by Angel Payne
“I—I don’t know. Ohhhh, shit!” She struggled to even get all that out, fighting the quaking in her limbs as he rolled his hips—scraping her pussy with those nasty blue spikes. Those perfect, incredible little teasers… “Y-you’re driving me crazy. I—I can’t think—”
“Then don’t.” A fresh underscore of command stamped the words. “Stop thinking, Jenny, and just feel it. Feel it all.”
“Not an option.” And it wasn’t. Not anymore. She knew that now. Giving in to his passion, his lust, and his hot Highlander body was one thing. But extending those sensations, letting them become anything more, was off the table—and should’ve been from the moment he’d cornered her in the elevator back at The Nyte. But so was sharing any or all of those gory details with him—even as he taunted her even more, circling that ring of rubber fingers against her sizzling flesh, zapping every nerve in her pussy full of new awareness, making her own hips lurch and shiver. Sam didn’t make her battle easy. With every new surrender she gave, his snarls grew deeper, his muscles coiled tauter, his sex swelled bigger.
When he rose up a little, his gaze descending over her body, everything clenched even more. Then again, as he curled the sexiest half-grin God had ever given a man. Or perhaps all tigers looked that innocent before ripping their food apart.
No. That wasn’t right, either.
Sam Mackenna had already ripped her apart. She just didn’t—couldn’t let herself—feel the pain yet. And right now, that had to be okay.
“I don’t think your body cares about options right now, Jenny.”
She was actually grateful for his sarcasm. Told him so with a rueful wince. “I think you might be right about that, bastard.”
His smile widened. The expression was more breathtaking than all the stars over his head. “The bastard says to spread your legs for him.”
She wanted to resist. Opening wider meant exposing her most sensitive flesh to all the wickedness he’d wield with that specialty condom. But denying him anything was like cutting out her own heart.
With a shaky frown, she parted her thighs for him.
With a consuming shudder, she accepted his first hot slide. Another. Another. Every swipe of those blue spikes against her clit was like a dagger on her control. The incisions tore deeper. She bled with lust and need. Reached, aching and agonized, for the sweetness of the death that was to come. Screamed, desperate and longing, for its perfect freedom. Thank God a bunch of cactus and a few coyotes were the only things around for miles. And Sam? He growled greedy approval at every new shriek or gasp, transforming into another creature through them. His body was magnificent, becoming every inch her lethal tiger, muscles feline and fierce, coiling and twisting, forcing him to hold back until the time was right.
Soon. Oh God oh God, please let it be soon.
“Sam.” The word was dry. She’d nearly forgotten how to breathe, let alone speak. “I can’t—I don’t know if I can hold it—”
“Then don’t.” His face locked into a thousand angles of his own tension. As he kept rocking his cock against her clit, he raised a hand to her forehead, squeezing fingers into her hairline. “Now, Jenny.” The words seethed from between his teeth. “Let me watch it. Now.”
Death rushed at her in a blaze of heat and a rush of ecstasy, crashing her blood, stopping her heart, releasing her body. She was eviscerated. A thousand pieces of ripped, raw glory, splayed beneath the desert stars, never wanting to be whole again. But that was exactly what Sam did, the very next moment. Refused her into one piece as he shunted home inside her, his massive body quaking with erotic urgency.
“God,” he groaned. “Fuck.” He plunged into her with merciless force, his shaft retreating then reentering with long, hard strokes. She had no option but to hang on, accepting his brutal passion. As her legs locked around his back, her head arched against the mattress, wanting nothing more. Needing only Sam. More of his lust. More of his domination. More of the brutal invasion that might mark her for life. God, she hoped so.
He curled his face into the curve of her neck. Suckled her there for a moment. Jen latched him there, one hand against his scalp, tangling fingers in his thick, sweaty waves. He did the same to her, wrapping her hair around his fist. Desperately, they clung to each other. Passionately, he kept fucking into her. Then suddenly, twice as hard. Jen cried out from the new, consuming force of it.
“Am I hurting you, mo luaidh?”
“Y-yes.” She refused to lie to him.
“Good.” He sank his teeth deeper into her flesh. Filled her sex with more of his passionate possession. “I want you to feel me inside you for weeks. I want to walk into your office, bid you a good mornin’, and know that the sound of my voice makes your cunt wet from rememberin’ me. I don’t even want you to sit without feelin’ the pain I’ve given you…the marks I’ve put on you…inside and out.”
Nasty words…breathed into her with the solemnity of a vow. The former fired into every inch of her body. The latter sang to every hollow of her heart. The collision destroyed so much of her will, making it impossible to hold back her whispered confession in return.
“I’ll never forget you, Sam Mackenna. Ever.”
He pulled his head up a little—just enough for her to see the effect of her words across his face. She wasn’t sure whether to feel good or bad about it. He looked like he’d just been drawn and quartered, but hadn’t been able to process the torture yet.
“I’ll never forget you, Jenny Thorne.”
As the promise left his lips, the come exploded from his body. He didn’t look away for a second, baring the apex of his passion to her. His brow crumpled. His cheekbones jutted, stark against his skin. His teeth gritted until a guttural groan spilled out.
He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
He was the ultimate dynamite to her defenses.
At first, she thought she could contain the damage to a couple of sobs—but after those tumbled out, the truth was clear. The torrent was just starting. The tears rushed out, violent and consuming, destroying everything in their path, including any self-dignity she had left.
She shouldn’t have gotten into the helicopter with him. For that matter, she shouldn’t have even let him get into the elevator with her, that handful of hours ago…now feeling like years.
God. All the stupid love songs were right. Maybe, with the right person, you really could live a lifetime in one night. And yeah, just maybe…Sam was her right person. Maybe fate really had dealt them the wild card; that this one time in a million, the hunk and the geek were perfect for each other.
But they’d only ever own it for this one night.
How could she afford to think otherwise? In two weeks’ time, he’d be five thousand miles away. But Elgin, Scotland isn’t exactly the surface of Mars, Jen.
Right. So she’d just—what? Decide to pop in casually in a few months, telling him she was “in the neighborhood” on holiday? The idea alone made her squirm, wondering if Sam already smelled the desperation on her. Behavior like that only worked for women in rom-coms and nighttime soaps. The last time she checked, her name wasn’t Bridget Jones or Cookie Lyon. Sam would give her his politest smile while taking her out for a Dundee pie and a pint—then put her on the next transport back home. The whole time, he’d hide glances that questioned if she really was from Mars.
They’d found each other in the wrong place. At the wrong time.
The truth of it torpedoed harder. Sobs erupted from deeper in her chest. She fought them hard; so damn hard. There were bigger things to grieve about. Much bigger things. But right now, nothing felt huger. Nothing felt better than giving in to the selfish pain, of caving to the knowledge that once the sun rose, her romance with Sam would be over—and there wasn’t a damn thing to be done about it.
“Sam.” She wrapped herself around him, hanging on as if her life depended on it. At the moment, it quite possibly did. “Sam.”
He rolled to his side, keeping their bodies entwined
in every sense. His cock still filled her, warm and strong. His arms encircled her, protective and sure. His voice flowed over her as he brushed his mouth across her face, capturing her tears. “It’s all right. It’s all right, my sweet mouse.”
“I—I—”
I love you.
The words hovered, thick and demanding, in the very essence of her breath. Just say it!
She couldn’t. The words bore all of her heart, and she needed some of it inside to keep living after he’d gone. Somehow…
He understood. The new shadows in Sam’s eyes, velvet as winter twilight, told her so. But he didn’t stop there. He leaned in, gently sucking that air from her, as if drawing her truth into his being. As he exhaled, his face warmed with a look of wonder and joy. He’d heard the words, anyway—in the place they mattered most. She knew it with certainty as solid as her heartbeat, as irrevocable as her breath.
“I know,” he finally whispered. “And Jenny? I—”
“I know.”
And she did.
Only then did the tears stop. No. She chose to make them stop. Acceptance bred stability, if not complete peace. What good would it do to hurl more sadness at it all? Nothing could be changed. The truth…simply was. She had to accept it like a moor accepted the rain.
And eventually, rain brought the spring.
She closed the thoughts off. Spring was not on the mental menu tonight. She refused to ponder fluffy bunnies and daffodils when she could savor her last hours encased in steely strength, wrapped in complete warmth.
Surrounded by Sam.
She nestled against his chest, pressing a hand next to her cheek to listen to his heartbeat.
Remember this sound. Save it, savor it, commit it into the deepest parts of yourself.
But her senses betrayed her, succumbing to the perfect heat and protection of his embrace. With the thrum of his life in her ears, she gazed up into the stars, and followed their hypnotic peace into sleep.
Chapter Ten
‡
“Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”
At first, Sam only gave her the continued thumps of his heart, still beneath her ear, as response to her poetic whisper. The scrape of his hand through her hair soughed in time with the wind against the window, accented by the lusty coos of the roadrunners and the sharp barks of the coyotes.
At last, he emitted a sleepy hum. “John Muir before six, now? You really are the geekiest sex fiend I’ve ever met.”
She flashed him a scowl. “And how many sex fiends have you met?”
A smile tugged his lips. Just as swiftly, it sobered. He lifted his hand to her hair again, letting the strands trail from his fingers, over her shoulder. “Only one who’s taken much more from me than that.”
Less than ten seconds. Less than twelve words. He had her blood tingling, her chest flipping, and her heart breaking all over again—especially as he drew her down for a long, wet, lingering kiss. But as soon as he parted her lips and swept his tongue out for more, Jen forced herself away. Two more seconds of feeling his tongue like that, and she’d be getting hot and stupid with him again.
“We—we need to think about getting back.” Her hair and makeup appointment was at eight. That had to be less than two hours away by now. “Time for real life, my laird-lord on high.” Despite the fact that he’d never appeared more like a perfect dream, the peach and gold dawn making his chiseled nudity glow.
“I should roll you over and spank you black and blue for that nonsense,” he cracked. “But you’re right.”
“If you want the last word here, that feels like a damn good place for it.”
He sat up, leaned over, and reached a hand to L-frame her face. With the other, he guided one of her hands to the center of his chest. “My ‘last word’ to you comes only when this stops beatin’.”
Jen struggled to laugh. It was ironic, right? That by staking his devotion on the beats of his heart, he’d stopped hers from working?
From possibly ever beating the same way again.
In just a night, he’d changed her. Moved her. Made her breathe, hurt, soar, seethe, laugh, cry, and live as she never had before.
In just a night, she’d learned what it was to be in love.
Why had she deluded herself that the truth of it would just…fade? That real life would be the magical blowtorch, razing everything back to the way it was?
Even after Tess and Dan’s wedding—which was beautiful, perfect, and tumble-free for her, thanks to Sam bowing out at the last minute due to a “buddy” at the base pleading for a roster switch—she couldn’t seem to find the right target lock on her life. She made all the right motions. Did all the right things. Her radar was spinning, her tracking instruments fired-up and ready, but every day was like flying through muck, only to loop and land exactly the same place she’d been before.
With no Sam in sight.
One day after the wedding, she secretly thanked him for being polite and granting her some space.
Two days after, she was sick of “space”. And pissed at him.
Three days after, the fury whittled into despair.
At three that afternoon, she planted her elbows on her desk and parked her head in her hands, forming a teepee over her phone’s text screen. Sam’s face and name taunted her from it. They hadn’t traded texts since last week, when he’d messaged to ask her if he could pick up something gooey for her from their favorite Mexican joint just outside base. She’d texted back a decline:
:: I’m having a green smoothie. Need to watch the waistline. ::
She’d swallowed hard, fighting the heat behind her eyes, while reading his response.
:: Why? You’re a perfect little mouse already. ::
She’d purposely ignored him—now realizing, in hindsight, that it was actually her bait. She knew he’d come in to rib her some more about it, and he had. And she’d gotten the dorky, cheap little thrill of basking in his presence for a few minutes, fawning over him like a desperate fangirl.
Pathetic.
Transparent.
But no different than what she was about to do.
Okay, a little different.
Different to the tune of five thousand miles.
She gazed at his tiny avatar picture again. She had a dozen bigger ones in the photos folder but this was her favorite, snapped as he’d come in after a kick-ass training hop one day. His hair was sweaty and tousled, his grin wide and bright.
How she loved him.
How she wanted to capture that smile on his face every day. To spoil him rotten with her cooking every night, and her blow jobs every morning. To massage the aches from his shoulders, and kiss away the demons from his deployments. To let him call her his sexy, sassy little mouse…and to feel his hand on her ass when she stopped believing it for herself.
She wanted their one night for every night.
Because of that, she was going to ride the elevator to the roof again. Then jump off the building.
Figuratively, of course.
But just as terrifyingly.
If she wound up on the sidewalk as a symbolically smashed pancake, so be it. Better a pancake who’d tried than a ball of batter who’d stayed in the bowl, playing life safe.
The decision blazed through her, firing down her right arm. No second thoughts. Do it.
She lifted the pen waiting on the desk, then signed the document she’d completed this morning in perfect detail. The second she finished, Lola appeared. Though technically on the same pay scale and rank as Jen, Lola pretended she saw more and knew more than everyone in the office. She tossed back her frizzy dark hair, hennaed this week to a shade nearing purple, and chomped on her gum while lifting the page bearing Jen’s new signature.
“So. You’re really gonna do this? A transfer to Lakenheath?”
“Yes.” She snatched the sheet back, weirdly protective of it. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it l
ately.”
“Yeah.” Lola smirked. “A lot.” She tapped at the phone resting on the desk—still open to Sam’s text page.
Jen kicked up her chin. The flat pancake plan was looking better by the second, when she realized Lola would be out of her life. “The base is five miles from Cambridge University,” she asserted. “They’ve got amazing public education courses.”
“Right. Sure. Cambridge. There’s a reason to upend your life.”
Jen maintained her stance. Cambridge was going to be a pretty good part of the pancake consolation package, if everything came to that. If. She wasn’t committed yet. As long as the transfer request was in her hands, she still had the chance to shred it and forget it. Once she walked the sheet across the office and dropped it onto the right stack, wheels would officially be in motion. She’d already talked to the hiring officer at Lakenheath. They badly needed someone like her in the personnel office, so her request would be fast-tracked for processing.
Every step she took across the tiled floor was like a rifle shot in her ears.
Think of other things. Focus on the logistics first. They’re safer. Stop at the PX for moving boxes. Call the utilities companies to set dates for shut-offs.
Practice what you’re going to tell Sam…
Okay, so logistics wouldn’t work.
She had no choice but to grit it out, step by agonizing step.
The hugest change of her life.
For a man who’d never even said the damn words to her.
You never said them either, girl. When it was time for the big three, you wussed out on him too. Maybe that’s why he’s stayed away.
Halfway there.
The office door whooshed opened as if a Cat Five hurricane closed in. Coincidentally, “Cat Five” was the radio call-sign for Major Skip Tremaine, the man who headed the base’s cross-training program. He was the ideal candidate for the position. With a nose sharp as an F-18’s and a haircut never departing from a strict high-and-tight, the guy was only missing rocket boosters in his backside.
“Ladies!” Tremaine opened both arms like a circus conductor—an image making everyone giggle, since he was still in flight gear. “Eyes up. Attention, please. I have an announcement.”
