Hot SEALs: Love & Lagers (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Liz Crowe

  “Yes,” she whispered, looking down at her hands, which were grasping her thighs. “He called it ‘rough play,’ but it was rape, pure and simple. He got off on that, after a while.”

  “Oh,” Owen said as he stood so quickly, the boat rocked from side to side. “Oh,” he repeated, hands on his hips, his back to her.

  The tears kept rolling, but she couldn’t stop them. “He claimed we were in some kind of a lifestyle. He wanted to do things to me I didn’t like, but when I used a safe word, he wouldn’t stop. It was like the safe word thing drove him to go harder, to hurt me more.” She sucked in a ragged breath and stood up, positioning herself carefully so she was standing in front of Owen. His blues eyes were storm-dark, and his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. “I’m okay. I don’t dislike sex. Maybe you can tell that.” He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. But she kept going because something about this man made her want to trust him. “He found me, Owen,” she said, grabbing his hand. “He emailed me today. In my private inbox. I don’t know how but…he f-f-f-f-found me.”

  Owen yanked her close. Lainey gave into the need to sob, to shriek and scream and pound on something, and he held onto her the entire time. Finally, she pulled away from his soaking wet chest, beyond embarrassed and wondering what had possessed her to spill her guts. The next second, she realized why she’d done it. As he covered her mouth, she opened her lips, her heart, and her soul to him, and she knew everything would be all right, somehow.

  After the total toe-curler of a lip-lock, she was shivering with lust and his dick was rock hard and pressed against her. He leaned away, gripped her arms, and forced her to meet his eyes.

  “I will not let anyone hurt you, ever. Do you hear me? I don’t care how rich or powerful this guy is. Once I tell Jon and Zane—”

  “No!” She stepped back too fast. When she bumped against the big cooler and over compensated to right herself, the boat heaved to the right along with her. Arms windmilling, she pitched overboard into the cold Atlantic Ocean with a curse on her lips.

  An hour later, they were huddled under towels and headed back to the dock in silence. Lainey felt reamed out, cored, like an apple. Her emotions and ugly past lay raw and glistening on the doorstep of a potentially awesome new relationship.

  “See? I’m probably more fucked up than you are,” she said as they tied off and stepped out onto the dock. Owen grabbed her again and held her so close she felt her heartbeat syncing up with his. She closed her eyes and let herself have the moment.

  “You may be,” he admitted before he kissed the top of her head. “But I’m pretty sure it’s only one of the things I may love about you, Elaine Georgia Jackson.” She leaned away from him and then met his grin, her heart racing with these exciting new possibilities.

  “I would ask how you know my whole name, except I realize there’s little of public record you don’t know.”

  “Well, I didn’t know you were married,” he said as he got back in the boat and started handing her the tackle box, the rods, and the picnic cooler. “So there’s that.”

  “Yeah,” she said, feeling sniffly and cold. And unbelievably horny. “So. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to do anything more—hey!”

  Owen leapt up onto the dock, which amazed her all over again, given his leg, and swept her into his arms in a Rhett-Scarlett worthy move. She grinned up at him. “So you do want to do something more with me, eh, Marine?”

  He chuckled and ground his erection against her.

  “Crude,” she sniffed, loving it.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said as he forced her lips open with his tongue while he cupped her boob with one hand and her ass with the other.

  “Break it up already. Jesus. You’re gonna cause a riot out there.” Greg grabbed the cooler under one arm and reached for the tackle box.

  Lainey tucked into Owen’s side, keeping her arm wrapped around his middle as he flipped off the various catcalls and wolf whistles coming from other boats. “Be jealous,” he called out. “Be very, very, very jealous.” The tiny kisses he pressed into her neck between the “very’s” almost did her in.

  “I’m very, very, very horny,” she whispered. “Take me home? Make love to me?”

  “Your wish,” Owen said, his grin wide, genuine, and so sweet, it made Lainey’s teeth hurt. “My command.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you hungry,” Owen asked as he pulled into his parking spot. Lainey stared at him.

  “No,” she said. Something about his demeanor had changed, gone cold on her, on the drive to his place. She threaded her fingers together and waited as he got out and did his usual door-opening, handing-her-out thing. They stood with bodies close together on the hot asphalt a few seconds. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve ruined everything telling you all my stupid shit. I should have just…”

  “What? Not told me? Let me find out on my own?” His voice was tight as if his throat was constricted.

  “No. I should have let you fuck me then I could leave town and keep running from him without you ever knowing how stupid I was to marry such an asshole.” She bit her lip and willed the tears not to fall. They obeyed her for a change.

  “Oh, Lainey, I’m not gonna fuck you.”

  She frowned and looked up at him. He ran his fingertips across her cheek, down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arm then cupped her breast, making her gasp and lean into him.

  “I’m not gonna lie, you’re confusing me a little.” She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, loving the salty ocean flavor on his lips. He made a sound, low down in his throat, and gripped her tight, owning her with the sort of kiss that she’d read about but never experienced until this moment.

  “I’ve done a lot of fucking in my life,” he said when he broke away, keeping her pressed against the side of the Jeep. “Too much fucking. Not enough love making. I know it sounds weird but—”

  “No,” she said, putting her fingers on his lips. “It sounds perfect. I asked you to make love to me, Owen. It’s what I want. Not fucking. Not tonight.”

  He grinned and stepped away from her, held out his elbow and they walked into his cool apartment together. “I want a shower first,” she declared. She headed for his bathroom and turned on the giant overhead nozzle full blast. With a sigh, she untied the various strings on her new bikini and stepped into the glass-enclosed space, pressing her hands against the tile as the hot water sluiced across her shoulders. She found some shampoo and worked up a great lather with it.

  The suds flowed down her body as the hot water steamed up the glass. Lainey cupped her breasts and teased her nipples, feeling safe and loved and ready for anything with the man she’d spent the afternoon with today. Humming to herself, she rotated under the massive spray of water, undulating and shimmying to her own inner music. When actual music hit her ears, she smiled and turned to see him—Owen, her man, her…dare she even think this word…hero.

  He was naked. All the way naked, without his prosthesis, and leaning on the vanity top to balance himself. She could see the sparkle in his blue eyes through the steam. She wiped a peephole on the shower glass and waved to him. He leaned back and put his hand on his mouth-watering erection. “Go on,” he said over the music. “Dance for me.”

  She smiled and turned around, letting the music transport her, shutting out her crappy reality as she ran her hands down her still soapy skin.

  “Touch yourself, Lainey,” Owen said softly.

  He was up against the shower now, his one hand on the glass, the other stroking his cock. She licked her lips and let her fingers trail downward, stopping between her legs. Her clit was ready for her, so she spread her legs and stroked herself, her hand pressed against Owen’s on the other side of the shower glass.

  “Come for me, baby,” Owen said, his deep voice dipping even lower.

  “Only if you do,” she said as she let her finger move faster. Her hips thrust forward, and she came with a cry of relief. “I chang
ed my mind,” she said as she yanked the shower door open and pulled him inside. She pressed him against the tiled wall and went up on her tiptoes so she could kiss him, as the hot water covered them both.

  The Rolling Stones tunes filled her ears while everything about Owen Taylor filled her other senses. She broke the kiss and reached down, stopping briefly to stroke his cock, then going lower. He flinched, and stiffened up as she passed her hand down his left thigh to his knee, and still lower. “Don’t,” he choked out. “It’s no good.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, using her other hand to cradle his cheek. “Open your eyes. It’s better than good. It’s perfect. Because it’s you.” She cupped the slightly puckered skin beneath his left knee. “Relax, Owen,” she insisted as she stroked him there, getting more turned on by the minute. “It’s perfect,” she repeated as he started to shiver. “You’re perfect.” When she pressed her lips to the hard, bronze disc of his nipple, still stroking the soft place where his lower left leg used to be, he dug his fingertips into her shoulders. She flicked her tongue across his flesh, and then did the same with the other nipple, biting down gently, making his cock jerk against her stomach.

  “Mmmm,” she said, loving him so much at that moment it hurt her in her bones.

  “Don’t….s-s-s-stop,” he hissed. “Please, Lainey.” He opened his eyes and pinned her with such a look of longing, trust, and adoration it made those stupid, irrational tears flow down her face. He tried to straighten up and pull away from her, but she gripped his left leg in one hand and his dick in the other.

  “Don’t move, Owen. I’ve got this.” He nodded and relaxed. “I love…this.” She bit back what she really wanted to say.

  She didn’t love him. How could she? She barely knew him.

  “Oh…” he said as his hips moved faster. She kept running her palm along the underside of his left knee, the piece of him that he hated and that she wanted him to accept and love the way she did. “Oh…Lainey,” he groaned and closed his eyes and coated her hand with his warm essence. Hips still moving, he gripped her arms and gave her a fierce, possessive kiss, making her let go of him and wrap her arms around his neck.

  “That was….interesting,” he said when he broke away, still shivering. “I, uh…thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, turning to wash her hand, pulling him under the shower before she exited. Her body was still buzzy, her brain on high alert. She felt full, plump, ready, and hornier than she had in her entire adult life as she passed the thick towel across her stiff nipples. She watched as he shampooed and soaped up, then rinsed, all without looking at her.

  With a sigh of resignation, she wrapped the towel around herself and wandered out to the kitchen. He’d bottled his IPA since she’d been here so she popped one open and took a seat on the balcony on a thickly cushioned lounge chair. The sun and beer made her sleepy despite her revved up state. She finished the beer—which was delicious, a perfectly balanced blend of rich malt and sharp, citrusy hops. With the empty nestled between her legs, she closed her eyes and drifted.

  She awoke to the pleasant odor of a charcoal grill and the even more pleasant sensation of lips on her nipple and a something hard and cool pressing against her pussy. Sighing with contentment, she arched her back and let the towel fall all the way open. A cool ocean evening breeze lifted the ends of her hair as she blinked up at the balcony ceiling and gave in to Owen’s ministrations.

  He lapped at one nipple, tugging it into his mouth, then letting go and giving it teasing little nibbles. His hand was between her legs, but he held something that was providing exquisite friction right where she wanted it. He moved to her other breast, mumbling something about “perfection” as she clutched his upper arm and thrust her hips so she could get more of the lovely pressure down below.

  “Mmm,” he muttered as he moved back and forth between her nipples, making her groan louder and move her hips faster, wanting more. “That’s it,” he said as he kissed his way up her neck and met her lips with his. “Come for me, Lainey. Right now.” He shoved his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the thrust she wanted from a different part of him, fucking her mouth as he rubbed what she’d figured out was the empty beer bottle against her eager clit.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she yelped against his lips as she let the orgasm grip her.

  “Nope, no Jesus. Just Owen,” he said, pulling the bottle from between her legs and holding it up with a naughty grin and eyebrow waggle. “Handy thing, this. Glad you left it there for me.”

  She pulled the towel back around herself with a fake burst of modesty. She felt great. But she needed something more. Something he seemed unwilling to give her for some reason. But she’d wait him out. They had all night.

  “The grill smells great,” she said, swinging her feet to the wooden balcony floor and standing up to stretch.

  Owen grabbed her and buried his face in her neck as he cupped her ass with both hands. “Fucking-A I cannot keep my hands off you, you evil witch.”

  “Hmpf,” she said, disentangling and going inside for another beer.

  “I have filets,” he called through the open door. “But I’m pretty useless with all that other crap.” He motioned to the counter top that was covered with fresh ingredients. Lainey grinned at him and then turned to her second favorite task.

  Within the hour, they were seated on the couch, baseball on the TV, plates piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, fresh spinach and onions reduced in garlic and olive oil, and the perfectly grilled steak. They were three beers in so she’d switched to water, unwilling to fall into bed with him in a drunken stupor.

  They laughed and ate and cursed the bullpens and then ended up on opposite ends of the couch, their legs entwined, as the game wound to a close. The ocean breeze blew through the open glass door as Lainey got up and put all the dirty dishes in the washer, letting Owen take a short nap.

  As she was wiping down the counters, she heard a phone buzzing from somewhere. She poked through a pile of his clothes and found it, noting the out-of-state number that had called him half a dozen times in the last hour. After glancing over and finding him so peaceful, sprawled under the blue and white afghan, she decided to let him rest a while longer before alerting him to his phone.

  Grabbing a beer, she wandered back out to the balcony and leaned on the railing, watching the families as they gathered up their day camps and trudged along the beach. She sipped and smiled at the toddlers and little kids stumbling and fussing, over-tired and waterlogged. Lainey turned and leaned against the railing, watching Owen sleep a few more minutes as she sipped the beer he’d made. He was so perfect—perfectly handsome, perfectly hot, perfectly polite, perfectly smart, perfectly great at kissing and other assorted skills.

  She’d never put much faith in the concept of soul mates. Even when her soon-to-be-ex-husband was courting her with a vengeance, she didn’t get this soft, ooey-gooey, melty feeling in her guts when she looked at him. This was different. This was real—and really terrifying all at once.

  She sat and put his foot in her lap. He’d gone without the prosthetic all evening, his comfort with her apparent in his nonchalant attitude about it, even though she knew it was an issue and he felt less of a man because of it. That was why she’d made a point to touch it, to be touching it while she stroked him to orgasm in the shower.

  Smiling, she ran her hand up his right leg, softly teasing the light hair there, before giving the soft skin under his left knee a stroke. He shifted, grunted, and seemed to settle back into sleep. Getting that urgent, needy feeling again, she slid the afghan off his body, wanting to devour him with her eyes, to lick him from head to toe, to have him inside her so deep they wouldn’t know where he ended and she began.

  Lainey leaned down and put her tongue on his left knee, as she cupped the flesh beneath it in her palm as she’d done in the shower. As she watched, his cock stiffened under his shorts, getting harder the more she stroked. Her nipples brushed the inside of the T-shirt she’d taken fr
om his drawer. She felt ripe, plump with blood like his penis, but all over, like she might burst if she couldn’t relieve the pressure.

  “You made me a promise,” she whispered as she moved up his torso, licking and kissing the awesome terrain of his abs, pecs, and shoulders. “Owen,” she singsonged into his neck as she slipped the boxer shorts she’d been wearing off her hips. “Honey…wake up. It’s time to keep your promise.”

  He moaned, then turned what for some other men might be a simple kiss into an entire erotic romance novel, using his tongue, lips, teeth, and hands, making her quiver and shake like Jell-O. She straddled his hips, grinding against his still fabric-covered erection. He opened his eyes and looked shocked for a half second, then alarmed. She stopped moving, letting him process.

  “It’s just me. Lainey, remember? It’s all right.”

  He blinked fast, digging his fingertips into her thighs so hard, she gasped.

  “Honey, you’re hurting me a little. Owen. Owen! Wake up!” She shook his shoulders as a tickle of fear crept in under the thick layer of lust.

  “Shit,” he yelled, as he shoved her so she ended up on the floor between the couch and the ottoman. No worse for wear, but for embarrassment. “Fucking god damn bitch!” he spat out, his face in his hand as he rocked back and forth on the couch. Lainey got up slowly and sat next to him, not touching him, just waiting for him to realize where he was.

  He dragged fingers through his hair, gripping tight, then pounded his fists on his thighs, again and again, still hissing, “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” over and over.

  Finally, he turned to her, his blue eyes cloudy with something she didn’t understand or like. “Lainey,” he croaked out. “You have to go. You have to get away from me. I’m no better than…than… him. That douche bag of a husband. I’m no fucking good.” His eyes swam with tears, and then he got up and hopped over to the kitchen, leaving her to sit and ponder the fact that perhaps, just perhaps, the man was as fucked up as he claimed.