Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  “Want something from the bar?”

  I toss my iPad to the side as Camille comes out of the bedroom, now wearing a floaty little baby doll gown that’s practically see through. Her feet are bare and her make-up is gone. It’s just her and the plum colored material.

  “Whatever you’ve got that’s strong.”

  She smiles. “Coming up.” In less than a minute, she’s bringing me a glass.

  Sitting on the coffee table in front of me, she reaches down and pulls on my leg until I lift it and stretch it across her lap. She unties my shoe and slides it off before rolling my sock off my foot.

  “My, what big feet you have,” she says with a smile, running a finger up the center.

  It’s embarrassing as hell to be ticklish, I’m a damn grown man for fucks sake. I pull my foot off her lap before I give my secret away. “All the better to kick your ass, my dear.”

  Her grin widens and she grabs my other foot, tossing that sock and shoe on the floor. She holds my foot in her lap and then lifts her hand beside of it. “Your toes are almost as long as my fingers,” she says, measuring them against each other.

  “I can’t help that you’re a midget,” I tell her and try to pull my foot away. She holds on and measures the length of her arm.

  “Good heavens. Your foot is almost as long as my entire arm.”

  She’s acting like it’s the first time she’s really noticed our size difference.

  “What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Sixteen.” I take a deep drink from my glass. Bourbon. I like it.

  Cam laughs. “Ten sizes bigger than me.”

  She begins to massage my foot and practically unmans me. I yank it off her lap and lean forward. “You gonna give me those security guards names?”

  She meets me halfway. “You gonna dance with me? My choice of music?”

  I toss back the rest of the drink and stand, making sure my crotch hits her in the face as I do. “You’re on. Just don’t cry when my sixteens crush your sixes.”

  She turns around on the table and heads back into the bedroom. I can see the cheeks of her ass flash as she moves. She’s back in a moment, her new iPad in hand. She taps it a few times and I groan.

  “Salsa? Really?”

  She nods her head up and down with great exaggeration, then tosses the iPad down on the sofa and starts without me. “I chose that club for the Salsa and didn’t even get a chance to hear a note.”

  I glare at her, but am actually a little excited at her choice. I’m about to surprise her britches off, as the folks in Tennessee would say. She thinks she knows me, but she doesn’t know everything about my past. Actually, she knows very little.

  I offer her a hand. She’s about to get a glimpse.

  Beginning slowly, I move her backwards a few steps, then pull her forward, yanking her into my arms. She squeals, then her eyes widen as I take her hands and give her a first twirl.

  “Oh my god, you can dance!”

  The words are hard to understand because she’s laughing so hard. Then she squeals again as I force her down into a low dip. I bring her up just as quickly and move us into a traditional dance before whipping her around. Her eyes are shining, she’s clearly stunned and delighted.

  If only she knew.

  We get through the first song and we’re both breathing hard. It was fast paced as hell. Bold and driving. Another song takes its place, slowing us down, but not too slow. I walk her backwards and then shove her down in a chair.

  She whistles as I unbutton the top button of my shirt, then squeals when I rip it off, buttons flying everywhere. When I do a body roll, her mouth falls open and I can’t stop now. Time to give Camille Duffy a show.

  It’s been a while, but the moves from the club seem to settle back in. Muscle memory is a good thing. Causing her to squeal and clap again, I pop and lock until I’m laughing too hard to continue.

  She’s on her feet by now. “I can’t believe you can do that. Why didn’t I know this about you?”

  I do a hip roll, grinding up her thighs and into her sex. “That’s all you need to know right there.” Then I hip roll her again.

  Her fingers clutching my arms, she meets me move for move. “Seriously, you’re really good. Really good. I thought you’d dance like a tree trunk swaying in the wind. You just Magic Tated me. Where did you learn that?”

  I shake my head, not going there.

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  Looking into her pretty blues, I realize I trust her with this bit of information. “Swear you won’t tell your brother? Or anyone?”

  She raises two fingers. “I promise.”

  Pulling her against me into a slow dance, we move around the room as I decide how much to share. “When I was sixteen, I was determined to move out of my house and did just about every damn thing I could to get the money to live on my own.” She looks up at me. “Don’t worry, most of it was legal.”

  She nods and presses her cheek to my chest again. “What kinds of things?”

  “Raced bikes. Raced cars. Gambled.”

  She looked up at me again. “At sixteen?”

  I push her head back to my chest. “I’ve always looked, uh, older than my age. Anyway, I learned about this club the next county over. A friend of mine’s older brother danced there and was pulling in the jack.”

  She tries to look up at me again, but I palm her head and keep it against me. “Dance, like in male stripper dance?”

  “Yep.”

  “And your parents let you do it?” Her voice ends on a little squeak.

  I stiffen, then force myself to relax. “They were busy. Didn’t get too involved in my after school activities.”

  Her fingers tighten around me. “I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

  I throw my head back and howl. Funniest damn thing I’d heard in a while.

  Smart girl that she is, she takes the hint. “So, what was your stage name?”

  “T-rod.”

  She’s quiet for a minute. “I get it. Tate Rodgers. T-rod.”

  I squeeze her. “No, the costumer at the club gave me the name when she measured me.”

  She stops moving and dunks away from my hand. “Someone measured you?”

  I pull her back into the dance. “Sure. They need to make sure the package looks just right. Big package, more money.”

  She pushes her belly into my crotch. “You probably have more money than me in that case.”

  God. She’s adorable.

  “I did alright. Gained a lot of confidence. Learned how to connect with the ladies.” I give her a twirl. “Saved up enough to buy a car. Enough to go to college, but realized I hated school. So I joined the military instead.”

  “You know, as big as you are, I would have thought you’d played a sport. Football maybe. Gotten a scholarship that way.”

  Fuck. How does the past hold so much power it can place a damn strangle hold on your present? It’s a full minute before I feel able to speak without yelling. “Nah. Too busy racing cars and getting dollar bills shoved in my string.”

  She looks up at me, but I stare at the wall and pick up our pace with the dance. “You alright?” she asks and I take her down in a low dip. When I bring her up, she says, “Nice distraction technique, but seriously, are you okay?”

  I dip her again.

  She’s breathless when I raise her back up. “Okay, okay. I’ll change the subject.”

  My stomach tightens when her fingers walk up my abs and to my chest and pushes the ruined shirt from my shoulders. “I would like to talk more about this rod of yours.” Her hand lowers and cups me. “Sooo … how big are you anyway?”

  I lift her until she’s curling around me, my lips pressed to her neck. I walk to the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. “Forgotten already?”

  Then I proceed to remind her.

  Chapter Ten – Camille

  The dim glow of dawn is barely brightening the sky when something wakes me up. I reach across the bed, but Tate
is gone, if he even slept there at all.

  I roll over, stretching out my sore muscles. I’m going to feel him for several days.

  Sitting up, I reach for a bottle of water I spot on the night table beside me. Tate thinks of everything. Takes care of everything. He even left my robe within easy reach.

  If only…

  Shaking my head, I steer myself away from those thoughts. Any sentence beginning with ‘if only’ is a downer. It leads to a rabbit hole where only talking tea drinking animals live.

  Pulling on the robe, I walk quietly to the door of the living area, but don’t see him there. I look out on the balcony and spot his dark shadow. He glances over at me and pats his lap. I smile and walk over to him, curling into his chest.

  “Can’t sleep?” I ask him and he only kisses my hair, then lifts a glass of dark liquid to his lips. I nuzzle closer to him, it’s chillier out here than I’d imagined it would be. He sets down his drink and wraps his arms around me tighter, pulling the robe until I’m completely covered.

  “I’m worried about you,” he says after a while. “Sure I can’t convince you to leave with me?”

  I snuggle closer. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

  He exhales and picks the drink back up, taking another sip. He can’t stay and I won’t go. There’s nothing left for us to say.

  Looking out over Medellin and the Andes in the distance, we sit like that while the sky pales with the rising sun. I should grab my camera and capture the moment it peeks over the mountains, but I don’t. This is the memory I want.

  “Hello.”

  The word is barely audible, I more feel it than hear it and look up at Tate to see if it really came from him.

  “Sorry. It’s a habit of mine.”

  I follow his gaze and see him watching the golden sphere make its first appearance. “What’s the habit?”

  A corner of his mouth lifts. “Greeting the sun.”

  Threading my fingers between his, I wait patiently, hoping he’ll go on. From what I’ve learned of this mysterious man, he won’t speak if badgered or pressed. My patience is rewarded when he continues. “In the military, you never know if you’ll live to see the sun the next day. So every morning I’m lucky enough to open my eyes and see it, I say hello. There will be a day I can’t.”

  My eyes burn and my throat clogs and the breath in my chest feels weighted down. “I’m going to remember that forever, Tate,” I say when I can finally speak. “What a beautiful way to not take life for granted.”

  He kisses my hair and I can’t stop the tears. I sniff and press the sleeve of the robe to my nose. He shifts me until I’m looking up at him, then thumbs away a tear. “What’s wrong?”

  I give him a watery smile. “I’m going to miss you so much. Seems like each time I see you, it hurts even more to see you go.” I swallow the emotions wanting to wail out of me.

  He kisses me. “Your lips are so soft, do you know that? I think about them when we’re apart. When I jack off.”

  I laugh. I know he’d said it for that purpose and appreciate him bringing me from the edge of an emotional abyss. “Do you ever wonder what would happen between us if we were normal people living normal lives? Do you think we’d become a couple? Marry? Have kids?”

  He clears his throat and I know I just tap danced in his comfort zone. Then he surprises me. “Yeah. I’ve thought about that. But we’re not normal people. You have your life and I’ve got mine and it’s seldom the two meet.”

  I curl my fingers into his shirt, feeling the tight muscles of his chest. “But when it meets, it’s powerful, isn’t it?”

  He nods. “Damn powerful.”

  Silence stretches. Not an uncomfortable one, but I feel an urgent need to fill it. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  He stops breathing and I can hear his heart beat harder under my ear. Then I’m squeeze tighter into him. “Yes, I know. I love you too.”

  Saying the words doesn’t change things between us. I know that isn’t possible just as I know that the sun rising in front of us will set tonight. I will still see whoever I want. He will still see whoever he wants. We’ll still be continents apart. But maybe neither of us will feel so alone.

  “In our next lifetime, maybe our timing will be better,” he says. “Maybe our lives won’t be so complicated and we can have that picket fence.”

  “Do you believe in next lifetimes?” I ask him.

  “Yes. Seems a shame if we only got to live once. That we wouldn’t get do-overs, opportunities to learn and grow and make a bigger difference in the world each time. Doesn’t seem logical.”

  “You, Magic Tate, are a very smart man. Philosophically deep.” I giggle and poke a finger in his stomach. “Who would have thought it?”

  He pinches me. “Don’t call me Magic Tate in public. Or ever.”

  I turn in the chair until I’m facing him, straddling his legs, my bare mound pressing into his boxer covered dick. I trail a finger down his t-shirt until it’s slipping into the boxer’s front escape hatch. I stroke him and smile as his cock begins to jump and pulse under my fingers. “Will you be bringing this with you into your next lifetime?”

  He grins at me. “Is that a deal breaker?” He doesn’t let me answer, just stands up and carries me into the room, through the bedroom, stopping only long enough to grab a condom off the nightstand before carrying me into the bathroom.

  Still kissing me, he turns the water on hot, then drops me to my feet and peels me out of my robe. I watch his abs and chest appear as he pulls his shirt over his head and I offer my assistance in stripping him out of his boxers.

  Then we’re under the water and like a machine, he tunnels into me. I gasp and arch, fighting to accept him fully.

  He doesn’t make love. He doesn’t even just fuck. He consumes. Takes. Gives. Hard and fast. Pushing and pushing until I can barely stand.

  Then he washes my hair and my body, drying me carefully with a soft towel. I change into a pair of shorts and a halter top, pulling a thin cardigan on while he gathers his things.

  Tick. Tock.

  The clock is my enemy and too soon, it’s time for him to go.

  I walk him to the door and he turns and hugs me tight.

  “Next lifetime, okay?” he says and presses his lips to mine.

  I shiver, then nod. “Yes. Next lifetime for sure.”

  After one last kiss, the door opens then clicks softly closed behind him.

  Magic Tate is gone.

  Feeling weepy and unhappy, I sink down onto the sofa and pull a pillow to my chest. My iPad appears from beneath it and I pull it closer, tapping the power button. I’ll just listen to the songs from last night and cry for an hour or so. Or a couple of days.

  Deep down, I know it’s best that he’s gone. I doubt we’d care for each other if we spent a lot of time together. We’d bicker and fight, slowly begin to resent each other. We’d bust our asses to try to make things work out. And worry about fucking it up.

  He’s right. It’s easier to sleep alone and not build those connections that end in unreasonable expectations and broken hearts. Better to keep liking each other once or twice a year than to begin to focus on each other’s flaws.

  I tap my password onto the iPad screen and am rejected. I take a deep breath and try it again. Rejected. I curse and go for three’s a charm. Dammit. It still isn’t working.

  Turning it over, I inspect the case. It’s leather, but a darker color than mine. Crap. This one is Tate’s. I look around. He must have mine.

  Jumping up, I run to the bedroom and slide my feet in some sandals. If I’m quick, I might be able to catch him. I grab the keycard from the table and slam open the door. The guard in the hallway startles and jumps up from the chair he was sitting in.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, his hand moving to the weapon on his hip. I can’t remember if he’s Josiah or Antonio. He’s a nice looking man. Dark hair and eyes. But he doesn’t look happy with me right now.

  I
show him the iPad. “Tate left this. No worries. I’ll be right back.”

  I run for the elevator and push the down button. “Secure One to Secure Two. We’re heading downstairs now. Over.” He’s right behind me and talking into a radio.

  There is a hiss of static, then, “Copy that. I’ll be in position in three.”

  I look over at him. What position? Before I ask, the door opens and I step in, nearly running over an elderly lady stepping off with her husband. I apologize profusely and help her pick up the bag I knocked out of her hand.

  Josiah-Antonio is right behind me, frowning as I keep punching the lobby button, willing the door to close. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lifts the radio and says, “In elevator.”

  Finally, the stupid door shuts and then opens on the very next floor. I curse as a family of four steps on. I smile and force myself not to punch at the button again. “Me do it, Daddy,” says the little boy who looks to be around three. I grit my teeth but keep on smiling when the little darling hits L, then one and two before his dad jerks his hand away.

  Sticking my hand in the pocket of my shorts, I curse myself for not thinking to grab my phone. I could have called Tate and told him to wait. He’s probably halfway to the airport by now.

  Eight thousand years later, the door opens to the lobby and I rush out, but know I’m wasting my efforts. I look quickly around, just in case he’s still here and waiting on his car to arrive.

  No Tate.

  Heading to the doors, I push out onto the sidewalk and look left, then right. I try to get my bearings. Try to think of which way he would go.

  “In position.” The words crackle over the radio right behind me, but I ignore the guard and begin walking a few steps down the street. I peer into cars. Look over heads.

  No Tate.

  Disappointment flares through me, becoming a living thing in my stomach and heart. I could care less about the iPad. I’ll have it shipped to him in overnight delivery. I’m sure he’d be happy to overnight me mine.

  I could have seen him again. Only for a second, maybe, but a second would have been better than nothing.

  Feeling unreasonably upset, I decide to go back to my room. I turn to retrace my path and immediately collide with someone so hard, I’m jolted a step backwards.