Badd Ass

by Jasinda Wilder

  "You ruined me, is what you did. You just set the gold standard for all blow jobs. Nothing will ever be able to compare to that for as long as I live."

  "Until the next time I do that, you mean, right?"

  I blinked at her. "You'd do that again?"

  She shrugged. "Sure. I mean, I'll expect something in return, but sure. I like doing that to you, actually. It's hot." Her grin was that sexy, adorable, lopsided one, the grin that first hooked me. "And besides, I already know you can give some wicked good cunnilingus."

  I was still bare-assed in the grass, my cock a limp comma against my thigh. "I think you sucked me so good I'm temporarily paralyzed," I said. "But I swear, as soon as I can move, I'll eat you out so good they'll hear you screaming in goddamn Fairbanks."

  I noticed she had a small dollop of come at the corner of her mouth; I reached up with my thumb and wiped it away. It was a strange, fiercely intense moment, then, her bright green summer-grass eyes locked on mine, her breasts still bare and draped against my chest, her hands in the damp grass by my hips, her knees between mine. The silence crackled, the tension blazed.

  And then Mara parted her lips, her eyes still fixed on mine, and she closed her mouth around my thumb, her tongue sliding soft over the pad, licking away the come, her teeth scraping gently over my knuckle.

  Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit--I shouldn't have been able to feel anything down below for at least ten or fifteen minutes, but I swear to god, when she did that, I felt some stirrings happening.

  I couldn't help it. I had to kiss her. Had to. I wasn't sure about the rules and parameters of this thing, or where kissing fell in the scheme of things, but I had absolutely no choice but to claim her mouth with mine. This wasn't pre-sex kissing, this was...fuck, I don't know what it was.

  Holy shit, who are you and what are you doing to me, woman? That was part of it.

  I don't know. I just knew I had to kiss her, and I did.

  She fell against me, her fingers stealing up to rest against the back of my neck, her breasts flattened against me, her weight pressing delightfully, warmly, wonderfully, intoxicatingly into me. Her mouth felt as divine and thrilling and maddeningly soft and wet and warm on my mouth as it had my cock, and even better in some ways. Her tongue slid against mine, tangling, pushing, retreating, advancing, dancing. The longer we kissed, the more of her weight she gave me, until somehow I was drifting sideways and pivoting and she was laying on her back in the grass and I was above her, kissing the hell out of her, my palms scouring her ribs and cupping her breasts. Her legs scissored, her back arched, pressing into my touch, a whimper escaping the kiss. I flipped open the button of her jeans, slid my fingers under the elastic of her underwear and found her slit wet and begging.

  I lost track of everything and focused on the kiss, on the feel of my fingers sliding through her pussy, stuttering over her clit.

  She was writhing, gasping into my mouth, hips lifting as I fingered her into whining, whimpering gyrations.

  Her hands slipped and skittered along my back, drifted to my head, palms running over my short hair, then her fingertips were tracing my jawline and her thumb was brushing my cheekbone. I let my hands do the talking, then pulled her jeans down.

  She grabbed my wrists to stop me, and then cupped my jaw in both hands again, her forehead bumping to rest against mine. "Wait, wait. I'm getting carried away. I promised myself I wasn't going to let this happen, but you're distracting me with your wizard kisses."

  "Wizard kisses?" I said, laughing, pulling back. "And why shouldn't we get carried away?"

  She sat up and backed away, re-buttoning her jeans and reaching for the pile of our clothing. "Yeah," she said, handing me my shirt as I tugged up my underwear and jeans. "Wizard kisses. Magical, sorcerous. Your mouth makes me do crazy things."

  "If anyone has a magical mouth, it's you," I said. "I'm still tingly all over."

  We were both dressed then, she tugging on her hoodie and me my leather.

  "Why'd you stop us?" I prompted.

  She shrugged uncomfortably. "Because I don't want you to just eat me out, I want to have sex, but I'm not--I'm not quite ready to go that far outside, even here. I just..."

  I pulled her close. "Say no more. I get it."

  "You do?"

  I nodded. "Sure, of course."

  She gave me that sweet, adorable lopsided grin. "We're definitely going to get carried away later, though. When we're, you know, inside."

  I grinned back. "You have yourself a deal, Amarantha Quinn."

  Chapter 5

  Mara

  Well...holy shit. Who knew I'd find it so fun to suck a dick? I mean, it's not something I usually loved doing, but neither did I dislike it. Some guys expected BJs as part of sex, and other guys seemed content to let me decide if I wanted to do it; either was fine by me. So, yeah, I guess you could probably say I've given my fair share of BJs.

  But that? What I did to Zane? That was...something else. I've never in my life done anything quite like that, never gone that all out. There just hadn't been a point to it, really. I mean, I was a generous sexual partner, I liked to think. Willing, fun, eager to please. So if the guy I was with was polite and respectful about asking for a BJ, I'd likely give him one. Usually this meant going down on him a bit and then getting to the fucking, but occasionally if he was super hot and super cool, I'd let him come, but that was a rarity, mainly because I didn't care for guys sticking around long enough to get hard again for actual sex.

  Yes, I know, I'm complicated--sorry, not sorry.

  But that BJ I'd just given Zane was on a whole different plane of existence. I'd wanted on some deep, visceral level to make him feel better than he'd ever felt in his life, to give him something from me that he'd never forget. I'd wanted it to be fucking hot, to be erotic as all hell. I wanted him to let go. I wanted to blow him so good I blew his mind.

  Seeing as he literally collapsed to the ground afterward and was still walking funny, I'd say I had succeeded. And I felt pretty damn pleased with myself. The thing that was rolling around in the back of my mind, though, was the question of why I wanted to please him so badly. As I said, I always cared about my partner feeling good; sex was supposed to be a mutual exchange of pleasure, right? But what I'd wanted to prove to Zane was something deeper than that. Not just physical pleasure, but...what? I wasn't sure. And that was what bugged me--that the question existed at all, number one, and that I couldn't figure out the answer, number two.

  I followed Zane back along the forest path, keeping hard on his heels, because, jeez, this forest was pitch black and I had no idea where I was going or where to even step without his presence and the flashlight in his hand. Something told me he probably didn't even need the flashlight. Being a SEAL, he could probably see in the dark like some sort of cat. In some places, the path was just a normal trail through the forest, wood chips marking the path. But in other places the path was comprised of giant stepping-stones, primarily where the trail descended the hillside. The stones were damp and slick, but if I went slow and chose my steps, I was fine.

  We reached the parking lot after a few minutes of hiking back through the forest; clouds had rolled in while we were hiking, obscuring the moon and stars, making the night darker than ever, a light rain drizzling down. I climbed onto the bike behind Zane, tugged the helmet on and wrapped my arms around him.

  This was equal parts comforting and difficult, being on the back of a motorcycle again. Zane hadn't pressed the issue when I mentioned how I used to ride with Dad, although I suspected he'd heard the tension in my voice when I told him. And I wasn't sure if I was relieved that he'd not asked any questions or upset that he didn't seem to care--I decided on relieved, after some reflection, because I just didn't think I was ready to talk about Dad yet. I'd barely broached the subject with Claire, and she was my BFF.

  Zane drove slowly through Ketchikan, cautious because of the drizzle. His jacket gradually became wetter and wetter, until the scent of damp leather
filled my nostrils. I clung to Zane's midsection and focused on reminding myself that this was him, this was Zane, this wasn't Dad. Yet memories of long road trips with Dad were strong and, despite my best efforts, I felt the old familiar bitterness and sadness trying to take hold.

  No, no, no. Don't get sucked in, Mara--it's a black hole, thinking about Dad.

  I fought it as Zane guided the motorcycle to the B&B where'd I'd booked a room for the week. Tells you how distracted I was, that I didn't stop to wonder how he knew where I was staying until after he'd shut off the bike.

  I stayed seated on the bike behind Zane as I tugged the helmet off. "I have two questions for you, Zane."

  He took the helmet from me and hung it on the handlebar, then swung his leg over the seat, pivoted, and swung back on facing backward. "What's up?"

  I indicated the B&B with a jerk of my head. "How'd you know where I was staying? And how'd you find which bar I was at?"

  "I'll answer the second question first, because that's an easier answer: there aren't all that many bars in this town, so I just went from bar to bar until I found you."

  "Alright," I said, conceding the logic of that. "And how'd you know I was staying here?"

  He sighed. "I told you Xavier is a whiz at anything scientific or electronic, right? Well, he's also pretty quick with the computers. He looked your name up in the incoming flights registers, and then sort of tracked you to where you were staying. Not sure how he did it, just that he did."

  "And why did you feel it necessary to know where I was staying?" I eyed him with skepticism. "It feels a little...stalkerish."

  He ran his hands along my thighs. "I wasn't ready to let you go last night. I wanted to find you. See if we could hang out some more."

  "You mean hook up again."

  He grinned. "That too, yeah, no point denying it." Zane's hands traveled to the crease where my leg met my hip. "I wasn't stalking you. I just wanted to be able to find you before you left, see if you'd...give me another shot, I guess."

  "What else did you look up about me?" I asked.

  "Nothing, I swear." Rain was trickling down his jaw, his forehead, his neck, beading in his hair, but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Just your flight in, and where you were staying."

  "So, if you hadn't found me at the bar, you would have shown up here looking for me?"

  A shrug. "Probably."

  "What if I'd found someone else to take me back to my room?"

  His eyes darkened a little, as if he wasn't entirely happy with that suggestion. "I thought about that. If I'd seen you with someone else, I'd--well, I'd like to say I'd have left you alone, but that's probably not true."

  I tilted my head at him. "No?"

  He wiped at his face, brushing rain out of his eyes. "I'd have still tried to talk to you. Get you to ditch whatever loser you'd picked up."

  "What if he weren't a loser?" I was pushing him now, teasing a little, but also sort of...probing his reactions, assessing his jealousy barometer.

  "If he ain't me, he's a loser," he insisted, a cocky grin on his lips.

  "Oh really?" I tapped his nose. "You, sir, have a high opinion of yourself."

  He captured my finger and bit down on it gently. "We've covered this already. Yeah, I do, but it's not all that misplaced, is it?" He flattened his palm against mine, our hands vertical between us, as if comparing hand sizes: his hands were so big he could curl his fingers down over the tops of mine. "You got something to hide, Mara Quinn?" His voice was playful, teasing.

  I should have played it cool, should have responded with some quip to distract his attention. Instead, I was an idiot.

  "None of your damn business," I snapped, climbing abruptly off the bike to stalk toward the door of the B&B.

  "Well that was supposed to be a joke," Zane said, calm as ever, remaining on the Triumph. "But obviously I touched a nerve."

  I halted and spun on my heel. "No shit."

  He just eyed me from the seat of the bike, unperturbed. "Notice how I'm not pushing it? Notice as well that I didn't push on that comment about your dad?" His hand scraped over his scalp, flinging water droplets behind him. "You don't have to tell me shit. I'm not asking, and I'm not gonna ask. You feel like talking, babe, I'm all ears. You don't feel like talking? Well, then, that's fine too, no skin off my back. We all got shit we don't like sharing, honey, me included. If you're expecting me to...I dunno...be judge-y or demand you bare your deepest secrets right off the bat, you're talking to the wrong guy."

  I walked back to the bike. "I'm sorry, Zane, it's just--"

  He put a thumb over my lips, silencing me, and then kissed the corner of my mouth. "You feel like talking about it?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Then leave it. It's fine." He grinned. "Besides, I can think of a better use for your mouth than talking."

  I couldn't help a stupid grin from forming, and then I bit his thumb like he had my finger. "I already did that."

  "I meant kiss me." He palmed the back of my head, his lips whispering against mine. "Get your mind out of the gutter, woman."

  I laughed, and then felt his lips close on mine, his warmth seeping into me, the wet leather of his jacket strong in my nostrils. He kissed me like it was the last kiss we'd ever have, with heat and hunger, eagerness and hints of desperation, his hands wrapped around my waist to pull me closer, then sliding down to grasp my hips.

  And just like that, I was all melty and whimpering again, leaning into him, lifting my face to deepen the kiss, my hands gliding up the back of his jacket to curl around the nape of his neck, clutching him to me.

  By the time the kiss broke, I was breathless and my thighs were quivery and I was seconds from climbing back on the bike and telling him to take me somewhere private.

  Instead, I backed away, somewhat reluctantly. "I should go. I'm meeting Claire in the morning."

  He released me, seeming as reluctant as I was. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

  I just winked at him. "Call me in the afternoon."

  "I don't have your number."

  I shot him a glare. "Yeah, it's probably the only number in the city you don't have," I said. "I'm sure your brother can get it for you."

  Zane lifted up and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled stack of scrap papers, each scribbled with phone numbers in feminine handwriting. "What...these numbers?" He asked, holding them up. "I don't want 'em. Never did."

  The rain had finally quit, leaving everything wet and glistening in the darkness. Zane dug in an inside pocket of his coat, producing a silver Zippo lighter embossed with the SEAL logo. He flicked open the lid and snapped the spark wheel across his thigh in a single fast move, a flame bursting into life. He held the stack of paper upside down and let the flame lick at the edges. I watched in amusement and secret satisfaction as the fire consumed the scraps of paper. When the fire had caught fully, Zane tossed the entire pile to the ground and we watched it burn until there was nothing left but flakes of ash skirling in the gentle breeze.

  He put the Zippo back in his jacket pocket and turned his gaze to mine. "Only number I want is yours, sweetheart, and it only counts if you give it to me." He chuckled. "Fact is, though, if he really wanted to look hard enough, Xavier could probably get hold of your university transcripts, your medical record, your driving record, your credit score--shit, if your info is held in an electronic system pretty much anywhere, he could access it. He wouldn't, though. Just saying...he could."

  "Is it really that easy?" I asked.

  Zane shrugged. "Sure, if you know how and where to look. I couldn't do it, but for Xavier? Easier than programming a new remote control."

  I patted his hip pockets, his back pockets, and then inside his jacket, hunting for his phone. I found it in the jacket, pulled it out, and handed it to him to unlock. He held his thumb on the home button and gave it back to me. His home screen was a photo of him in full commando gear, an assault rifle held in one hand resting on his shoulder, a helmet on, wraparo
und sunglasses on his face. He was in the back of a cargo jet, it looked like, the cargo door open behind him showing the ground blue-green in the distance, with four similarly-geared other men in the photo with him, posing for the selfie with goofy grins.

  I stared at the photo for a moment, and then turned the screen to him. "Who are these guys?" I asked.

  He named them, starting on the left and tapping each one in turn. "Marco Campo, Oscar Moyer, Luis Valtierra, me, and Cody Kellogg." He paused a moment, obviously remembering, a complicated expression on his face, equal parts nostalgic happiness, and sadness. "They were part of my SEAL team."

  "Did you guys have nicknames for each other?"

  He chuckled, nodding. "Of course. Marco was Campy, Oscar was either Wiener or the Grouch, Luis was Pinche, which is only funny if you know anything about Spanish insults. Cody was Frosted Flakes, or Frosty, because somebody got ahold of his senior pictures and he had these really wicked cool frosted tips, and his name is Kellogg."

  "What was your nickname?"

  He glanced at his boots, grinning. "Baddass." He laughed as if embarrassed, and then continued. "You know, because of my last name, obviously. And then there was that time in San Diego, right after BUD/S. I got into a bar fight with a bunch of jarheads from Twentynine Palms. Well, there were, like, eight of them and one of me, so my boys showed up thinking they were gonna have to save my ass. I told 'em I didn't need any fuckin' help, because I didn't."

  I eyed him skeptically. "Eight of them? At once?"

  He shrugged. "Sure. I mean, I got messed up, but I sure as fuck didn't lose." He lifted his upper lip out of the way with a thumb, pointing at a couple teeth that were a little whiter and straighter than the others. "Lost a few teeth, broken nose, bruised ribs, fucked up my knuckles pretty good, and got my ass chewed off by the X-O, but hell, it earned me a pretty killer nickname."

  I shook my head. "You boys and your fighting." I found his contact list and added a new one: For a good time, Call--and I added my cell number, then called myself from his phone so I'd have his number, too. I locked the phone and handed it back to him. "There. You have my number and I have yours. See you tomorrow?"

  He stuffed the phone back into his jacket and hauled me up against him. "Unless I can convince you to invite me in."