Delta Force: Colt: Brotherhood Protectors World/Wayward Souls Crossover

by Kris Norris

One lick, and Ellis was already trembling. Tiny contractions against his tongue. Another, and her fingers carded through his hair, fisting around the strands. She tugged, seemed to realize it might be too hard, and eased up. Not much. Not enough he could move his head away from where she wanted him.

  Not a problem. He didn’t want to move. Was happy to stay there—his shoulders wedged between her thighs, the soft smooth skin on her legs rubbing against his arms. She was beautiful. A pretty pink blush coloring her flesh, her chest heaving as she tried to pull in more oxygen. Her muscles trembled, strung tight as she strained not to come. Not to end everything so quickly.

  He smiled, lightly tracing her cleft, circling her clit. “Damn, El. I could watch you for hours. Stay like this for days because you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  A moan then a grunt. The thud of her head connecting hard with the pillow. “Ten seconds. Maybe. If don’t touch or talk or freaking breathe for five of those.”

  A swipe of his tongue followed by a slide of his finger inside her.

  “Christ, Brett.”

  God, her voice. As if the two words had been ripped out of her. And the way she said his name… He loved that she still called him Brett. Hadn’t defaulted to Colt because he wanted to be Brett for her. The man who was going to make her see stars. Who was going to win her back—make a life together. Not the soldier who’d let her fade. Left her to face the monsters, alone.

  Another sharp tug on his hair. She wasn’t just close. She was already starting to crest.

  Not without his mouth on her. Her release flooding his tongue.

  Colt barely touched her skin before she was coming. Sharp, rhythmic contractions against his finger, a wash of fluid across his lips. Her hands flexed against his scalp, each tug timed with a pull from her sex.

  God, feeling her unravel with his mouth, his hand, his whole damn body, sent him over the edge. Flicked some kind of internal switch on his control. From the man who’d wanted to spend hours caressing her skin—tasting her. Taking her to the brink and back until she was so consumed with her need, she couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t form words—to a warrior with a singular purpose.

  Get inside her.

  Now. Not in a few minutes. After she’d regained her senses. Was able to open her eyes. Smile up at him. This. Moment.

  Took him two seconds to reposition her so she was in the middle of the bed. With room for him to climb on top. Slide between her spread thighs. Another two to prop himself up on his elbows as he gathered her in his arms, his hands locked on her shoulders. He had just enough blood still left in his head—enough brain cells still firing to make a mental note not to touch her side. To keep his body off that part of her—before he was thrusting into her. Her walls still grasping, only now, at him. At his rock-hard shaft as he pushed into her, fully seated. Her release coating his groin. His balls.

  If tasting her had been heaven, then being inside her, skin on skin, breath mixing, his name breathy and harsh around them as she arched back, climaxed, again—that, transcended heaven. Took him to a place so filled with white-hot pleasure, he wasn’t sure he’d come back intact. That he wouldn’t be forever changed. Branded by her. He’d intended on binding her to him. Imprinting himself so fully on her, she wouldn’t be able to see her life without him woven into it. Integral parts of the same piece. Inseparable. But she’d turned the tables. Snared him.

  He let his forehead fall against hers. Had it ever been this intense? This hot? This…

  Oh god. Skin on skin.

  He groaned. Just the thought of pulling out—of losing even a moment of time inside her, all those slick warm juices surrounding him, drowning him—seemed unthinkable. An impossible request. No different than asking him to stand down. Let McCormick take her.

  He blew a rough breath out through his clenched teeth, trying to make his damn body move—back, not forward into her. Pin her harder beneath him. “Condom.”

  It’s all he could get out. One word. And it hadn’t really sounded right. As if he’d put the emphasis on the wrong syllable. Mispronounced the second one. It was quite possible all he’d really gotten out was “damn”.

  Ellis smoothed her hands up his back, holding him tight. Palms over his shoulder blades, her heels pressing into the small of his back. “Pill.”

  She’d spoken. Colt knew she had. A single word, but it was if it had registered in some primal part of brain. One not connected to his hearing because he was still trying to puzzle out the word. Make sense of all four letters, as if his brain had never heard it before. As if she might be speaking in a different language because pill meant she didn’t want him to pull out. Rip his wallet apart searching for a damn condom. Pill meant he could keep on going. Grind her into the bed like she’d asked. It meant he could go bareback.

  It wasn’t as if they hadn’t before. They’d been together for two years. Had done away with condoms once they’d decided it wasn’t a passing fancy. That they were in it. Committed. That if the birth control failed and she got pregnant, it would be a sign that it was time to call it quits. Move beyond the service, beyond his team. To start their life. Together.

  But, now… Now, it meant something different. Something deeper because after everything—the distance, the years, the fucking letter she hadn’t written—it meant trust. The soul-deep kind that went beyond words. Beyond actions. Became indisputable. Irrevocable.

  By the time his damn brain caught up. Figured out that she had, indeed, given him permission to make love to her without a barrier. Nothing between them but sweat and heat and all that hot, wet juice burning him up, he was already gone. Control snapped. Nothing but searing need. Hers. His. He couldn’t tell which of them was holding tighter. Was begging more, because there was no separating it. His body from hers. It was just one tangled mass of writhing flesh. Connected in the most primal way.

  Ellis was lifting her hips. Meeting each brutal stroke. He’d pushed onto his hands, needing the extra leverage to go deeper. Faster. The only saving grace was that he wasn’t touching her side. Hadn’t forgotten it would still be sore. Which was a freaking miracle because just the thought of hurting her. Inflicting more pain… It sickened him.

  But it wasn’t pain on her face. Pleasure. Joy. Maybe something more—something he wouldn’t examine in the heat of the moment but would look at later—it drew her skin taut. Flushed her cheeks. Made her eyes roll back as she inhaled. Held it.

  Watching her tip over the edge was all it took. Colt came. Cock pulsing, emptying into her in strong rippling spurts. Over and over until he wasn’t sure he had any fluid left. Was probably at risk of dying from dehydration because he’d never come that hard. Given that much.

  He collapsed onto his forearms, praying he wasn’t putting all his weight on her. Making it impossible for her to breathe. Not that he could. Gasping pants with his face buried in her hair wasn’t doing anything to ease the burning sensation in his lungs. Erase the colored dots swimming across his vision.

  He’d spent two years in her arms. Making love to her whenever possible. Stealing a day, hell, a few hours, just to meet up. Connect. Sometimes they’d spent weeks together. Enjoying the simple pleasure of occupying the same space. It had helped when those weeks became time apart.

  But never had he felt this invested. Completely consumed by her. By her skin, soft and smooth against his. Her silky hair spread across his arms. Her breath tickling the hairs on his nape. Her pulse echoing inside him.

  He was in love with Ellis Baker. Had been from the second date and would be until he died. Plain and simple. No fanfare. No singing angels. Just love. Deep. Pure.

  Ellis exhaled. Not overly loud, but Colt felt it. Against his neck, in his chest. Christ. He was still lying on top of her. Squishing her into the mattress. Their bodies were plastered together from chest to toes. Skin against skin. Every possible inch touching.

  Fuck, her wound. Sure, the injury hadn’t been that large and was to the side. Probably not pressed against him, but he was heavy
. Outweighed her by at least eighty pounds, probably more. And it was thick, hard muscle. No give. No softness. The kind that would compress her lungs—make it impossible for her to breathe. Probably aggravate her ribs. The ones those fuckers had bruised.

  Colt immediately lifted his body. He couldn’t quite get his damn brain to send the signal to roll—pull out—but he could alleviate some of the pressure. Allow her to suck in some air. Were her lips blue? Had he halfway suffocated her while lying there, still burning from the intensity of his orgasm?

  He had to make this right. Fix it because he couldn’t think about her kicking him out. Telling him to leave and never look back. She might let him help her with McCormick. Ellis was smart, and she’d come to the conclusion that she needed him. Needed his team. But needing him to watch her back—eliminate a few bad guys—wasn’t the same as needing him. In her life. In her bed.

  She’d said she wasn’t asking for promises, and he wasn’t going to spring any on her. Wouldn’t spook her or pressure her, but they were going to have a future. If it took fifty years of “keeping it casual”. Not actually labelling it anything, he’d be fine. Losing any hope of that…

  Colt took a deep breath, steeled himself for a hard jab to his ribs. Maybe a strike to his head. Then looked down at her. Blue eyes staring up at him. Heavy-lidded but soft. No tension at the corners, no pursed lips. Just lax muscles and a dreamy smile.

  She reached for his jaw—palmed it. “Arms tired?”

  He blinked, resisted the urge to dig a finger in his ear because he obviously had something in there. “Are my arms tired?”

  “You moved.”

  “Because I was suffocating you. Christ, I’m surprised you haven’t passed out.”

  She laughed. Fuck it sounded light and easy. “If I had passed out, it wouldn’t have been from lack of oxygen. That…” The smile fell slightly, her gaze narrowing. “I like feeling you on top of me.”

  “You like not being able to breathe?”

  “I like feeling safe. Been a long time since I’ve experienced that.”

  And just like that, he fell harder. Deeper. The woman was going to kill him, and there wasn’t a damn thing Colt could do about it. Delta Force soldier. Trained warrior. And he was going to be bested by a brown-haired beauty with blue eyes. Half his size with twice the heart.

  He lowered himself, smiling at the way she inhaled, held it, then let it out, eyes drifting shut. “I’ll stay for as long as you’d like. And when you’re ready, I’ll clean us up, then we’ll both get some sleep. Okay?”

  He waited, but her breath was already evening out. Her lashes resting against her creamy skin. “El?”

  She hummed, eyes never opening.

  He sighed, gathering her a bit closer, trying to push aside the last twinges of guilt still gnawing at him. The ones that had surfaced when she’d been recounting her story. That it hadn’t been just the race across the streets of Seattle that had likely ended in their tryst, tonight. The Agency. Getting waylaid by McCormick. Having her life and everyone in it stolen. Ripped out of her hands because she’d wanted to keep her fellow servicemen safe.

  Wanted to keep him safe.

  That’s why she’d gone digging—risked everything because Delta Force Alpha Squadron had nearly been decimated. Not just him. Cannon. Six. Phoenix. Crow. Dungeon. Priest. Relic. Ghost. Fetch. The men who’d followed him into battle. Who were a constant in his life both on and off the battlefield. She’d felt responsible they’d been hit and hit hard. That they’d nearly lost Crow. Bastard was hardcore. Had bounced back despite taking three rounds to the torso—fucking armor-piercing bullets that had sliced through his vest without slowing. A few inches either way, and he would have been dead. A statistic in a black bag struck down on a mission that had never technically happened.

  So, if she’d sought shelter in his arms as a celebration for not dying. For having the courage to keep going—forge a new life. If she planned on keeping it strictly physical. It didn’t matter. Because regardless of how their interaction had started tonight, he knew how it was going to end. Her. With him. Permanently.

  Ten minutes. That’s how long he’d lie there, watching her. Drinking her in. Every twitch. Every soft sigh. Enough time she wouldn’t wake when he moved. But even if she did, he’d be back in a flash. Warm cloth, then his chest as a pillow. They could figure out their next steps, tomorrow. Until then, she was staying in his arms. Safe. Sheltered.

  His.

  Chapter 15

  “Drink this.”

  Ellis blinked, scrambling for the mug Brett shoved into her hands. The last thing she remembered, she’d been listening to Hank repeat how he and Kameron would go to this remote internet café on the other side of town, access the server per Ellis’ instructions, download everything onto an encrypted thumb drive then drive back. Taking fifteen different routes, weaving all through town—constantly checking for tails, before returning here. How there was camouflage netting for all the vehicles. That they’d all do everything they could to ensure Ellis remained safe. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t been interested. He’d just gone over the same plan a few times, and having learned how to memorize operational details instantly, her mind had drifted.

  Not to the task at hand. To all the reasons she shouldn’t let them help. How she was endangering their lives. Especially when she didn’t know why McCormick was after her. If the files would save her or just prove that she’d been duped all along and had blindly followed orders because she had no other options. Hadn’t been either strong enough or smart enough to engineer other options. No, her traitorous head had strayed to the man hovering over her.

  To Brett.

  The one place her mind shouldn’t go because Brett was dangerous. Not just in a physical way as a warrior, but because he had this power over her. Was able to sway her thoughts, her entire way of thinking with nothing more than a word or a smile. Or a scowl if needed. All he had to do was talk or look at her, and she just gravitated toward his desires. Not a smart weakness to discover when she needed to be strong. Exert her own will. Be prepared to sacrifice herself if needed. Something he’d never allow her to do, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d start thinking like him, and she’d be lost.

  Again.

  Brett cleared his throat, making her wonder if she’d actually nodded off or had just been staring into space, thinking. About him, damn it.

  Just. Fucking. Great.

  She could only hope her eyes hadn’t been fully shut. That there wasn’t drool on her mouth. A quick swipe of her hand put that worry to rest, not that it made her feel any better about zoning out.

  She glanced at Brett. “Thanks.”

  He smiled, and it should not make her heart race. Make her entire body heat. “You look like you need Ice to set up an IV drip of this stuff. No one would question it if you needed some more sleep.”

  Ellis coughed at his words, nearly spitting some of the coffee across the table at Hank and Kameron. How could Brett mention sleeping—the bed where he’d spent part of the night inside Ellis—so casually? Without a hint of blush or hitch in his voice that would broadcast exactly what they’d done together? Because she’d been working hard to keep it all down. In check. No glancing his way unless he was talking. No touching or standing too close. Nothing couples would do. Because they weren’t, were they?

  But to pull it all off, she’d had to dig deep into her operative training because Brett looked amazing. Black tee, tight jeans and combat boots. Tousled hair that tumbled across his eyes, highlighting the stunning blue color. His scruff was now pretty much a beard, accentuating his strong jaw and high cheekbones. It took just a hint of the pretty-boy vibe away. Gave him a bit more of the warrior one.

  So, just mentioning sleeping—when he’d been part of the reason she hadn’t slept. Or maybe, the reason she’d actually slept soundly for a few precious hours—seemed like risky territory. One that would alert his teammates that they were sharing more than just the room. Though, they had
n’t reacted to her reaction, just now. No chuckling. Teasing. Nothing but stoic silence from smug faces.

  Shit.

  They already knew. All of them.

  Of course, they did. They were trained observers. Had been taught to recognize the slightest twitch of someone’s lips, or the narrowing of their eyes. A passing look or a word out of place. That didn’t have the right intonation. They’d used their skills for interrogation or deciding whether an informant was lying and trying to send them into an ambush. But it was essentially the same thing. Just different outcomes.

  Ellis was good at schooling her features. And she’d been on top of her game since waking up in Brett’s arms. Sun streaming in the windows. His heat finally taking away the ever-present chill she’d felt. Five years’ worth of chill. A deep-seated cold that she’d accepted as part of her new life.

  The realization had shocked her. It had only taken one night, one encounter, to turn her world inside out. Deconstruct her in a way she wasn’t sure she could reassemble. Not without Brett being part of the foundation.

  He’d smiled, kissed her, then gotten up. Showered. Dressed. Then, he’d walked out into the other room as if he’d spent the night in the chair, instead of deep inside her. Taking her from one orgasm to the next. It might not have lasted all night, but she’d felt the effects all night. His body sheltering hers. His arms holding her tight. She vaguely remembered having a dream, maybe lashing out, but he’d been there. Had simply kissed her forehead, and she’d drifted off. She never fell back asleep after a nightmare. Ever. Yet, with Brett holding her, she’d simply passed out.

  Ellis had taken time showering, getting dressed in the spare clothes Kameron had lent her. Wondering how she still smelled like Brett even after she’d tried to rinse away the previous night. While heading for the main room—the rest of his team—she’d switched into operative mode. Pushed everything down. Became stone cold, or as much as she could while still being around people she cared about. Friends. She couldn’t hide the truth from Brett, from herself, but she could keep it under wraps. Just another mission she’d never discuss with anyone.