One Hot SEAL

by Anne Marsh

  “God, I hope so,” he groaned.

  He scooped her up, opened the door, and dropped her onto the seat. While she gaped—because, darn it, hands-off hadn’t been what she’d been going for—he moved rapidly around the truck. Sex was so much better than worrying about her lack of a car. Or her lack of a paycheck, home, or meaningful personal life. Luke Dawson should be good for at least an hour of hot, sweaty, toe-curling oblivion.

  Except that he slid behind the wheel, and instead of dragging her onto his lap and finishing their kiss, he turned the key in the ignition and backed the truck out of the clearing. Maybe he needed a map. Or directions.

  She turned and looked at him. “You do understand how sex works, right?”

  He grinned but kept his eyes on the road. “We can play show and tell in about ten minutes.”

  Oh. She thought about that for a moment. “Change in venue?”

  “You really want to do it in the front seat of my truck in a burned-out patch of woods?”

  “I’m not romantic.” She shrugged. “I’m not holding out for an overwater bungalow in Bora Bora. Plus your truck has a bed. There’s more room there than here.”

  She patted the seat beside her.

  “I’m suddenly understanding your reputation,” he said, and a pang of hurt shot through her. If he’d been hoping for a vestal virgin, he had the wrong woman in his truck. She’d be lots more fun though.

  “The guys on the team said you run through men like crazy.”

  “This is not a good way to get laid,” she said, interrupting him. “Slut shaming went out in the nineties.”

  He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you terrified them and they ran.”

  The man was blunter than a pickax. “You don’t date much, do you?”

  “I’m pretty much a dating virgin,” he said cheerfully, turning the truck down an unfamiliar road. She was pretty certain that the highway and Strong were in the opposite direction. “Think of the next two weeks as a public service.”

  “I was thinking of it more as doggie obedience school.” She patted him on the thigh. “But you can call it whatever you want.”

  “The guys you’ve slept with are damned lucky,” he said roughly. “At least, that’s what I think. I’m planning on finding out for myself.”

  She was totally on board with that plan. She probably should have had more pride though. Or been less damned lonely.

  “I don’t care about who’s been first. I care about who’s last. And best.” He grinned. “I plan on being your best. Fair warning.”

  While she stared at him, speechless, he pulled the truck off beside a river. The spot was pretty, showing no signs of the recent fire. It was also private. The river was partially dammed up here, spilling over the rocks in a foamy cascade to form a deeper pool. If she’d known this place was here, she’d have come out every weekend. It was the perfect place to go swimming—and to do other, sexier things.

  While she admired the scenery—slowpoke—Luke got out, pulling his shirt over his head.

  “Hello.” She put her feet up on the dashboard. Might as well be comfortable while she enjoyed the view. “You didn’t tell me that there would be entertainment.”

  He laid the shirt over the side of his truck. Vicious started yapping, clearly onboard with the whole plan, so she let the dog out so it could run around and pee on trees. She, on the other hand, had a man to ogle.

  Luke bent over and unlaced his boots, toeing them off. White socks shouldn’t be so sexy. It just wasn’t fair.

  He looked up. “You’re slacking.”

  “Excuse me?” Because she hadn’t been planning on fingering herself and taking care of all the foreplay on her own. That was his job. It really was.

  He made an up-and-down motion with his fingers. “Get undressed.”

  Apparently, Luke thought sex was a self-serve operation, more like a cafeteria-style buffet with plastic trays than fine dining at a five-star restaurant. Maybe he’d be worth it. She could give him one short. She pulled her tank top over her head, dropping it on Luke’s empty seat.

  Fortunately, today’s bra was a really good one, blue-and-white checked with a little bow between her boobs and enough padding to put her in Dolly Parton territory. When she moved her hands to the button of her shorts, she felt kind of like she’d time traveled back to high school. That wasn’t so bad, but she also didn’t look like she was still seventeen. Or, hell, eighteen, twenty, or even twenty-eight. Gravity and Cheetos were a bitch.

  Sex in the front seat of a truck was doable, but it wasn’t ideal. Maybe he’d be up for moving to the back where there would be more room. Luke wasn’t a small guy. They’d be banging elbows and knees on the dashboard. When she leaned out the window to holler at him with the suggestion, he was rummaging in the silver toolbox. Holy. Wow. What did he need in there?

  While her mind went to a dozen different kinky places, he pulled out a perfectly boring blanket and a couple of towels. Then he strolled toward the river and dropped the towels on a handy branch. Even better, he bent over and arranged the blanket—hello, fine butt—before he finished unbuttoning his jeans. She definitely wouldn’t mind watching him clean a house naked.

  “You coming in?”

  Swimming.

  He wanted to go swimming? Disappointment trickled through her, followed by something else. She wasn’t sure what that something else was. Date nights—or afternoons—were pretty straightforward. Go to the bar, have a couple of drinks, go back to his place and screw. Afterward, she’d get up and leave. Leave it to Luke to be complicated. The man seemed determined to make sure she didn’t get laid anytime fast.

  Luke wasn’t waiting around though. He shoved his pants and his boxer briefs down his thighs and strolled toward the water. God. He was even more gorgeous than he’d been in high school. He’d bulked up some, adding muscle to his lean form. He also had the most amazingly tight ass and powerful legs that ate up the ground. He was a tasty golden brown all over, except for the slightly paler skin of his butt. Either he swam naked a lot or he sunbathed in the nude. She was making a mental note to ask him which one when he turned around by the water’s edge and gave her the money shot. His penis was every inch as spectacular as it had been twelve years ago, thank God.

  Getting out of the truck, she padded over to the blanket in just her bra and shorts. “You sure you want to waste that on the river?”

  She pointed a finger at his dick. The man had an impressive hard-on, and California river water was notoriously cold.

  He smiled slowly. “You can still have your way with me in the water.”

  Oookay. Before she could extort a promise from him, he dove in. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine him as a SEAL. He cut through the surface in a sleek, fast line and disappeared.

  After a minute, she started to worry when he didn’t pop up for air. Damn it. He’d been a SEAL. That made him a Navy boy and pretty much guaranteed he was a world-class swimmer. He couldn’t drown in a river. Could he? Just in case, she shucked her shorts. The rest of it—her bra and her panties—could stay on. She was vain enough to want both the extra lift and the fancy packaging. Not that Luke would appreciate it if he was drowning. Shoot.

  He was fine. He had to be, right? Guys like him always were. But just in case… yeah, she had no idea what she’d do. He’d rescued her once, so this was just kind of an evening of the scales. No big deal. The right thing to do, even if she usually chose to do the wrong thing.

  Jump first, ask questions later.

  The river water was icy cold, the bottom dropping away in a matter of feet.

  “Luke?” She’d lost all feeling in her feet, thank God, because she hated slimy river bottoms.

  Strong arms wrapped around her middle, scooping her up and against a muscled chest as Luke erupted from the water. She glared up at him, torn between wanting to drown him for real and pulling him close.

  See? Her inner good girl chortled. Everything’s fine. Back to our regularly scheduled pr
ogramming. She twisted her fingers in his dog tags and yanked his head down.

  “Let’s not play drowning games, okay?”

  He looked momentarily confused. “Sorry, honey.”

  He actually seemed sorry. Of course, she’d one-night-dated plenty of guys who’d also parroted “Sorry, honey” in one form or another—usually as they walked out the door on her.

  “Fuck.” He tightened his grip. “Okay. Oversight on my part. What do you know about BUD/S and drown-proofing?”

  Apparently nothing. “Keep explaining.”

  “You go in the pool with your feet tied together and your hands behind your back. As soon as you hit the bottom, you kick for the surface. Then you go back down and do the whole thing again. You don’t worry about drowning after that. I can hold my breath for over two minutes.”

  “So the one of us who is a super stud at holding his breath should notify the other party that he’s perfectly happy hanging out on the bottom of the river for obscene amounts of time.”

  “Yes, sir.” He flipped her a teasing salute. “We good now?”

  “Okay.” She didn’t want to hold on to her mad. The water felt too good after poking through the ashy remnants of her poor car, and her SEAL felt even better. “I guess you swam in places that were way more dangerous than a puny little river.”

  “Trust me,” he said, rolling onto his back so she rode his chest like he was her own personal merman. “I’m having way more fun here.”

  He finned through the water with her, making for the little series of waterfalls where the river cascaded down a few feet over slick, wet rock. Rivulets of foam streaked the surface, tiny currents eddying around his shoulders. This whole back-to-nature thing was really starting to work for her. Plus he was naked, and that just made her whole afternoon.

  “I didn’t get a chance to kiss you our first night together,” he said, the rough-tender note in his voice making something inside her melt. Where she saw last, he saw first, and how screwed up was that? The water poured down around Luke’s shoulders in a littler version of that night’s waterfall. The waterfall might be smaller, but the feelings were larger. God. She was in trouble here. She specialized in uncomplicated, hot sex. Luke, however, didn’t seem to be playing by those rules.

  As if he sensed her brain going into overdrive, he reached up and tugged her mouth down to his. His lips were firm and knowing, as determined and focused as the man himself. She whimpered, clenching her fingernails against his shoulders, marking his skin in a faint echo of the way he branded her mouth. Yes. He wrapped the long, wet tail of her hair around one big hand, holding her in place when, truth was, she had nowhere else to go.

  Nowhere else she’d rather be.

  He kissed her and she kissed him back, her tongue stroking into his mouth, tangling with his tongue. He tasted good, better than good, like Luke and mint and some flavor for which she had no name but knew, in those heart kind of places she didn’t like to think about, that she wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. Luke Dawson was going to single-handedly ruin her for any other man, and right now, she didn’t care. He kissed her and kissed her, and she kissed him right back.

  ~*~

  Cold-water swims in BUD/S training hadn’t been half the torture swimming with an almost-but-not-quite-naked Deelie. Her nipples were hard pebbles beneath the translucent fabric of her bra. Her panties had to be see-through too, although his view through the surface of the river wasn’t perfect. So he cupped her ass, lifting her over his dick even as the water poured around them.

  “I’m soaking wet,” she said in that tone of voice he’d learned meant: I think I look like a hot mess even if you think I look like your best Playboy fantasy.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous.” Too bad if she didn’t like rough and honest, but he hadn’t memorized any Hallmark verse. “Wet’s a good look for you, and this is supposed to be my date, yeah?”

  It was afternoon. They were skinny-dipping in a river on public land. Deelie seemed on board with the plan though, so he was hopeful for the rest of his afternoon. She grinned at him, a real genuine smile, not one of those flirty looks she liked to send his way. He liked those too, but they seemed automatic, more like her version of please and thank you than a true reaction. Her eyes lit up with this smile though, the tension flowing out of her body. Which he was in the perfect position to know, seeing as how he was plastered up against her and the only thing between them were her sopping wet panties and bra.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and it took him a moment to remember what the fuck the question was. His brain shut down around Deelie, got lost in the amazing feel of her. “We might have moved onto the hot monkey sex part of our deal.”

  Her voice was rueful. It was also husky, with a little thread of need that had him pulling her close.

  “Absolutely.” He slid one hand out from underneath her ass, loving her whimper of protest, and traced her collarbone with his fingertips. She was so soft, her bones delicate beneath her skin. He’d fought beside SEALs who were rough, tough men who were well-trained killers and lethal weapons. Deelie’s feminine body was fucking nirvana. She moaned at his touch, and he must not have been a nice guy, because he loved that little needy sound.

  “Luke—” Her lashes drifted closed.

  “Say my name again.” He’d make damn sure she knew who was holding her. Who was loving her. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that night at the waterfall all those years ago had simply been their first. It damned certain wasn’t going to be their last, although he had every intention of being her one and only from now on.

  “Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke.” She chanted it without opening her eyes, that small secret smile of hers curling her mouth.

  Love.

  Yeah, fuck him, but maybe he believed in this whole love-at-first thing, because he’d been lost that very first night at the waterfall. He’d been hers ever since, even if neither of them had known it.

  He ran his hand down her arm, dragging her bra strap with him. Then he did the other arm too. The blue-and-white fabric was almost translucent from the water. Flicking open the clasp—located in the front, thank you God—he drank her in. How could she possibly be even more gorgeous than she’d been in high school? She’d kill him in another ten years or fifty. The water sluiced her breasts, large breasts that were round with the prettiest brown nipples. She wasn’t a girl anymore, which was a good thing because he wanted to do every filthy, loving, wonderful thing he could think of to her. With her.

  Rolling, he took her beneath him, anchoring her on the rock shelf as he followed the droplets of water with his mouth. Her heels dug into his back as she held on for all she was worth, rocking up against him. Her panties teased his dick as he explored her breasts and ass, drawing naughty patterns with his mouth and fingers that made her groan and shiver.

  “You going to look at me?” Because he really wanted to watch her eyes as she came.

  “You giving me a choice?” She opened her eyes lazily, stretching her hands over her head, and just like that he needed to be inside her now. He’d gone without her for twelve years; another twelve seconds might kill him.

  He swam them over to the edge, breaking all known speed records. As soon as his feet hit bottom, he waded out with Deelie still wrapped around his waist. Five steps and he had her on the blanket, building her a nest of towels and himself.

  “Look, I have a leash,” she said, tugging on his dog tags, but the smile on her face said she was just teasing.

  Good. She didn’t need to know right now that she had him so wrapped around her fingers that he’d go wherever, do whatever she wanted. Or maybe that went both ways because, as if she’d read his mind, she leaned up on her elbows and shrugged off the wet bra.

  “You’re so fucking perfect,” he said, cupping her breasts.

  A smile touched her mouth. “Perfectly bad.”

  “We should dry you off.”

  “Feel free to make suggestions.” Her smile turned wicked—and was
all the permission he needed.

  He eased down her body. And then, fuck it, the ground was hard and he had a rock digging into his knees, and he wanted this to be perfect for her. Rolling onto his back, he lifted her up over his face.

  “Jesus, Luke.” She sounded shocked, which was cute. And gratifying.

  “Hold on,” he demanded. Don’t ever let go of me, he thought but he wasn’t stupid enough to say it out loud. Not yet. Deelie’s hands latched onto his shoulders. Perfect.

  “Luke—”

  “This afternoon-swimming thing is working for me,” he said.

  He eased her higher. Perfect.

  Her position gave him the sexiest view of her panties. White and blue, those panties matched her bra. Even better, their time in the river had made the fabric see-through wet. “I really, really like your panties.”

  He ran a finger down her center. Up. Then down.

  “Oh.” The greedy little sound she made set him on fire.

  “More. Please.”

  “Everything for you.” He touched her softly, then deeper. Harder. Teased her beneath the edge of her panties before shoving the soaked fabric to one side. And much, much later as she shrieked and tightened her thighs around his head—because Deelie wasn’t quiet, and she didn’t leave him in any doubt about how she felt—he lifted his head for just one moment and asked, “You sure about this, sweetheart?”

  Because he wasn’t ever letting go of her now.

  “Yes,” she demanded, yanking on his head and wriggling against him in not-so-silent demand. “Yes, please.”

  And since she’d asked so nicely and he hadn’t had his turn twelve years ago, he did, sending her over the edge, holding her tight as she came.

  ~*~

  Deelie was riding Luke’s face like she was a cowgirl and he was the pony called Sexy Stud. Water dripped from her hair, but she wasn’t cold. Nope. She was so hot she was about to catch fire.

  Again.

  Twelve years ago, she’d had a taste of this man and walked away before he could dump her ass. She’d known then that Luke Dawson was dangerous, and time certainly hadn’t softened him. He didn’t give her so much as a moment to come down from her orgasm high before he was rolling her underneath him.