Under His Hand

by Anne Calhoun

  His gaze searched hers; his fingers gently rubbed her scalp. She returned the look, hiding nothing, avoiding nothing. What he saw must have pleased him because his lips quirked into a grin.

  “You okay?”

  Good question. Her heart pounded, whether from the exertion in the hot, muggy, still air, or from the pitch and heave of her emotions in the last hour, she couldn’t say. The rough material of his damp BDUs chafed her tender skin. A new tenderness drifted inside her, unfamiliar yet not the slightest bit scary.

  “My ass hurts,” she said bluntly, “but yeah, I’m okay. Tomorrow I’ll make an appointment to get the air conditioner fixed. And…um…thank you. For loaning me—”

  “Giving me,” he corrected.

  “Giving me the money.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, but the wicked gleam in his eye betrayed the formal tone and words.

  She trailed her fingers across his beautiful cheekbones and lips, down over the glittering gold scruff on his chin to dab at the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, then down his abdomen to snag her fingers in his waistband and press her pussy against the hard ridge in his pants. His shirt was so sodden she could probably wring it out like a wet rag. The gleam in his eyes went from wicked to intent.

  “You liked that,” she said, but the accusation was a mild one. There was a thin line between play and punishment.

  He wasn’t a liar, so he just gave her a wink.

  “How red is my ass?”

  “A pretty rosy pink,” he said huskily, as he throbbed hard against her soft folds.

  Interesting. “You going to spank me again?”

  Heat flared in his eyes and he tightened his grip on her hips. “If you need it, or if you ask me very, very nicely.”

  “That sounds promising,” she started, as she leaned forward and set her hands on his ribs. The quick, indrawn breath he gave at the pressure of her hands on his chest made her stop, then sit back. He loosened his grasp, but his lips pulled tight over clenched teeth. A couple seconds later his breath eased out and his jaw relaxed.

  Oh God, oh God… “Drew?” she asked, and began to tug his sweat-saturated T-shirt from his pants.

  “Easy, Tess,” he said, but his voice was resigned as he submitted to her efforts to undress him, sitting forward and lifting his arms over his head so she could pull his shirt off and toss it to the floor with a wet thud.

  Once again, icy fear wicked through her veins. The left side of his torso was a mass of bruises, some faded to yellowish-green, others the fresh deep purple of recent blows. A gash too deep to be a scratch but not deep enough to need stitches bisected his torso from just under his right pectoral down to his left hip bone. Much deeper and he would have been gutted.

  “Drew,” she breathed, her fingers trailing over the abused skin. “What happened? Did somebody hit you?”

  The words sounded astonishingly stupid as they left her mouth, but he just gave a little smile at the incredulous tone of her voice. “A little dust-up. Ain’t no big thing, baby,” he said, mocking mortal danger in the Alabama drawl that lingered despite nine years in California.

  Which meant he couldn’t talk about it. He’d matter-of-factly explained that anything really serious would mean members of his team at her front door and an introductory meeting with his family next to a flag-draped casket.

  “Are your ribs broken?”

  “Not even cracked,” he said.

  She looked back at the vicious, spreading bruises and quirked an eyebrow at him, but let it slide. There was no point in pestering him for details he couldn’t provide. If someone got close enough to do this kind of intimate damage, whatever he’d done hadn’t been the usual clockwork “in and out without a shot fired” mission. With her hand at his nape she kissed his forehead, then rested hers against his.

  “I love you, Tess,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s good to be home.”

  He needed a shower, a meal, twelve hours of sleep and about half a tube of antibacterial ointment, but fussing and hand-wringing went over as well as sleeping with the windows open. She pushed her concern aside, sat up and affected a disbelieving pout. “Really? Because from my perspective, you being home means me scared witless and spanked. But I’m glad it was good for you.”

  One golden eyebrow quirked up at her sassing. “That wasn’t good for you? Because it sounded damned good at the end there.”

  “Okay, it was pretty good,” she said with a mock eye roll.

  “Pretty good? I can do better,” he promised, then those seductive, dangerous hands went to the fly of his cargo pants and began to slip buttons from holes to free his straining shaft. His knuckles brushed against her damp mound, coming closer with each undone button. He pushed himself off the bed with both hands, lifting his hips for Tess to tug the clinging, sweaty fabric down. The pants made a louder, squishier thud than his shirt had when she flung them heedlessly behind her. From her crouched position she kissed her way up his long, leanly muscled legs. After a brief, assessing look at his cock, straining thick and dark red from the blond nest of curls, she ran her tongue up the underside, the taste and scent of sex and sweat a heady aphrodisiac.

  She kissed each hip bone, then licked the ridges of muscle forming his abdomen. Each wicked bruise received a gentle touch of her lips, as did the edges of the slice through his skin. She poured words not yet spoken into the caress of her breath, the flutter of her tongue against his skin, the not-quite-gentle pressure of her teeth against each nipple in turn. His breathing had slowed and softened with her ministrations, but stopped altogether at the sharp pressure, before easing out in a guttural groan.

  She peeked down to see his cock pulse away from his abdomen as a pearly bead formed at the tip. “Wow,” she said as she straddled him again. “You did miss me.”

  “I always do,” he said, cupping her ass to pull her snug against his erection.

  She affected a wince as his big hands flexed against her tender bottom. “Think twice before you work over your favorite playground,” she said, the admonishment negated by her breathy voice…and the explosive orgasm.

  Laughter gleamed in his eyes as he obediently slid his hands up her rib cage to her breasts, teasing her nipples as he massaged the soft flesh. “I like to play here, too.”

  “Ummm…yes,” she whispered as he pinched and rolled the tender buds. Electric sensation flashed from her nipples to her clit. She bent forward, this time resting her hands on his shoulders, grinding a little as she kissed him. His tongue flicked against her parted lips, and with a soft moan she opened to him. Heat flashed between them as she rubbed her tongue against his, letting out a little sob as he nipped at her lower lip, then slid one hand into her hair to hold her for his mouth.

  “Drew, please,” she moaned. “I want to come with you inside me.”

  God, did she want that. She didn’t idealize a relationship with any active-duty naval officer, let alone a SEAL. Relationship meant deployments, mobilizations, missions. It meant unexplained absences and weeks of worry. It meant seeing bruises, scrapes and scars on his body, pain and blankness in his eyes. It meant nightmares.

  But with Drew relationship meant a love as strong and fierce as the commitment he made to his country, and his team. It meant a soft place to land. It meant living with a wild, focused intensity when he was home, starting here in their bed. For now, empty solo orgasms were a thing of the past. She wanted to drop into the abyss with him as deep in her body as he was in her heart.

  He unfisted his hand from her hair and set it on her hip as she reached for the condoms in the nightstand, then scooted back a bit to tear one open. Their fingers tangled as they rolled it down his shaft, but after that it was all her. She braced one hand on his shoulder and used the other to pull his erection away from his ridged abdomen. His breathing harshened, quickened as he looked down and watched her center her wet, open body over his tip and slowly engulf him.

  His eyelids dropped as she slid down. “Fuck yeah,” he growled a
s she began to move. His head fell back, coming to rest against the white plaster wall behind her bed. “Oh, fuck, Tess. So good.”

  The first fast, furious time had taken the edge off, but only the second session, with its prolonged, intimate connection, smoothed all the emotional edges roughened by his absence. She kept her tempo fluid and relentless, building the pleasure for him in thin, fine layers, much as she would use heat and compounds to add a patina to metalwork. His throat worked as his eyes slid shut and his lips parted, his breath easing out in one long, soft exhalation. She flicked her tongue against his lower lip as she tweaked his nipples, and he inhaled and arched, thudding into her with enough force to make her squeak.

  “So how nicely do I have to ask to get another spanking?”

  His head snapped forward at the question, a hot, tortured gleam in his eyes. “Very nicely,” he said, low and rough.

  She spread her legs and ground against him on the next downstroke, burying him to the hilt in her hot, wet passage. “I’m not asking now, you understand,” she whispered. “Just getting an idea for next time. You want me on my knees when I ask?”

  He fisted his hands in her loose, damp hair before his head dropped back against the wall again, exposing the pulse pounding in the base of his throat. His cock throbbed inside her. “Jesus, Tess.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, then pressed her lips to his jaw. “Let’s see…me on my knees…naked…my mouth wet from sucking your cock…would that be nice enough for you? I’d say please.”

  “Ask like that and I’ll give you anything you want,” he said as he shifted, surging forward and pulling her head back, to suck not quite gently at the skin over her collarbone.

  She rode his movements, arching into him, skin slick and slippery as she rubbed against his torso. Her orgasm swelled, gathering strength with each gliding, increasingly heated move. “You going to spank me for teasing you?”

  That was the final straw. Strong and sure, he rolled her to her back, then pulled out, spreading her legs wide with his hard thighs and pressing her hands into the bed beside her head. “I’m going to fuck you for teasing me,” he growled. “Eventually.”

  He braced himself above her, their only points of contact his hair-roughened thighs against her sore bottom, and his fingers, interlocked with hers. Hard kisses dropped onto her plump lips, stifling her fretful moans, as sweat dropped from his collarbone and temples. When she quieted, he held himself above her with taut control, surveying her wet, pert breasts. He bent his head and blew gently on one nipple, watched it tighten, then treated the other to the same torture.

  “They’re almost as pink as your ass,” he said.

  She shuddered at the image. When his teeth closed on an erect nipple she let out a whimper, but the insistent pressure and his flickering licks against the trapped bud quickly made her moan. The rough stubble on his cheeks rasped against her soft skin as he worked, moving from one nipple to the other until both were raspberry-red.

  “Perfect,” he said, as she desperately yanked against his tight grip, trying to free their locked fingers.

  He left her nipples throbbing in the heated night air, and licked his way down her breastbone to her navel, moving their joined hands as he shifted between her legs. Their interlaced fingers ended up under her sore ass, and she trembled at the submissive sensuality of using her hands to lift her wet, aching pussy to his mouth. The breadth of his shoulders spread her legs wide for the lash of his tongue. He flicked, he licked, he nibbled, all in his own time, driving her up the ladder of desire until she arched and fell away into blackness.

  The luscious, slick stroke of his cock into her satiated body brought her back into the moonlit room. Poised above her, sheer possessive agony etched into his face, he plunged into her, his elbow braced at her shoulder to keep her from sliding away on the sweat-dampened sheets, his hand gripping her bottom without mercy, his hips spreading her open to his pounding body. Mindful of his bruised ribs, she gripped the small of his back, then wrapped her heels around his calves and arched to meet him.

  When her orgasm came there was no falling this time, only annihilation. She exploded, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as she flew apart. With one last, tremendous thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside her. He shuddered, sweat dripping from his jaw to plunk on her collarbone, then he buried his head in her curve of her neck, his shoulders heaving. Long minutes passed while she simply stroked the damp skin of his back, breathing slowly to encourage the subtle loosening of his muscles, his heart rate returning to its normal slow thud against his breastbone.

  Eventually he rolled off her and staggered into the bathroom, giving a muffled curse when he banged his shoulder on the door frame. She giggled and flopped onto her stomach. He came back and eased himself down next to her, on his back. His uninjured side was closest, so she cuddled into him and felt his arm come around her.

  “Damn, Tess. You pack a powerhouse punch for a hundred pounds and change.”

  “It’s not me. Those ribs are cracked and you probably haven’t slept more than an hour a day for the last four weeks.” She kissed him, soft and slow and sweet, then gave in to curiosity. “Where are your boots?”

  “Locked in the trunk of my car with my duffel. I’ll get ‘em in a minute,” he said. “You working tomorrow?”

  “In my studio, but I switched shifts at The Blue Dog. The developer called while you were gone. He really liked the balcony I did for that house in Balboa Park. He wants to see staircase designs by Monday.”

  Drew lifted his head to look at her, a delighted grin splitting his face. “Tess, that’s fantastic.” His head dropped back and sweat trickled down his temple. “Fuck, it’s hot in here. Let’s grab a quick shower and go celebrate. Somewhere air-conditioned.”

  He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up with a wince. Before he could get to his feet she went to her knees, slipped her arms around his neck and whispered into his ear the words she’d doodled in swirling calligraphy with the sketches of staircases and his face. “I love you, too, Drew.”

  Despite injuries, exhaustion and exertion, he pulled her around him, into his lap. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

  She gave him a soft smile. “Yeah. Welcome home.”

  If you enjoyed this story by Anne Calhoun, don’t miss out on What She Needs. Available now wherever ebooks are sold.

  When Jack calls and tells me to meet him at the hotel bar, I know two things: he wants to sleep with me, and I will let him.

  That’s the rule. If I meet him, I do what he asks, when he asks. I’m free to decline his invitation, but if I accept, I’ll do what I’m told.

  I always accept.

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  Raise a Little Hell by Cathryn Fox

  Decent Exposure by Lacy Danes

  Forbidden Pleasures by Amanda McIntyre

  What She Needs by Anne Calhoun

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5730-0

  Under His Hand

  Copyright © 2011 by Anne Calhoun

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