by Sabrina York
Her eyes narrowed. “For a girl? Yeah. Also insulting.”
“Damnit, Vixen. That’s not what I meant. You’re holding up well…for anyone. SEAL, ranger, marine—”
“Stop patronizing me.”
“What branch were you with?”
His question surprised her. “What?”
“I know you have military training. What branch?”
She glared at him. “Army. Special Forces.”
“Nice. Where were you stationed?”
Though she wasn’t sure how she felt about his interest, his questions, she couldn’t not answer. “Well, Benning and Bragg, of course. And then I had a few tours overseas.”
“Where?”
She sent him a hard look. “Over. Seas.”
He blew out a breath. “Hookay… So how did you end up working for GAPS?”
“I was recruited.” She waggled the meatloaf MRE she’d found. “You hungry?”
“Why don’t you want to answer any questions?”
“Because it’s boring.”
“It’s not.” His eyes glinted as he stared at her through the shadows.
“It’s boring to me,” she snipped. “I already know all the answers.”
Chapter Seven
Goddamn, she was a fascinating woman. Out here, like this, sweaty and smudged with dirt, infused with the earthy scent of exercise. He shouldn’t have been aroused. He shouldn’t have been intrigued…but he was.
It annoyed the crap out of him that she seemed disinclined to open up about her past—as though she was hiding something, some deep dark secret she couldn’t bear for him to discover.
Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk.
Maybe she didn’t like him.
He flicked a look at her and their gazes tangled. He remembered the feel of her, the taste…her response when he’d kissed her. Naw. She liked him. Or wanted him at the very least.
It was crazy to think about kissing her again right now, on the run, holed up in a stony cave, but he couldn’t get it out of his mind. When this mission was over, they’d never see each other again. This could be his only chance.
But if she rebuffed him, how much would that suck?
Would she?
There was only one way to find out.
“Would you really do it?” He asked the question that was hovering in his brain before he talked himself out of it.
She blinked. “Do what?”
“Whack off my dick if I kissed you again?”
“What?”
“You did threaten to. Would you?”
Her throat worked as she studied him. Her body had gone preternaturally still. “Are you considering it?”
“Every second.”
Her expression glazed over a little—which was heartening—but then her usual acerbity reemerged. “You’re a brave man.”
“Have you ever Bobbitted a man who kissed you?”
Her brow wrinkled until she caught the reference, and then she laughed. “Only the ones with bad breath.”
He breathed into his palm.
Crap.
His breath was a cross between toxic waste dump and the inside of an old shoe.
“Got a mint?” he asked. It was a joke, so he was stunned when she scrounged around in her pack and found one of the rolls that came with the rations. She tossed it to him, but he was too bemused to catch it; it bounced off his chest. “Seriously?” he asked.
She only smiled. But damn, what a smile.
She shouldn’t have encouraged him.
She should never have thrown him those mints.
But damn, she wanted at least one more taste of him.
She wanted more, but would take what she could get. It was only a kiss after all. It wasn’t as though they would do anything more. They were dirty and sweaty and covered with grunge.
She could dare one kiss.
Surely she could.
She forgot to account for the adrenaline. Though it had been hours since that battle with Cooper, the thrill of it was still thrumming through her veins. Her blood was high.
So, apparently, was his. She saw it in his eyes, in the tightness of his features, the clench of his muscles.
He approached her like a jungle cat, on his hands and knees on the soft dirt of the cavern floor, kicking up little puffs of it with each move. Though it excited her, he excited her, she sat still, waiting for him to pounce.
But he didn’t pounce. He came just close enough to touch her lips, and then did. Just barely. It was soft and slow and a torment, because he didn’t deepen the kiss and—by God—she wasn’t going to. He made little nuzzling movements, as though he were tasting her, savoring her. Their lips clung. Her mind spun as his scent surrounded her, his heat bathed her.
Hunger rose.
She fought it.
This was a battle of the wills. They both knew it. She would not be the one to break—
Oh, fuck it.
She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, and then, because she couldn’t resist, pulled him close. He made a noise, something like a growl, and complied. And God…
A glorious sensation welled in her breast and he tipped his head and took her mouth more fully, pressing his tongue in and dancing it against hers. Her fingers curled, instinctively, around his ears and she held him there.
And then, suddenly, everything changed. The mood shifted from a slow, easy sampling to a raging thunderstorm, the way a flash flood annihilates a lone pine in sandy soil. It took her, swept her away in a flurry of passion, and suddenly she was sucked under, breathless, drowning.
He was her only salvation. That and, apparently, removing his shirt. She tore at it with numb fingers, popping off the buttons and yanking it away from the skin she had to touch, needed to taste. She raked him with her attention, her lips, her teeth, reveling in the feel of his hard chest, his collarbone, his neck.
He was not unaffected either. He reared back and stared at her, his eyes red, his nostrils flared. “God,” he clipped, and then he fumbled with her shirt as well. She had no buttons to lose so he ripped it off and tossed it over his shoulder. Her bra gave him too much trouble so he yanked the straps down far enough to free her breasts and then left it there, around her waist.
The sight of her breasts seemed to poleaxe him, but not for long. He flicked a look at her and snarled, “You are so fucking hot.”
In response, she leaned up and nipped at his chin, because seriously, that goddamn beard was driving her wild. “Don’t you ever shave?”
For some reason, he ignored the question. But then, she didn’t care, because he lowered his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth and her brain went on hiatus. Oh, there was enough awareness left in there to register the scorching pleasure, thank God, but little else.
Something about him made her lose her mind. Slough off all civility. She became feral with him. Feral with need.
It was surreal to be here with him again, like this, after so many years. Surreal and probably stupid, but she didn’t care. She wanted him. Desperately.
As though she’d saved up all the need and hunger and loneliness of the past ten years just for this moment. Just for this chance. Just to feel full again.
How she’d missed it, body and soul.
Like wild animals, they consumed each other, creating carnage and agony wherever they touched. But there was a coming bliss, a balm that would wash away all the pain and make it all worthwhile. The both knew it, felt it, craved it.
When he unzipped her jeans, she wailed, because he wasn’t doing it fast enough. She quickly wriggled free of the restriction and reached for his zipper. She found his cock. Hard, full and long.
“Jesus,” she breathed.
He groaned as well, because she gave him a squeeze. She had to. Her need was too great, the temptation too strong.
“Careful,” he huffed, rolling to the side and divesting himself of his pants.
“Mmm?”
His chuckle held a tinge of pan
ic. “Don’t want to unman me yet, darlin’.”
“Oh, I’ll unman you, Hot Rod,” she snapped, wrapping her legs around his waist, arching into him and urging him to take what she offered.
But he didn’t.
She nearly smacked him.
Instead he reached down and touched her there, through her damp panties. The pressure of his knuckle against her swollen, aching clit was magnificent torment. She made a noise, some animalistic howl, and he laughed. “You’re hot,” he said.
“Fuck me.”
“Not yet.”
She glared at him.
He hooked his thumbs in her underwear and pulled them down and then, to her horror, he kissed his way down her belly. She knew where he was going and it thrilled her beyond words, but she couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t—
He touched her. With his tongue. And her body jerked. “No, Matt. Please.”
“Mmm,” he murmured against her weeping flesh. “I’ll please you.”
When he drew her clit between his lips and sucked, she had an out-of-body experience. The pleasure was so intense she suspected she actually elevated off the ground.
But before she could process that, he slipped a thick and long finger inside, and then two, easing deep while he suckled her clit. He hit a spot, one that stole her breath and made rivulets of shivers dance on every nerve. Total bliss filled her and she swamped him with her release.
It seemed to go on forever—probably because he continued to goad her higher and higher. By the time it was done, she was a wad, a limp noodle staring up at him through a glorious fog.
“Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asked in a prim tone.
His sarcasm roused her. She yanked down his skivvies and took hold of his cock in a death drip that made his eyes cross.
“You goddamn better, Hot Rod,” she snapped. “And you better do it now.”
Oh, good lord in heaven above.
She was perfect.
Wild, untamed and bold. Willing to give as good as she got, meeting him on even ground at every turn.
He was so aroused, he almost forgot the condom. As it was, she didn’t seem inclined to let him go, not even the couple feet to his pack. His body was humming with anticipation that had only been stoked by her beautiful climax. She’d been so magnificent in her passion, so perfect. He’d been swamped by an odd sense of déjà vu, as though they’d been lovers before, forever perhaps, and they would be until the end of time.
But he hardly had the fortitude to study these feelings, not with his Vixen lying there, bare and ready for him.
God knew, he was ready for her.
His fingers shook as he rolled on the condom, but probably because he had his gaze locked with hers and that made the blaze in his belly flare. He positioned himself over her and at her entrance and then whispered, “Are you ready?”
Her response was unequivocal. She buried her nails in his ass and pulled him closer. “Now,” she panted.
It would be rude to wait.
But who the hell cared about sex etiquette in a moment like this? A savage need drove him, drove him in. Hard and deep.
She welcomed him, enveloped him, caressed him; his groan came forth from the well of his soul as he sank home. Perfect. She was perfect.
He wanted to stay there within her hold forever, but his instincts screamed for more. Also Vixen was impatient. When he held still longer than she though necessary, she smacked his ass.
It shocked him—he hadn’t been expecting it—and he reared up and stared at her.
“What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”
Her attitude nudged at his. Really? She thought to command him? To be contrary, he grinned at her and wiggled around and said, “But this feels so good.”
She frowned at him and gave him a purple-nurple. “Does this feel good?”
He winked. “Kind of.”
And yeah. She wasn’t amused. He could see the annoyance flash over her face. But then she softened. And she smiled. Batted her lashes. The innocence in her expression made a shiver crawl up his spine.
“How about this?”
Then she did something, something with her muscles, some kind of undulating movement deep inside that clutched his cock in a ripple of agony and freaking heaven. He caught his breath. Against his will, his hips twitched. The urge to pound into her, possess her, fill her, rose.
She stared up at him with a languorous expression on her face, opened her legs wider and moaned, all while doing that thing again.
And he lost it.
He took her hips in a tight hold, just for leverage, and he went wild.
He fucked her and he fucked her ferociously.
One manic plunge after the other, sinking deep, hitting hard.
Her response was gratifying. She clutched at him, inside and out, scratched at his back, bit at his neck and wailed into his ear.
Their conjoined passion rose and rose like a fury, like a banshee howling into the wind. The cave echoed with the grunts and moans, her frantic commands. The sound of wet, slapping flesh urged him on.
When she came again, he nearly exploded because she closed on him so hard he could barely move. But he held back, gritted his teeth and enjoyed her rapture and, once the wave had passed, he started pounding again.
Something coiled at his core. Something tight and hard and needy. It grew, swelled. His lungs worked like a bellows. His heart thudded like a runaway train. His pulse thrummed in every corpuscle. His tether broke. A madness took him, a beautiful madness that sent him spinning into a glorious abyss, surrounded by bright lights and bliss.
And her.
As he recovered himself, he found she’d wrapped him in her embrace and was holding him. Holding him tight. Stroking him and murmuring nonsense.
And as glorious as his climax had been, somehow this was even better. This warm, whispered twosome.
He wasn’t sure why, but it was.
“Well,” she said, at long last and on a gusted sigh. “That was a nice kiss.”
He grunted a laugh because he didn’t have the energy to offer any more. And also, because it had been.
A damn fine kiss.
Chapter Eight
Sam didn’t expect to fall asleep in Matt’s arms, but she did. When she awoke it was to a cocoon of tantalizing warmth and the rhythmic thud of his heart below her ear. The hard bands of his arms enclosed her and his breath shushed rhythmically over her cheek. She knew it would be wise to extricate herself from this tangle of limbs, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Instead, she closed her eyes again and pretended to be asleep and gloried in the rise and fall of his chest. It was amazing that she was here with him now, after so many years apart. To her folly, she allowed herself to enjoy it. Such a thing would only make their parting all the more painful, but she needed this. Needed the memory to sustain her in the lonely years to come.
She knew the instant he awoke. His muscles tightened; his breath caught. He made a sound, something low and deep and woven with contentment. Slowly, so slowly, his hands began to move over her bare skin. Gently, tentatively, he explored her. His touch made the tiny hairs on her arms prickle, made goose bumps rise in supplication for more.
She allowed herself to float back to a time when the world was pure and beautiful. When a boy and a girl made love beneath the stars, and pledged their eternal devotion with the moon as their only witness.
I will always love you. I will always be there if you need me.
Perhaps it hadn’t been a lie, so much as a wish.
Perhaps, in her grief, she had villainized him more than he deserved. They had both been victims of circumstance back then, corks bobbing in a sea they could not control. They had both been so young. Maybe it was time for her to release her resentment and forgive him…a little.
Though that was probably the rising lust talking.
She hardly cared. She liked this new and welling emotion, one not tinged with bitter barbs. She h
oped she could cling to it for a while at least, because it made her feel…wonderful.
He made her feel wonderful.
This time, their lovemaking was not frantic, was not a competition as much as a collaboration. They worked together, in concert, bringing each other to the edge of glory, each inciting the other to higher passion and dizzying release.
When it was over, they clung to each other again and no words passed between them.
No words were necessary.
It was a long time later, after they’d shared the dreadful MRE—she’d forgotten how hideous they could be—after they’d donned the armor of their clothes once more, that they finally spoke.
He stared at her through the gathering shadows with an intensity she could not ignore. “That was…unexpected.” A grave tone.
“It was.” She busied herself with rearranging her pack, but only because the moment was too raw to face head-on. Still, she felt his attention on her, singeing her.
“We…are well matched.” Why there was a thread of surprise in the words was a mystery. Or not.
She sucked in a breath and forced herself to look at him. “We are.” Their gazes tangled; she couldn’t look away. Felt the connection to the marrow of her bones. Damn him.
“It hasn’t been…like that for a long while.”
“How long?” She didn’t know why she asked. She didn’t really want to know.
Fortunately, his answer was vague. It was accompanied by a shuttering of his expression. “A long while.”
She remembered his comment about utterly forgettable affairs, and some semblance of satisfaction rose within her. “Will you remember this?” A stupid, careless question; one that exposed her vulnerable underbelly.
His sharp laugh bounced off stony walls. “Yes. Yes, I will.” He glanced down at his hands. Threaded his fingers. Frowned. “Will you?”
Would she remember this? Him? His touch? His scent? The feel of his body over hers, filling her, bringing her to rapture? To the day she fucking died. She lifted a shoulder. “Probably.”
His nostrils flared in amused outrage. “Probably?”
“Umm hmm. It was pretty good.”
“Pretty good? It was fan-fucking-tastic.”
