still stained with tears but she had the heavy-lidded happiness of a satisfied subbie.

  Nevertheless, he asked, “You okay?”

  She slowly nodded. “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “For what?”

  “For helping me to start what I should have a while ago. Getting rid of the ghosts. Colin…and Flynn.”

  He shook his head. “I told you, we don’t have to talk—”

  “I know. And we won’t. Not tonight. But I promise, you’ll hear about them both…soon.” She tilted her head. “Okay?”

  He brushed her nose with his lips. “Deal.”

  She had the cutest nose. The tip had a tiny dent in it. He wondered what other nuances there were to learn about her.

  “So.” She issued it with an impish curl of her lips. The quirk deepened her left dimple. Another nuance. “Do I get to ask a question now?”

  He shot back a playful glower. “Am I going to enjoy answering it?”

  She squared her shoulders, which made her breasts undulate in a way that turned distracting into an understatement. “Am I ever going to get a proper spanking…Sir?”

  Well, that did it. His cock lurched, his chest flipped, and his pulse jumped. Screw the Tar Pits. If she was ready for round two tonight, then he sure as fuck was. He lifted a hand, buried it in her hair, and tugged her head back, exulting in the shaky little gasp she emitted as he did.

  “I think that can be arranged, sunshine.”

  He should have remembered it wasn’t midnight yet. That this day, full of as many crazy game changers as any twenty-four he’d known on the team, couldn’t possibly give up the ghost on midnight without a fight—a fight that sounded a hell of a lot like his phone, chirping with the special ring that every guy on the battalion knew all too well. It was John Franzen’s version of the bat signal, and it meant only one thing.

  Drop everything. Now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tait wasn’t sure what to expect when he and Kell got out of the cab in front of the Foxfire Room. A North Hollywood dive bar wasn’t Franzen’s normal scene for a battalion rally-up, especially because most of them were staying in the Hilton in Universal City.

  Okay, so none of them had actually been at the hotel thirty minutes ago, anyway. In light of the throw-down at Bella’s place tonight, nobody had been ready to turn in. He and Kellan had made for the Whisky on Sunset for a kick-ass local band and some ribs, while Garrett and Zeke headed someplace quiet with their girls, in light of Sage’s condition. He’d heard Franz talking to Rhett and Rebel about checking out the famous Pink’s Hot Dogs joint but after what happened on the beach tonight, he needed heavy booze, heavier rock ’n’ roll, and a place where he had to address his best friend in a lung-busting bellow. What he had to divulge was best done that way.

  Their captain’s urgent text had preempted his confession.

  “You good?” Kellan asked it while shrugging into his faded leather jacket. The inflection his friend gave it, along with the expectant set of his jaw, got instantly translated into a longer message. Something along the lines of You okay, ass face, because you never drink four beers inside an hour without starting commentary on everything in the room that moves, so I know something’s up, probably something big, and now you can’t tell me because of this code red call from Franzen, and is this gonna wait or do we have to stand out here and hash it first?

  Tait shoved some money at the driver then gave his friend a nod. “Yeah.” He tugged open the door that was set into a flagstone wall that hadn’t been trendy since Kennedy was sworn in. You’re right. It’s big. Too damn big for the sidewalk between a hair salon and an imports store with mugs screaming “Kiss Me, I’m Irish.” “Later, okay?”

  “Roger.”

  After they stepped inside, they had to let their eyes readjust to the dark, even after the murky street they’d left behind. The place was crowded for a weeknight. There were at least twenty stools occupied with customers of all kinds, including some guys who looked like they’d stepped out of a trendy magazine spread, some burly types in T-shirts from the local stage employees union, two girls with purple hair who flanked a third in blue tattoos, and a multipierced couple with their tongues down each other’s throats. A TV played a silent repeat of tonight’s Dodgers game. The ceiling-mounted speakers pulsed with one of Tait’s favorite Dave Matthews songs, though he wasn’t sure that was enough to officially bri
ng the place into the twenty-first century. Could’ve had something to do with the yellowed rope lighting tacked up around the perimeter of the room.

  Seventies Christmas kitsch aside, the strands came in handy for guiding them to the back corner, where the place’s sole booth already held most of their battalion mates. Franz, Rhett, Rebel, Zeke, and Garrett were present, along with a new guy he didn’t recognize. Wouldn’t be surprised if they called him Ken, though. Dude looked like a supersized version of Barbie’s famous boyfriend, complete with perfect haircut, square jaw, and muscled shoulders that pushed against a T-shirt emblazoned with Jack Kerouac’s face.

  As they settled into the booth, he looked around to flag a bartender. There was only one and the friendly old guy was laughing at a joke made by a customer at the other end of the room. Shit. That fifth beer was going on hold for a while. Might have been a good thing, if the terse look on Franzen’s face was an accurate indicator of the theme for this powwow.

  After another head check around the table, he threw out, “So Archer’s in the head?”

  Rhett waggled his brows. The rope lights picked up the red tints in them, making him look like a demon king from those bow-and-arrow computer games he played. “Archer isn’t here yet.”

  “What?” Kell got the rejoinder out before he could. “We beat Ethan?”

  Zeke smirked. “Twenty says Mr. Time Clock was busy getting laid.”

  Nobody took him up on the bet. Ethan was always the first one in the door at team meetings. An exception could only involve a woman or a natural disaster. Best as he knew, the only disaster tonight had been what the Dodgers had wielded on the Mariners.

  They didn’t have to wallow long in curiosity. The door opened and the rope lights illuminated the dark head of their party’s last arrival. Runway hurried to the booth and scooted in across from Tait, next to Rhett. “Hey.” He nodded in deference to Franz. “Came as fast as I could.”

  Zeke made sure that didn’t get ignored. “Aw, we sure hope not, Runway.”

  “Huh?”

  Z snickered. Garrett backhanded the purple-and-gold Hawaiian print that covered his friend’s huge torso and gave Ethan a diplomatic smile. “Dude, it’s always a good idea to check in the mirror before dashing out the door.”

  “What?” Ethan looked down. “Why?”

  “Your shirt’s inside out, your fly is open, and for the record, a little hand sanitizer or olive oil is great for getting lipstick off your earlobes.”

  “Shit.” Runway joined the rest of them in chuckling at his expense. The moment was temporary. Ethan’s grin fell to a shocked gape, aimed right at Malibu Ken, who’d been hidden from him by Zeke’s bulk. “Colton?”

  The guy jabbed his chin up. “Pleasure to see you, Archer.”

  “Likewise, but what the hell are—”

  “You’re getting on the tracks in front of the train, Runway.” Franz sliced it in before jamming his elbows to the table and circling his stare over all of them. In the dim light of the room, he looked like Don Corleone had gotten a makeover from the Scorpion King. “Gentlemen, thanks for circling the wagons even on your vacation, which I’m afraid is being cut short.” He paused for a second, smiling a little when nobody at the table so much as flinched. “I know it’s not the first time you’ve heard that from me, nor will it be the last. The fresh factor here, as you’ve all surmised, is the pretty young thing sitting to my left.”

  The Ken doll snorted. “Pretty young thing who whipped your ass last time we were at the firing range.”

  “Eight months ago,” Franz sneered.

  “You’re still buying my Scotch tonight.”

  Good luck with that. Tait glanced at the bartender, who’d headed back their way but stopped halfway. It was like someone else was tending the second half of the bar, a ghost only that old guy could see.

  “Now you’re talking,” Ethan added to Ken doll’s comment. They bumped fists in front of Zeke’s rolling eyes.

  Franzen chuckled. “Clearly, some of you are familiar with Agent Colton already.” He glanced to Rebel then Tait. “For those who aren’t, allow me to introduce Daniel Colton, one of our best guys currently serving the Central American region of the CIA.”

  Ken doll muttered, “And South.”

  Franz frowned. “Huh?”

  “Central and South America, shit for brains.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He added under his breath, “Overachieving spook.”

  “Adrenalin-whore ground pounder.”

  Tait exchanged perplexed scowls with the other guys as Franz and Colton snickered like they’d slung the last decent insults in history.

  Archer was the next to speak. “Sorry to break up the riff, Captain, but what the fuck’s going on?” To Colton, he queried, “What’re you doing on this side of the border? You didn’t let the Aragon truck get away, did you?”

  That caused a ripple of tension at the table. The entire team had nearly ground their nuts to dust in helping the spooks track the Aragons from one side of the globe to the other. Raids, searches, surveillances, interferences…an undercover op that had included Rebel in drag…Ethan practically going comatose from questioning dirtbags from Abbottabad to Zacatecas…they’d pulled out all the stops on the fuckers, leading to Bernardo Galvaz finally spilling about the massive heroin shipment due for the border three days ago.

  But confiscating the smack was only part of why that goal was important. Several families had paid the Aragons for safe transport into the states on the truck, not knowing the Aragons would never allow loose ends like that in their business. If the CIA had let the Especiales “handle” that truck into invisibility, Agent Colton might find himself resembling Mr. Potato Head instead—with the parts in the wrong places.

  “We didn’t lose it,” Colton stated.

  “Thank fuck.” Rhett and Ethan muttered together.

  Tait threw an assessing look at the spook. “So why do you still look like you’re going to tell us Bin Laden is really alive?”

  Colton went still as all eyes at the table riveted back to him. Franz leaned and muttered, “Sergeant Tait Bommer. He’s half of my sniper team.”

  “He’s the spotter?” Colton returned.

  “Oooo, you can be bright when you want to be.”

  Despite the banter, Colton’s mien didn’t change. He steepled his fingers and stared over them back at Tait. “You have good instincts, Sergeant,” he stated. “Our interest in the Aragon Cartel has gotten a whole lot more urgent since we stopped that truck.” He swung his gaze to everyone at the table. “No. Fuck ‘urgent.’ This is sticky. Peach pie on the sidewalk in the middle of July, being eyed by a thousand flies, sticky. Got it?”

  Garrett emitted an admiring groan. “That was impressive, man. Shit, I may need to borrow that.”

  “No,” Zeke interceded, “you will not.”

  “Toss out that shirt and I’ll consider it.”

  As the friends grunted into a truce, Tait directed his attention back to Colton. “What’s going on? And what can we do to help you, Agent Colton?”

  If it were possible, the agent’s posture went more stiff. Everyone pressed in by another inch.

  “The takedown on the truck got…messy,” he muttered. “Dark and messy. The guards had heat. We expected that, of course, but it was serious heat. High-end semiautomatics and a shitload of handguns. They were well-trained to use it all, too.” He jutted his jaw and huffed. “Just listening to it on the radios was a nightmare. It was like a goddamn Michael Bay movie. There must have been ten or twelve of them, too. We caught eight. The rest took off into the desert.”

  “Probably maggot food by now,” Rebel commented in his Louisiana drawl. “In one way or another.”

  “But ten or twelve?” Kellan added. “For a basic heroin shipment and a handful of innocents? Doesn’t add up.”

  Garrett dragged a hand across the blond mess atop his head. Tait could practically predict what the soon-to-be new father would ask. “Casualties?”


  “Only one,” Colton supplied. “A passenger in the truck.”

  “Shit.”

  “An adult,” the agent clarified. “And not an innocent.” In response to their puzzled frowns, he explained, “A courier.”

  After they digested that in perplexed silence, Ethan asked, “A courier for what?”

  Colton laced his fingers. “We don’t have the answer to that yet. It’s the blank in the middle of the crossword puzzle, missing all the key letters. I can sure as hell tell you want the feeder words are, though.”

  “Lay ’em down,” Franzen encouraged.

  “Secrets. Layers. Lies. And danger.”

  Rebel had the guts to spit out the laugh they were all feeling. “You stirrin’ gumbo up in that gray matter, Colton? Maudit. Sounds like a bad movie ad.”

  The agent shrugged. “Agreed. But the guy had himself handcuffed to a laptop.”

  Franz’s brows jumped. “Handcuffed?”

  Colton nodded. “With no key on him to unlock it.”

  “What’s on the thing?” Ethan asked.

  “That’s the billion-dollar question,” Colton replied. “Everything on the computer has been encrypted behind the nine cyber-circles of Hell. That’s why we reached out to the Bureau here in LA for a helping hand.”

  Rhett gave that an approving nod. “The LA-based FBI guys are some of the best. A lot of them helped implement the city PD’s RACR war room, which is goddamned impressive. A bunch more have been drafted from the security teams at high-list terrorist targets like Disneyland and the Hollywood hub. Their people know some good shit.”

  Colton turned a cryptic look at him. “Yeah. Their team is an interesting melting pot.”

  Garrett grinned. “Something tells me this plot’s about to thicken.”

  Zeke snorted. “You forgot your flappy hat, Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “Holy shit,” his friend returned. “You read that book I gave you!”

  Tait threw an evil eye at them both. “You two clowns wanna let the guy finish?”

  “The courier also had a cell phone on him,” Colton continued. “There were a number of California-based numbers stored on it, though none with any names attached. One was definitely the guy’s favorite.”