DRAGON SECURITY: The Complete 6 Books Series

by Glenna Sinclair

  I can’t even begin to describe the relief that rushed through me when he suddenly burst through the front door.

  He was shivering, his arms wrapped around his body. I ran around him, grabbing a blanket off the bed, and threw it over him.

  “You should go take a shower. It’ll warm you up.”

  He nodded. “It’s actually warmer out there, I think.”

  I smiled. “Looks like it.”

  He shivered again, smiling at me as he brushed past. He took his gun out of his waistband and slid it into the holster, then tossed something onto the nightstand as he went by, shedding the blanket as he stepped into the bathroom. I grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and wiped up the melted snow that was puddling on the floor. I heard the shower come on and found myself wondering about the man undressing behind that thin bathroom door.

  What’d happened between him and Blake? Why would he want to hurt Blake enough to make him do what he did in that restaurant parking lot?

  I found myself suddenly a beehive of activity, moving around the cabin, washing up our coffee mugs, making the bed, draining the bathtub. I heard the water stop in the shower about the same moment I realized what it was he’d thrown onto the nightstand.

  Condoms. He’d found condoms somewhere.

  Was that why he went outside? Did he know they were there? Why was he carrying around a whole stack of condoms? What was he expecting to happen up here?

  Did he come here with the intention of getting locked in this cabin with me?

  I was confused, yet there was this smile that refused to leave my lips.

  Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, nothing but a towel around his waist.

  “Why are you here?”

  He studied my face a moment. “Why are you?”

  “I came here to get away from whatever or whoever was trying to hurt me.”

  “I was following you.”

  “Why?”

  He took my face between his hands and kissed me. I want to fight him, to force him to answer my questions. But then my bones began to melt and my body began to mold around him, pulling him close to me, responding to his kiss with more heat than my body should have been capable of. He picked me up, his hands sliding over the smooth material of my robe, just long enough to drop me onto the bed. We fell together, out bodies tangled together with all the right parts in all the right places.

  My hands slid over his chest, down his belly, touching all those places I’d so desperately wanted to touch last night: his chest, smooth and warm, his belly, the muscles quivering under my touch. Then his back, the ropey muscles that worked with his every movement. His hip and firm ass, so round with this huge dimple along the side. His mouth moved along my shoulder, over my throat, the heat of his breath making my belly tighten.

  “You’re so good,” he whispered near my ear. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “No one asked you to.”

  He groaned, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pulled back to study my face.

  I reached up to nibble at his throat, my hand wandering down the length of his body again. The towel had slipped open, his cock hard and standing up against his lower belly. I ran my hand along the underside, watching the pleasure dance on his face. He reached down and tried to pull my hand away, but he didn’t try very hard. I slid my hand down the length of him, cupped his balls, and then moved back up, caressing his head with the ball of my thumb.

  “Oh, God!” he moaned against my ear, his teeth drawing my lobe between them.

  “Is that right?” I asked softly.

  “That’s amazing.”

  I stroked him again, my fingers lingering on his shaft. Then back down, my palm pressing him hard against his abdomen. Then back up, up and down, watching the pleasure cause tremors in his muscles. It was powerful, knowing I could turn this big, handsome man into a bowl of melting need. I kissed his neck, his collarbone, working my way slowly down his chest. My tongue teased his nipples and he moaned, his hands moving over the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

  I pushed him back, amused at how easy it was to maneuver him with just a touch on his shoulder. I sat up on my knees and shed my robe, loving the way his eyes moved over my bare breasts, my naked hips. I bent low to kiss his chest, to run my tongue along the narrow spaces between his ribs. He laid his hand on my thigh, his hand big enough to cover nearly the whole back of it. He ran his hand up and down, slowly pressing his fingers between my legs, his fingers brushing my cunt. My clit ached for him to seek it out, for him to touch me the same way he had last night. I wiggled my ass a little, encouraging him even as I made my way slowly down his belly, peppering him with kisses, careful not to touch his cock until I was ready.

  I took him in my hand and felt his stomach muscles jump. His hand moved up over my ass, his finger sliding slowly along the line between my cheeks. I leaned back into him, aching to feel that finger inside of me. But he teased me, sliding it along my puffy outer lips, refusing to give me what I wanted when I wasn’t giving him what he wanted. So I pushed myself up on my hands and took him, a little bit at a time, running my tongue over the surprisingly soft skin covering his rigid cock.

  He lay back, his breathing the only indication I had that he was enjoying what I was doing. I’d never…but there was always a first time for everything. And it was fun to learn these things, fun to feel the power racing through him, the power I had over him. I knew if I stopped, he would not be pleased, but if I continued, he would experience heights that I myself had only begun to taste. That was power.

  He suddenly partially sat up, grabbing my hips and pulling my body up over his. The next thing I know, he’s buried his head between my legs, doing things I’d read about late at night in the dirty books I still felt the need to hide even though my grandma had been dead for quite some time. Last night had only been a sampler compared to what he was doing to me now. The deeper I took him, the deeper his tongue, his fingers, lost themselves inside of me. My head was spinning and I could hardly breathe, the ache deep in my body pushing me to do more, to be more adventurous while, at the same time, I wanted to just lie still and allow the sensations of his touch to roll over me.

  I don’t know which of us pulled away first. I know it was he who reached over and grabbed the condoms off the nightstand. I sat up, moving behind him and leaning over his shoulder to watch as he rolled a freed condom over his cock, fascinated with the procedure for reasons that had nothing to do with what was going to come next. I was just fascinated with everything about him, every move he made, every smile he smiled, every word that fell from his lips. I wanted to soak it all up, to remember it all, and to remember that I was a part of something that included this big, handsome, masculine man.

  He turned, grabbing my chin in his hand and stealing a hot, passionate kiss as he pushed me backward. But he didn’t want me to lie down. He lifted me, pressed me up against the wrought iron headboard, his hands moving from my breasts down to my hips. He pulled my hips back against him even as he pressed his mouth against my shoulder, as he bit down, leaving a mark I’d see in the mirror later. And then he pulled away, his hand brushing my ass as he guided himself to me.

  I closed my eyes, a teeny trickle of fear moving through me. I’d only been with one man and that had been long ago. And Marcus…he was built much differently than Leon had been. I was afraid and excited and nervous…what if I was a disappointment to him? What if I wasn’t what he wanted?

  All these thoughts stormed through my mind in the seconds it took him to grasp his cock and press it to my lips, to urge my lips to open to him. I bit my lip, instinctively pressing back against him. He thrust at the same time I moved. I was so wet that his head slipped easily inside, spreading me open. I held the cold iron so tightly that my knuckles turned white. And then he thrust again and more of him came inside and my body welcomed him, welcomed this touch it had never felt before.

  He wrapped his arms around me, his hands slipping over my breasts ag
ain. He held me close, my nipples rubbing against his palms, my hips grinding back against his hard body. And then he began to move, thrusting slowly at first, barely moving. Then harder, a little deeper, touching everything all at once. I leaned back against him, twisting my head to graze my lips against his jaw. And his hand moved low against my belly, his fingers pressed against my clit.

  I thought I might implode right there and then, just explode all over him, all over this cabin. I pressed my hips back, forcing him to hold on, thrusting against him as much as he was me. It was intense, the feel of him inside of me, the way his body draped itself over me. I wanted to scream, to cry, to simply fall into a puddle of nothing in the center of the bed. His touch was redefining everything I knew about life and love and sex. I wanted nothing more than to be in this moment for as long as I possibly could be.

  But he…he was beginning to lose control. His thrusts became harder, faster, his breaths coming in quick gasps. And he was making this low, keening sound that I remembered from last night. He was on the edge. I was over the edge and on my way to oblivion.

  He came first, crying out as he buried himself as deep inside of me as he could get. I wiggled my ass, forcing his cock against all the places inside that created the most pleasure. And that, plus his fingers still pressed hard against my clit, sent me soaring.

  We fell together a few minutes later, lying in a heap on top of our smashed pillows. I rolled into him and buried my face against his chest.

  I had no idea what I was doing. But if it continued to feel like this, then I didn’t suppose it mattered.

  Chapter 11

  Marcus

  “What does it mean?” I asked, running my fingertip around the heart on her lower belly.

  “Nothing, really. It was an attempt to step outside my comfort zone and do something I wouldn’t normally do.”

  “Why?”

  “My friend, Lettie, thinks that I’m too introverted. She dared me to do it.”

  “So it was a dare?”

  “Sort of.”

  I ran my finger along the bottom edge of it, letting it get dangerously close to the top line of carefully trimmed hair. She’d shaved herself into something of an arrow, a long strip of hair pointing right to her clit. It fascinated me how this woman—who considered herself an introvert, this woman who’d clearly had few lovers—would do something so erotically pleasing to herself.

  I bent and kissed the tip of her nipple, my finger moving slowly back up the length of her belly.

  “Is Lettie the woman you were with at the restaurant?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been friends since high school.”

  “You’re very different.”

  “We are. I think that’s what keeps us together. She needs my calm and I need her wildness.”

  “Has she ever made you do anything else this wild?”

  “I’m afraid getting that tattoo is the wildest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Surely you had a few other experiences. Crazy parties in high school. Frat parties in college.”

  “My grandma was sick, and she refused to hire a nurse’s aide, so I spent most of my time nursing her.”

  “That sucks.”

  She shrugged. “She took me in without thought to what it would mean for her life. I owed her.”

  “You were an infant. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

  There was steel to my voice. I saw the curiosity in her eyes, but she didn’t ask.

  I kissed her chin lightly, my lips sliding down to her throat before I pulled away again.

  “What about the tattoo on your back?”

  She was quiet for a minute, her fingers playing a little song of her own making across my chest like I was an instrument only she knew how to play.

  “It’s the date my mother died. It’s the date that sort of defines me, that chose the sort of life I would have. My grandma…she always reminded me that if my mother had lived, I likely would have grown up moving from place to place, used and neglected by my drug-addicted mother. Instead, I had a peaceful, ordinary upbringing. The tattoo reminds me to be grateful.”

  Anger blew through me, burning hot in my chest. I studied her face, realizing she didn’t even understand how cruel it was, her grandma telling her those things. She was an infant. She didn’t make the choice to be born to a woman who couldn’t control her addiction. And she certainly didn’t chose to be left with a woman who was clearly less selfless than she wanted the world to believe.

  I wanted to say something, the words on the tip of my tongue. But then she pressed her palm to my tattoo, the only tattoo I ever sat still long enough to get.

  “The Marines.”

  I nodded. “The Marines.”

  “Did you go to Iraq or Afghanistan?”

  “I served four tours in Afghanistan.”

  Her eyes did that thing they did when she was flush with emotion. “Really?”

  “Not as impressive as it sounds. I spent the majority of my time in the carpool. My commanding officer discovered I had a knack with engines, so he put me there to keep the dust and crude out of the engines. It was a full time job.”

  “But you kept going back.”

  “I did.”

  “You must have seen some combat.”

  “Some.” I touched that heart again, watching her draw in her breath at the slightest touch of my finger. “But it’s not something I dwell on.”

  “When did you get out?”

  “A little over six months ago.”

  “Did you go home? Visit your family?”

  “What makes you think I have family?”

  She touched the side of my face, her fingers lingering on my jaw. “Everyone has family.”

  I leaned close to her, kissed her nipple again before resting my head on her chest. She ran her hands over my head, caressing me as if I were a child at its mother’s breast. It hurt a little to feel the emotion in her touch, the caring.

  I abruptly sat up.

  “Don’t count on me, Cadence. I’ll let you down.”

  I could feel her eyes on me, following me as I first shoved some more wood into the fire and then as I padded into the kitchen, snatching a couple of water bottles and a bowl of fruit from the fridge.

  “I don’t believe you’re a bad person.”

  “How could you possibly know that? You know nothing about me.” I turned toward her, gesturing with the hand that held the water bottles. “I shot at you. I could have killed you.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “And you think that makes me a good person? Maybe it just makes me a well-trained marksman.”

  “And maybe the world is just made up of selfish people who can’t possibly feel empathy for anyone else. We might as well just all give up and set off the atomic bombs, destroy the world and let some other poor fools try it all again.”

  “That’s a little drastic.”

  She sat up, her full breasts so perky that they seemed to be waving hello.

  “I’m telling you that I want to believe you didn’t mean to hurt me. That I want to believe I have no reason to be frightened of you.”

  “But you do.”

  “Do I? You’ve done nothing but try to care for me since you got here. What about that suggests that my life is in danger?”

  I dropped the water bottles on the bed and sat down, bracing myself on a couple of pillows propped up against the headboard. We eyed each other over the bowl of fruit, a blush touching her cheeks as she found it hard to keep her eyes on mine, instead letting them roam the length of my chest.

  “I want to believe that this isn’t just some fling to you. That you don’t just routinely bed the women you’re assigned to protect. Or murder, whichever the case might be.”

  “What if I did?”

  She groaned, throwing herself back against the mattress. I put the bowl of fruit down and climbed over her, leaning close to kiss her jaw. She brushed a piece of hair out of my face.

  “Why do you want to be suc
h a mystery?”

  “Because you probably wouldn’t like the truth if I told it to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you admire a man who constantly missed glory by just a hair? A man whose family experienced more tragedy than they ever enjoyed success? Who brought most of that tragedy on themselves?”

  “It depends on the man.”

  “No, babe, it doesn’t.” I leaned close, grazing my lips over her jaw, whispering next to her ear, “The only thing that matters at the end of the day is that that man ran away when the going got too tough and left his family to face tragedy alone. That man was gone when death came to his family, too ashamed to even return for the funerals.” I kissed her again, gently. “That, my love, is not a good man.”

  She wrapped her legs and her arms around me, tugging me down closer to her. “It depends on the man. If he wanted to redeem himself—”

  “How do you redeem yourself from that?”

  “By living a good life. By loving and being loved.”

  I groaned. “You sound like some church lady, or something.”

  “I’m not trying to save your soul. I’m trying to keep you from doing something else that you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

  I pulled back and studied her face for a long second. “Why? What if it’s already too late?”

  “I don’t think it is.”

  I shook my head, “I think you’re too kind. That’s why you should get as far from me as possible.”

  But instead of pulling away, I kissed her. Only in kissing her did I feel relief from the guilt she’d been talking about, from the burden I’d carried on my shoulders since I left Chicago for the Marines. Only in kissing her did I believe what she said, did I believe the promise that her body, her touch, the look in her eyes, promised me. It was momentary relief, but it was relief I clung to.