Forged in Ash (A Red-Hot SEALs Novel)

by Trish McCallan

  “No,” he said, and winced as the denial came out more questioning than determined.

  She tilted her head, still watching him, her hands just sitting there, burning against the top of his thigh.

  “Why? You want me. I want you. We’re both single. Uninvolved. It harms no one.” Her words sounded collected, her question sophisticated, but her cheeks were growing rosier by the moment.

  “I’m not looking to get involved.”

  Which would have sounded more convincing if his ass hadn’t taken on a life of its own and lifted slightly, encouraging her fingers to slide beneath the hem of his shorts.

  “I’m not asking for an involvement,” she said, and her fingers did this hot little shimmy and scrape that sent his balls up into his belly.

  She was killing him.

  “I’m asking for half an hour,” she added in a silky voice, her fingernails slipping beneath his shorts and lightly scraping his skin.

  He gritted his teeth, a shower of sparks playing a fourth of July fireworks show up and down his spine. Half an hour? If she kept that up it would be more like two seconds, followed by a solid week.

  She leaned forward slightly, her fingers exploring deeper beneath his shorts. His cock twitched in anticipation and stretched forward, eager to greet her.

  “What’s the harm?” she whispered, her fingers going still again.

  The harm was that she’d sink into him, bond to his bone and he’d never be able to cut her out. Never feel complete without her.

  He didn’t need that kind of complication. Not now. Not with his whole damn life lost in complications.

  He opened his mouth with the intention of saying no, of shutting the offer down hard, before it took him places he couldn’t afford to go. Except, that wasn’t what came out of his mouth.

  “I don’t have any condoms.”

  Where the hell had that come from? It was hardly a denial.

  “I’m on the pill.”

  The words just hung there, throbbing in the space between them. His gaze locked on her face, on the fullness and faint trembling of her lips. Her eyes held his squarely; her gaze was bright with hunger, but pink was flooding her cheeks. And not the pink of arousal. She wasn’t nearly as blasé about this as she wanted him to believe.

  He hesitated while every atom in his body screamed yes and every cell in his brain screamed no.

  The hesitation went on long enough to crack her confidence. Red flooded her face. Humiliation crested in her eyes. She pulled back, jerking her gaze and hands away at the same time.

  He wasn’t even aware of moving.

  One second he was flat on his back, the next he’d jackknifed up, reached for her, and dragged her down to the sofa, where she lay atop him, draping him from hips to shoulders.

  He took her mouth in an urgent, raw kiss. Her lips were soft against his, sweet—but without the citrus tang he’d expected. They tasted like…roses…which was the oddest thing, because he’d never tasted a rose before. Until her.

  As his hands dove into the knot of hair pinned to the back of her head, pins went flying. A thick braid slipped down. He caught the end, stripped the band away, and combed his fingers through the bound pale tresses until a waterfall of gold spilled down, cocooning them within a veil of shimmering gold. A swath slipped over his shoulders in a silky slither, and goose bumps raced over his skull and down the back of his neck.

  His heart stopped for one long minute and then leapt into double time.

  The feel of her silky, cool hair sliding over his hot, sensitive skin was unbelievably erotic. Even more so than it had been in the dream.

  But then, he had the unmistakable feeling that was going to be the theme song of this particular moment…

  He opened his mouth, urging her lips apart, stopping long enough to trace that sexy dip in the middle of her bottom lip with his tongue—the slight indentation that had been driving him crazy for the past few minutes. She quivered against him and parted her lips, and her tongue darted out, brushing his own. The light erotic slide of tongue against tongue sent a pulse of electricity down his spine and into his balls.

  With gentle pressure he bit her bottom lip and drew it into his mouth, suckling it. She jolted against him, and the cool curtain of hair caressed his shoulders again, inciting another shower of sparks.

  If her hair felt like liquid sex, and so damn good against his skin, what would her skin feel like against his? Driven to find out, he slid his hands down to the middle of her torso, where he grabbed a fistful of fabric and dragged it up. She pushed herself up so he could strip the shirt over her head and then folded herself over him again, her brown eyes glowing and intense, her hair a tousled shimmer of gold falling along either side of his head.

  He groaned as her lips found the side of his neck and latched on, suckling. Christ, each tug of her mouth against his skin sent pulses of fire straight to his cock. Each brush of her sleek, damp skin against his chest tightened his balls.

  His hands felt huge and awkward as he slid them up the length of her spine, searching for her bra. He unhooked it, barely paying attention as it slipped down her arms and she lifted herself enough to shake it loose. Aching to feel the cool, sleekness of her against his palms, he trailed his hands up her spine, and around to her chest, cupping her breasts. They fit his palms perfectly—not too big, not too small, simply perfect.

  She gasped as he gently squeezed the soft mounds, and shivered when he brushed his thumbs across the turgid nipples. But within seconds his focus changed. How would those delicate mounds feel against his tongue? Inside his mouth? Did she taste like roses or oranges there?

  Driven to find out, he slipped his palms back around to her spine, sliding them down and down until they dipped beneath the thin cotton of her sweats to grasp the cool globes of her ass. She arched against him, her breathing quickening, her heart pounding against his until he could hear it in his head—connecting them.

  Her mouth swooped down and fastened on his, her tongue plunging between his lips in a parody of lovemaking—the thrust and retreat, thrust and rub. Cosky’s lungs seized. His head swam as her tongue fucked his.

  And Jesus, an explosion of roses and oranges surrounded him, enveloping him in a scented bubble of pure sensation. When her hips pressed down, grinding against his, the glimmering veil of hair draping them glided over his hot, tight skin. His entire body clenched, and he came close—far too close—to losing it completely right then. Right there.

  He needed to get the rest of her clothes off her. Bare skin to bare skin. Muscle to muscle. Sex to sex.

  After a slow squeeze of those perfect cheeks, he slid his hand back up to her waist and eased her thin pants, along with her panties, down her hips. Without taking her mouth from his, she lifted her hips, allowing him to push the cloth down her thighs. She did the rest by stretching out across him, breast to chest, thigh to thigh, as she kicked off her pants. When her knee bumped his, something niggled at him, something important, but he lost the thread as her hands tightened around the waistband of his shorts and tugged.

  He dragged his mouth from hers and growled softly, “Not yet.”

  She laughed, her fingers sliding beneath his shorts. Swearing, he captured her hands and dragged them around her back, and pinned them there.

  The instant he felt that hot damp clasp around his cock, he’d lose it. The urge to roll and bury himself inside her silky channel was already digging into him, more urgent by the second, and that was with the thin layer of cotton between them. She needed to be ready for him. Ready to let go and fly.

  She wasn’t there yet.

  But she would be. Soon.

  She punished him with a nip to the side of his neck, followed by the slow soothing sweep of her tongue.

  “Think of where else I could be licking you,” she whispered into his ear, just before she took the lobe in her teeth and tugged.

  Jesus Christ.

  His entire body quaked beneath her as an image of her mouth locked arou
nd his cock slammed into his mind. He drove the image away and took her mouth again, while his hands glided over to the cheeks of her ass. He traced the crescent between the twin moons and widened his fingers, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, matching the rhythm of his hands to the plunges of his tongue. She did another of those sultry shimmies, her pelvis brushing against his, which drained the blood from his brain into his crotch, leaving him light-headed above and throbbing.

  And then her legs separated, falling alongside his, until the damp flesh between her thighs was riding the bulge beneath his shorts.

  He groaned, his back arching, pressing his cock into her. The movement dragged her breasts up. Her nipples brushed his hot skin, bringing another flush of heat. With one last squeeze, he shifted his grip to her hips and lifted her, dragging her forward until her breasts, with their engorged, dark nipples, were even with his mouth. She froze when he licked the right nipple—stopped breathing as he caught the peaked flesh between his teeth, gently bore down, and tugged. The next tug brought a choked cry.

  When he drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled hard, she writhed against him, rubbing herself harder and harder against his crotch.

  To ease the need burning between them, he pushed a hand between their hips and worked it between her legs. She was hot and wet and ready for him—her flesh quivering against his fingertips. He parted the damp folds of her sex and stroked her opening, feeling the clench of her around his invading finger. A shiver shook her and ran through him. He went dizzy. Hungrier than he’d ever been before in his life.

  Ever.

  With anyone.

  He penetrated her with just the tip of his fingers and felt the wet, sleek flesh cinch around his fingernail, caressing him, trying to draw his finger deeper inside her. With a keening cry, she threw back her head, and pressed herself hard against his hand, forcing his finger deeper inside the tight, wet clasp of her sheath.

  Just the thought of that tight, soaked space clamping around his cock almost sent him into hyperdrive. With a deep breath, he froze, every muscle in his body tense as he battled the urge to roll and drive into her.

  His cock swelled to the point of pain and his balls drew tight against the base of his penis. He swore, forcing his body to heel. Once he had his muscles under his control again, he released a slow breath and dragged his finger out of her.

  She greeted the withdrawal with a moan of discontent.

  He shifted beneath her, forcing his hand deeper between her legs, and worked two fingers inside, while brushing her clit with his thumb.

  She screamed, pressing hard against his hand. With each thrust of his finger in her wet, swollen sheath and suckle of his mouth against her wet, swollen breast, he could feel the tension in her tightening. Her hips rocked urgently against his, constantly stroking his swollen, throbbing cock.

  A tingle started in the base of his spine, spreading up and out. Jesus, he was out of time. As close to the cliff as it was possible to get without flying.

  He scraped her clit with his thumb, thrust both fingers into her as deep as they’d go, and stroked the walls of her twitching sheath. She screamed again, her body arching.

  With her cry still ringing in his ears, he rolled, dragging her beneath him. With one quick movement he shoved his shorts out of the way, pushed her legs wider, settled between them, and nudged his cock into her wet, tight opening.

  He tried to take care, to ease into her, to give her time to adjust to his girth and hardness. But she didn’t let him. Her legs rose, curled around his hips, and squeezed. She arched up, driving his penis deeper and shattering the remnants of his control.

  With one savage thrust, he buried himself completely inside her.

  She came apart beneath him, her body bowed and shaking. Her face a tight grimace, caught somewhere between ecstasy and pain. Her sheath clamping and releasing, clamping and releasing, stroking his cock from base to head.

  Groaning, he pulled back and thrust again, and then again. Driving into her.

  Dimly he heard her scream again, her body rigid beneath him as her orgasm rolled through them both, and her wet, tight sheath clamped down hard on his cock, milking his own release.

  He bucked above her, his hips hammering. His heart hammering. His blood hammering. Caught in turbulence unlike anything he’d ever known before, he emptied himself into her convulsing depths. Boneless and spent, his lungs grabbing great gusts of air, he collapsed onto her limp body.

  For what might have been forever he drifted in and out of consciousness, more at peace than he could ever remember feeling, the feel of her wet, soft body beneath him as natural as breathing.

  But as his body stirred and his mind awakened and his cock started to harden inside her, unease crept in, infecting the contentment.

  He wanted her again.

  He’d barely recovered from that first bout of earthshaking sex and he already craved a second one. Already craved her. And it would only get worse. Instinctively he knew that, knew that every taste of her would increase the craving.

  Like any hard-core drug, the more you used, the stronger the craving, and the harder to walk away.

  Damn it, he should never have given into the need and taken that first taste.

  Boneless and replete, Kait stretched beneath the heavy weight of Cosky’s body. He twitched above her, an involuntary spasm that brought a satisfied smile to her lips. She wasn’t the only one still recovering from their trip to the stars. Still smiling, she turned her face into the sweaty side of his neck and nuzzled his damp skin.

  He was so beautiful like this—his hard, heavy weight pressing her into the couch, his face flushed and sweaty and oddly vacant as though he’d dropped all his shields. Even the hard muscles covering her felt lax and lazy—with the exception of the muscle still lodged inside her. That particular part of him was growing less lazy by the second.

  In fact, it was growing darn right hard.

  The realization he wanted her again so soon widened her smile. The glow of contentment brightened to brilliance.

  She’d been dreaming about this, about him, for years, but the reality blew the dreams to smithereens. Nothing had come close to the perfection of this moment. The perfection of him, of her, of the way they’d come together. Of how perfect they fit, like pieces to a puzzle.

  What a shame it had taken her so many years to step past her pride and comfort zone and reach for what she wanted.

  She sighed and kissed the side of his damp neck, the salty taste of him tangy on her lips, and he hardened to full glory inside her. Her smile melted into a silly grin. He was certainly determined to make up for lost time, which worked perfectly with her plans for the rest of the day, the week—heck, the rest of her life.

  He shifted on top of her, and she gasped slightly as his heavy body drove the air from her lungs. For a second he seemed to press himself deeper within her, anchoring her to the couch, but then he froze.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, as he suddenly pushed himself up and off her body.

  He didn’t ease back down as her arms tightened around his shoulders. Instead, he pulled back hard, breaking her hold. Her smile vanished. Unease stirred.

  The sense of peace dissipated as he pulled out of her, as though her contentment had depended completely on that connection linking them. As he straightened beside the couch, an icy draft swept over her and she longed for a blanket, or a sheet—anything to guard against the sudden chill.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He eased back from the couch with slow, careful movements, as though he wasn’t sure his knee would accept his weight. “You’ve had your half hour. So we’re even, right? That’s what you asked for.”

  It took a second or two for the words to hit her. But when they did, they hit hard.

  “What?” Kait sat up, her voice rising. She angled her head to get a look at his face. It was hard. Flat. His gaze was hooded, cold chips of silver staring back at her.

&n
bsp; As though she were a terrorist he was interrogating. The enemy.

  Or maybe nobody. Nobody to him at all.

  “You asked for half an hour, of sex, for the healing,” he said patiently, as though he were reminding her.

  That icy draft streaming over the couch penetrated her skin, sinking through muscle and bone, settling into the core of her—numbing her from the inside out.

  He’d made love to her because of the healing.

  He’d paid for her healing with sex?

  She thought back to her banter, to her words—could it have sounded like she was bartering sex for services?

  A slow shake of her head cleared her mind. No. No way. He knew exactly what she’d meant. He’d have told her to go to hell if he’d misunderstood her offer.

  So why? Why would he say something so cruel?

  She stared at his distant, flat face and instinctively knew the answer.

  Because their moment together hadn’t meant anything special to him, and his dick aside, he wasn’t interested in taking the relationship any further. The sex must not be worth the hassle and with Aiden as his new roommate, she could make things very uncomfortable between them.

  As if she’d ever do something like that. But then he had no intention of getting to know her and finding that out for himself. Instead, he’d taken the easy out, and tried to drive her away.

  The stupid bastard.

  “That’s overkill, don’t you think?” She swung her legs to the side of the couch and stood. The dampness chilling her skin didn’t feel sexy any longer. It was uncomfortable, unclean.

  “What?” He stepped to the side, skirting the coffee table to give her more room, maintaining a cautious distance between them.

  Probably afraid she was going to rush him, declare her undying love.

  The stupid, stupid, moronic bastard.

  “Throwing up that big red stop sign.” She forced her voice to levity, even though every muscle in her body, including her throat, wanted to shake.

  She tried to ignore their nakedness, and the wetness staining her body as well as his. “I told you I wasn’t looking for a relationship.”