Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance

by Cristina Grenier

  She honestly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The admiral had expressed a desire for Lieutenant Sinclair to return to the SEALs? While Genevieve knew that he’d chosen early retirement, she didn’t think that having him return to active duty as a SEAL was the answer. Not with traumatizing events so recent in his history.

  “So…let me get this straight: if I rehabilitate the lieutenant, we’ll get an influx of funding?” Where exactly was that funding coming from? She frowned. “From where?”

  “Does it matter?” Kant returned crisply, his grey eyes cold. “You’ve been provided with the opportunity to save your job and this psychiatry department, Dr. Thomas. I would think you’d leap at the chance.”

  The man’s detachment was breathtaking. It wasn’t like she could just snap her fingers and make Owen well. Of all people, Kant should know that psychiatry didn’t work like that. “What if I can’t help him?” Her question was whispered, low, tinged with fear of the answer.

  “Then, I will.” He responded crisply, his smile returning. “Rest assured that I will do anything in my power to get the lieutenant back into working order.”

  Genevieve’s mouth dropped open in horror. He meant drugs. He meant manipulation. What Kant spoke of wasn’t really help at all….but supporting his own reign over the psychiatry department. Of course, she didn’t want to lose her job – she didn’t want anyone to lose their job…but if the alternative was to give patients unnecessary medications – to lie about a man’s psychological evaluation before sending him back out into the combat that traumatized him…she couldn’t condone that.

  She wouldn’t.

  “Daniel, you’re out of your mind. Owen needs help, not meds.”

  “Then I suppose you’d better hurry that help along.” Kant’s smile grew even thinner. “You have until the end of the year to deliver results before I step in.”

  This was ridiculous. She couldn’t believe that the admiral would do this to one of his own soldiers – to a man willing to give his life for his country.

  But then…men of power worked in mysterious, and often unscrupulous ways. Genevieve’s eyes narrowed as she glared at her supervisor, her blood boiling with disgust. Six months. How was she supposed to deliver anything in six months?

  “Thank you so much for your cooperation, Genny.”

  And now he was dismissing her.

  Seconds passed, in which Genny wished her connections were high enough to expose this man for what he really was: a money hungry fraud, with no concern whatsoever for the people that came to him to get their lives back.

  Slowly, she rose, turning her back on her viper of a supervisor to return, numb, back down the hall to her cubicle.

  As she sank back into her chair, the secretary poked her head in once more, jolting Genevieve from her thoughts as she announced that her next patient had arrived.

  Her eyes wide, the young woman glanced at the clock. It was nearly three o’clock – which meant four hours until she was supposed to meet Owen.

  And then six months after that to work with him before Kant poisoned him. Christ….what was she supposed to do? There was no way to tell the man. He’d depended on the system to help him for what seemed like an eternity to no end, and now that he was finally ready to open up, that same system was exploiting him.

  “Genny?” She glanced around to see Stella peeking into her cube with a frown, extending an iced coffee to her. “You alright?” Her eyes flickered toward the hallway that led to Daniel Kant’s office. “What did Kant want?”

  This was not the time or place to speak about it, and if anyone knew that, it was Genny. She was going to have enough of a time facing Owen later on that night, knowing that she was just a pawn to bring him back into a very dangerous game.

  Swallowing thickly, she forced herself to smile. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

  Surprisingly, the rest of the day seemed to pass in a flash. The appointment that Genny had anticipated all morning suddenly seemed much too soon for comfort. She made her way through her last two appointments of the afternoon before sending Doctor Bradley a very ambiguous e-mail. Then, she had barely an hour to get through a mountain of paperwork before the clock read six thirty.

  Her stomach twisting in discomfort, the young woman reluctantly left the hospital, headed into the suburbs in search of the address in Owen’s file. He lived in a modest ranch home about twenty minutes from the hospital, and once she’d parked outside, Genevieve hesitated, her hand on the door handle.

  She had to be in her element – for Owen more than anyone else. She’d never rehabilitated a patient with a timeline in place, but if she didn’t work with Owen to meet this one, he might very well never get the help he needed.

  Steeling herself, she stepped from her car and began up the walkway. Before she could raise her hand to knock, however, the door opened. There was the pronounced clicking of nails on a wooden floor before a large, broad head poked from the doorway.

  The Rottweiler was enormous – easily one hundred pounds – and powerful. It’s physique was as muscled as its master’s and Genny braced herself for the immense animal to jump on her-

  “Eddie, heel.”

  As if a switch had been thrown, the dog planted its hindquarters on the front step before its tongue lolled out of its mouth. Eddie’s tail whipped back and forth in a frenzy as he stared up at Genevieve inquiringly with round blue eyes.

  Slowly, the young woman raised her eyes from him to his master standing before her.

  Owen looked a wreck.

  Though the sight of his tall, well-made form still made her knees weak, the dark circles under his eyes and tight line of his mouth worried her more than anything else. “Hello, Owen.” She tried to keep that worry from her voice as she smiled up at him. “This must be Eddie.” She held out her hand to the precocious dog to have it sniffed enthusiastically before Eddie licked the tips of her fingers, giving her permission to pet him.

  Her smile widening, the young woman scratched behind his ears before stroking down his snout. For a one year old, he was very well behaved. No small blessing when the dog was big enough to do serious damage to the unwary.

  “You’re not scared of him.” Owen’s comment was tinged with surprise as he gazed between the two of them.

  “Why would I be?” She returned, stroking along the dog’s back. “You’ve already told me all about him.”

  She indulged Eddie for a few minutes more before turning her full attention to Owen. “May I come in?”

  He seemed to realize that she was still outside on the stoop and his expression turned embarrassed for a moment before he let her in. Genny slipped inside the startlingly clean dwelling, followed by an eager Eddie as Owen led her to the family room. Above the mantelpiece were hung a bevy of awards he’d earned, along with a picture of him that looked about ten years old, with an older man she presumed to be his father smiling beside him. She stepped up to the framed photo, lifting it from the mantelpiece to examine before turning to find Owen seated on his leather couch, looking up at her with hollow eyes.

  Her heart clenched in her chest as she placed her bag on a nearby table, taking a seat next to him. As Eddie curled up by their feet, she prepared herself. The man she was faced with did not look like he meant to seduce her. Quite the contrary, actually. “What happened last night, Owen?”

  Her voice was careful, soft. She didn’t want to demand anything of him that he wasn’t willing to give.

  Owen exhaled a heavy breath, running a hand down his face before he answered. “I woke up in the middle of the night…couldn’t move. Not terribly uncommon for me. It’s the nightmares…I…I keep reliving what happened in Fallujah.”

  Genny’s heart leapt. “Would you like to tell me about your nightmares, Owen?”

  The lieutenant opened his mouth, then closed it, before repeating the process. It was clear from the pain in his eyes that he wanted to speak to her – he wanted her to know. But there was something that stood in his way…som
e mental barrier.

  She had encountered this before – and when most patients reached this point, it was often a loved one – a wife, a daughter, or a friend – who helped the patient open up.

  Owen’s father wasn’t present, and his mother never would be. She didn’t know anyone he was close to well enough to draw them into this session – but she didn’t want to lose this moment. Not when so much was riding on it.

  Genny hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to take the man’s hand in her own, sliding her fingers against his calloused palm. Owen visibly jolted, his eyes lowering in surprise to where she held his fingers loosely. “It’s alright, Owen. I’ll listen to anything you have to say…I promise I’ll help you through it. You just need to talk to me.”

  It seemed an eternity before Owen’s eyes rose slowly to meet her own, his expression tortured. “It’s not as though I don’t want to, Genny. I just…I can’t.”

  He needed something more. Something no one had given him before. And the moment the notion entered her mind, Genny knew what it was. Her face flushed slightly and her body heated, but she knew that what she gave Owen wasn’t about carnal lust anymore.

  It was about him believing that she believed in him…and if he needed physical proof, she could give it to him.

  Better that than to watch Daniel Kant ruin him for a paycheck.

  Without a word, Genevieve rose onto her knees, inching closer to the man until she could cup his face between her palms. Her palm gently traced over the scar on one side of his face before her gaze fell to his mouth. The mouth she had longed to kiss again since that first time. When her mouth lowered to his, touching it briefly, gently, the man made a sharp sound of surprise, his fingers curling around her waist even as he jerked backward in shock. Quickly, the young woman reassured him. “It’s not about that….Owen. If it was just about that, I would have given into you a long time ago.”

  She watched him – watched him register the desire in her eyes – the understanding there. He needed her – in a way too few others could comprehend.

  “You’re sure?” His tone was tentative, disbelieving, as he slowly drew her back to him, his gaze darkening. “You have to be sure, Genevieve.” His suddenly husky tone made her shudder. “Because once I start, I won’t stop.”

  The statement went straight to the core of her, making her bite back the moan of want that threatened to tear from her throat.

  This was her last chance to back out – to keep from being undone even as she sought to undo. “I’m sure.”

  The moment the words left her, she was crushed against him, his mouth devouring hers with a ferocity that took her breath away. The man’s tongue slipped into her mouth, stroking hers brusquely to life and making her arch against him as her fingers slid into his hair and against his scalp. Ever since Owen’s picture had first landed on her desk, she had imagined this – hoped for it even as she’d known how very dangerous it was.

  Now, as she kissed him – tasted coffee, strength and pure masculine desire – and she forgot her propriety and all the warnings her subconscious had buffeted her with.

  She wanted him.

  Owen growled against her mouth as his hands curled into her behind, drawing her even closer to him as he sucked and nipped at her lower lip. When his mouth left hers, his tongue following the line of her throat to the crease her breasts, a low gasp escaped her. God, his mouth was hot and demanding, lighting a fire wherever it travelled and making her shudder in undeniable pleasure. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once – roving over her behind, peeling her skirt upward until her lower half, clad in lacy Brazilian briefs, was exposed – and then jerking her flush against him. He pressed his jutting erection against her through the thin material of her underwear and she cried out softly, her arms sliding around his waist as sensation blossomed from the aching haven between her legs.

  Had it really been so long?

  The feel of Owen’s hands on her was so impossibly delicious that she could hardly comprehend how she had resisted him for so long – or if she ever would be able to again.

  In a dexterous movement, the man slid her shirt off over her head, throwing it heedlessly across the room to reveal breasts confined by a dark, lacy bra. Genevieve had only ever worn lacy underwear because it pleased her. For she, a woman so rarely sexually indulged, it reminded her that she could be a sensual being. But now, she was reminded of another purpose of lingerie. When Owen took in her enticing lacy accoutrement, a low, tortured sound escaped him. “Christ, Genevieve. You’re trying to kill me.”

  The young woman inhaled sharply as Owen rose from the couch, hefting her easily in his strong arms to carry down the hall – past a bathroom and into the master bedroom. The décor was simple and neat, in colors of forest green and burgundy – but at that point, what Genevieve cared most about was the bed.

  It was large and unmade – and the moment Owen set her on it, he flipped her over, exposing her behind for his viewing pleasure. His hands curled into it, massaging each full globe firmly before he lowered his head to place a heated kiss at the base of her spine. “Fucking divine.” She arched as his mouth continued lower, over the curve of one of her buttocks. “Decadent.” Then, without warning, his hand came down sharply upon the crest of one cheek and a soft sound of surprise escaped her – a moment before the burn of arousal worked its way to her core. She didn’t think any man had ever hit her before – she’d never even contemplated such a thing. The second time Owen’s hand struck her buttocks, she yelped, the sound fading into a soft moan as his lips soothed the hurt his hand had caused.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” He growled softly, smoothing over her behind with his fingertips. “Of this toffee skin, ripe under my tongue?” His teeth grazed the curve of her behind and she inhaled sharply. The next thing she knew, the man’s bare chest – hard and sculpted – was sliding along the line of her spine until his mouth found the line of her neck and shoulder to nip there hungrily.

  When his hardness nestled against her womanhood – already soaking its way through her panties – Genevieve bit back a groan. He was immense – hotter and harder than she remembered. She had to exercise restraint not to turn over and rip the man’s sweatpants from him and demand that he enter her.

  This was, after all, about him.

  The man’s fingers slid over her belly, down further and further until he reached the hem of her panties. With hardly any hesitation, his hands delved beneath the thin fabric, almost immediately finding the dampness of her arousal. “Fuck, Genny.” He growled against her ear, his hips thrusting powerfully against hers. “You’re so wet for me.”

  The words made her entire body quiver. He was so carnal – his voice thick with need. Two of his fingers slid over the wet length of her slit before finding her entrance. Whimpering, the young woman thrust her hips down into his touch, begging wordlessly. In a matter of seconds, Owen had reduced her to a shuddering, ingratiated creature of desire.

  He obliged her by thrusting two fingers deep into her hungry passage, and Genevieve cried out at the contact, her thighs tensing as the man’s mouth roved up and down the length of her neck. His opposite hand curved over one of her ample breasts, teasing its taut peak as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of her. Trembling moans and sighs escaped her as he stimulated her, her inner muscles clenching eagerly around his invasion. “Yes, Genny…my Genny.” Owen’s murmur was dark and primal as he bit at her throat. “You were mine the first day I saw you.” His fingers thrust particularly deep and Genevieve cried out, her entire body wracked with trembling.

  Her voice rose even louder, however, when Owen withdrew his fingers, rising from atop her for just long enough to urge her onto her back. Genevieve lie back against the coverlet, her face flushed with desire as the man who’d haunted her dreams lifted his fingers to his mouth to taste her, making her womb twist in raw want.

  As Owen sucked his fingers clean, his gaze never left hers, and Genevieve felt a
whimper rising in the back of her throat. Leaning down, the former SEAL pressed his mouth to hers, branding her own flavor on her lips so she arched against him, her fingers curling into his shoulders. The man’s chest was gloriously bare against her, every hill and valley of every muscle sliding against her skin in glorious relief.

  Owen yanked her hips to the edge of the bed, inching down her underwear until they pooled on the floor beneath her feet. Then, he was undoing the laces of his sweatpants until his erection sprang free against her – almost scalding her with its heat. “Tell me you’re mine.” The demand was issued, low and commanding, against her ear. Genevieve could hardly have denied such a request – not when the man’s erection was pressed so tantalizingly against her – not when he had teased her to within an inch of her sanity. “Tell me.”

  “I’m yours,” she gasped, arching her hips against his. “Owen, I’m yours.”

  He slid into her swiftly – deeply – pinning her hips against the bed and filling her to the cusp of pain so she gasped, her fingernails clawing red welts down his back. “God…” She moaned, squirming beneath him as he throbbed within her. The man pressed even deeper – to the very hilt, and Genevieve gasped his name. “Owen!”

  The lieutenant clung to her, using one hand to pull down a lacy cup and reveal her breast. His mouth closed over her nipple and he groaned against the sensitive flesh as he withdrew, thrusting back into her powerfully. Genevieve cried out loudly before moaning as he pistoned his hips against hers. His movements were precise – devastating – designed to undo her with every swiveling motion of his hips.

  She clung to anything she could reach – to the coverlet – to his shoulders and arms –anything to keep herself grounded as his teeth and tongue played havoc with her breast, his member hitting spots inside her she had forgotten existed. With every motion, he groaned, as if the feel of her squeezing around him – milking him – would be his undoing. Genevieve felt her body begin to tremble- her entire world begin to contract as Owen pressed her closer and closer to the edge of her endurance.