by Zoe Dawson
She moaned against his mouth, and heat, liquid and warm, spiraled its way down to her belly, then between her thighs. He rolled her taut nipple between his fingers and she automatically arched into him as a low, desperate sound slipped from her.
She wanted to touch him too, ached with it. Wanted him to feel the same delicious sensation and make him burn with the same intoxicating heat spreading through her. She unwrapped her arms from around his neck and reached for the hem of his T-shirt. Ripping it off over his head, she dropped it to the floor and smoothed her hands down his wide chest to his abdomen, then teased her fingers along the waistband of his sweatpants. His big body shuddered. She pulled on the drawstring, loosening it, sending her hand inside to his jutting erection. He moaned softly as she closed around him, his breathing ragged as his head dropped back.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and despite the fatigue, the stress, the worry, she dismissed it all. There was so much left to be said and do, so much more to go through, and this felt so very, very good. There wasn’t enough of this in her world, and she simply decided to take it now that she had him in her hands.
The sweatpants slipped off his hips, and he stepped out of them, kicking them away. He pushed at her blazer, and she didn’t need any more encouragement to take it off. His hands were at her waist, unbuttoning her and stripping her out of her underwear and pants with the efficiency of a mission.
Before he pushed her back just as she got her bra off, she caught her first full view of a naked Pitbull. All she wanted to do was trail her tongue across that smooth chest, down that rigidly defined abdomen and across all that taut honey-toned skin. She fell onto the bed. He loomed over her and kissed her bare stomach, trailing his mouth down and farther down.
“Sweet,” he murmured, tracing his tongue lower, closer, teasing her and nudging her thighs apart. “So, so sweet.” Then he slid his tongue over her, and into her, and she arched against him as he moved his hands beneath her thighs and teased with brushing fingertips as he held her where he wanted her, then using his thumb against her core to make her crazy.
She was climbing rapidly, her hands reaching for his head and delving into his hair. Then his mouth covered her and it was like an explosion, the shockwaves more powerful than the first time as he continued tormenting her, wringing every last bit of shuddering pleasure from her before lifting himself up and over her, his big muscular thighs slipping between hers.
He found her slick and aching, and his first thrust made her gasp. He kissed her as she lifted her pelvis against him in rhythm with the movement of his demanding hips.
Time stood still for her even as it sped up, making her feel like she was losing her way until he thrust again and brought her back to him. His mouth was on her everywhere, claiming her as he pushed up inside her. Everywhere she held him, she could feel the sleek, powerful movements of his muscles beneath his hot skin.
She fell into him—into taste and scent and sensation.
On his next thrust, he pushed up harder into her and held himself deep, and there he stayed, his breathing slow and even and sure, his body like iron.
He leaned down and kissed her, a fleeting touch of his mouth.
“Please, Errol,” she whispered. And there was that dazzling grin at the sound of his name on her lips. He pulled out and pushed back in so slowly she thought she might lose her mind.
“Please…”
She strained against him, wanting him to take her there, to make her come, to give her the release he promised with each thrust.
His thumb slipped between them as he kissed her again, and his next thrust came harder, and the one after that faster, each one stoking a banked fire deep in her core until it caught and flashed into flame.
She clung to him, riding wave after wave of pleasure, hearing him groan on top of her, a guttural sound of need and satiation that echoed in her heart.
She’d pushed the pit bull, the hard, tough SEAL into losing it with her.
Slowly, their bodies relaxed as they breathed together, still locked in each other’s arms, and dear God, he smelled good, all overheated male.
He was a hardened vet, a man tempered into steel who carried out impossible missions, and he’d given everything up to her without holding back.
Courage ran through his veins. She drew strength from the way he gave. Now she knew why this felt so good. It wasn’t that smile that could melt a woman into a pool of goo, or the easy confidence of his gaze. It was for this. That for whatever reason the universe worked the way it did, Pitbull was her match, her haven.
The air was humid and heavy. Tendrils of her hair lay damp against her neck. But he tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, and all she could think was that she wanted to be able to look at him like this whenever she wanted. It was a connection she knew no distance could diminish.
She started to speak, to try and find the words, but he tucked her against his chest again, and she knew there’d be time later. Reality would intrude shortly and drag her back to the mission at hand. She snuggled up against him as he pulled the blankets over them.
She felt his fingers tighten slightly around hers, felt the warmth of his big body, the strength that poured effortlessly out of him, doing nothing more than holding her. And she loved the way he wrapped himself around her, reveling in it for a moment or two, just long enough to draw strength from it and get her bearings back.
It would come with a price. That price being opening herself to him in every way. Every way. It wouldn’t be right any other way. She would have to talk about the monsters. Could she do that? She wasn’t sure what was more terrifying, that she’d lose…or how badly she wanted to win.
But for now, she could keep the world at bay for a few hours in his arms. He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her mouth. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said. As she’d known it would be, the silence was easy between them, but that didn’t render the reality of it any less profound. It was too soon to think it through, to analyze it, and she was too tired and spent to do it justice anyway.
She closed her eyes and drifted, enjoying his body against hers. Later, whenever that was, she’d think about this and figure out what it meant. And what she was going to do about it.
Her last fleeting thought before she slipped into sleep was that she would have to do something about it. Because he mattered now.
10
Pitbull woke up the following morning, momentarily disoriented and confused about where he was until his sleepy vision and mind cleared and the tantalizing view of the woman next to him came into focus. Early in his career, as had many Navy SEALs, he’d perfected combat sleep where he could drop off anywhere at any time. But nothing compared to waking up in bed with Mak. He could still smell her scent on his skin, could still taste the sweetness of her body and recall the breathy way she’d called his name the last time he’d made her come.
It had been clear to him that this vibrant woman would be everything he’d expected she’d be—passionate, energetic, and adventurous as a lover.
She turned him inside out, simply put. He’d never met a woman like her, and she’d taken the initiative last night when he’d been reluctant to jump into the deep end. Not because there wasn’t something extra special about Makayla, but because his life was complicated to say the least.
Add to that the impulsiveness of the situation and the weight of the mission and it could be a recipe for disaster. But when there was this much attraction, it was hard not to succumb. He had to admit and accept that she was starting to mean more to him than a brief fling. And he had no idea what he was going to do about that, especially when a long-term commitment between the two of them would require coming clean in other aspects of his life.
With the disclosure regarding Helen and Samantha, there was the team to consider. He exhaled heavily, thinking he hadn’t been part of the team ever since Speed had died, and that was on him, not on the guys. Certainly not on Dragon, who had gone through his own transformation.
Dragon’s words and Max’s comment brought everything into sharper focus. What he was doing to himself was only fracturing the team even more. In his attempt to conceal his secrets, he’d been aloof from the new guys and reluctant to interact with the others who knew Speed and, therefore, would judge him for what he had done. But it was deeper than that. Thoughts and emotions he’d shied away from were affecting his everyday ability to function as a member of the team. If he didn’t allow himself to rely on the new guys as well as the veteran guys, he was effectively the weak link.
Not something he wanted to be at all. But it was becoming all that much clearer to him that it was the role he was playing and as a result, he was the one harming their interpersonal dynamics.
This is where his shit had to get real. He’d effectively cut himself off from the veteran members on his team as much as the new guys. Dragon was his only lifeline to what had once been tight-knit and cohesive. This is where he felt like a stray dog that was seeking his pack, on the outside looking into something he had no way of knowing how to get back to.
He grudgingly acknowledged that he genuinely liked Max, saw something of himself in the dog handler. If there hadn’t been any baggage before Max came, Pitbull and he would have bonded on a deeper level.
He was ashamed for the role he played in fragmenting the team and still wrestled with the stark reality of whether or not he’d failed Speed in the most fundamental way. Did he have his back during that ambush? Or was his number up and there would have been nothing Pitbull could have done to save him from the torture and death at the hands of the Kirikhanistan rebels?
How could he find the answer to that terrible dilemma?
Could he tell Mak everything?
With a low exhale, he turned his head and glanced toward Mak’s side of the bed, where she was still fast asleep. Her black hair was tousled over her pillow and buried her face in disordered silk, and the sheet was twisted around her naked body. She was on her side in a curled-up position, with her arms pulled in tight against her chest and her knees raised up against her stomach as if protecting herself in her sleep—or maybe to keep anyone from getting too close emotionally.
He wasn’t the only one with some past baggage.
Somewhere during the lovemaking, the wrap for her bruised ribs had been removed. In the harsh light of morning, they stood out on her skin in a mottled black, blue and greenish badge of her courage.
She’d saved his life, the team’s, and the lives of those hostages. He wouldn’t be here right now if it hadn’t been for her selfless acts of tracking down Sean Leary and neutralizing that detonator.
That went for Chris Vargas, Paige Wilder, and Kai Talbot. All of them had turned the tide during the oil rig takedown. He owed it to Chris and Paige to put his all into finding them. That went without saying.
Even in sleep, she was such a paradox. While she’d been confident and assertive last night, now she looked vulnerable. And while most women wanted to cuddle after sex, once Mak thought he’d fallen asleep, he’d felt her move out of his arms and curl up by herself.
He thought it interesting that she didn’t desire the simple human need to be held. He wondered if she felt that was a weakness. Was it that she wanted to be alone? Or was she scared of relying too much on another person even in moments of close contact?
Their connection was innate and special. No one had to tell him that. At least not now. He might have been emotionally immature during his interactions with Helen and Speed. Hell, he’d fathered Samantha during some of the worst times of his life.
He’d already lost seven years with her and he didn’t intend to lose more.
As he folded his hands behind his head and continued to watch her sleep, he wondered if he’d ever figure her out, then realized that was part of her allure and what intrigued him so much. All those facets and layers that showed him that the person she presented to the outside world wasn’t necessarily who she was inside.
He looked at his dive watch and discovered it was still early. He had no illusions that the guys wouldn’t notice he wasn’t in his rack, and he had a session of lifting with Dragon right now.
He would have some explaining to do.
He slid as carefully as he could off the mattress to avoid waking her while he did his morning absolutions, snagging his jeans as he came back out. He slipped them on and knocked a framed photo off her nightstand, but with lightning quick reflexes, he caught it before it hit the floor.
His eyes caught sight of the people in the picture, but in the dim light he couldn’t quite make out their features. He walked to the window to get a better look and his gut turned over. There were three nice looking guys, another tall, handsome dude, and he was holding an adorable little girl. All of them were Navajo and the little girl had Mak’s eyes and bone structure. In fact, her face was a blend of features from Mak and the…guy holding her.
A jolt went through him. Was this her kid? Mak had a daughter?
The guy holding her, without a doubt, was the father, and with the ring on his left hand, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he had to be Mak’s husband. So Mak was married. He straightened. Was this a replay of Helen all over again? He had no intention of getting involved with another married woman.
Frustration bordering on anger churned in his gut, and he leaned heavily against the window frame. Dammit, he had more than just feelings for this woman. He had a desire to get into it with her, ease her into his past and the fact that he’d fathered a child he knew nothing about. He didn’t like being blindsided, and he hated it even more to think that this guy had the right to be with her.
He felt possessive and downright annoyed with her. He wanted to shake her awake and demand to know what was going on with her and this man in the photo.
Then he took a calm breath and let it out. He was jumping to conclusions, letting his emotions and his past cloud his mind with accusations before he even gave her time to explain. He didn’t want to be that guy. His only defense was that he cared about her and whatever they could forge together after this mission was over.
If she wanted that. He couldn’t even be sure about that, but he was getting ahead of himself. They had some talking to do as he’d said last night before he’d gotten sidetracked.
He wanted to discuss his deployments and how hard it was to be with a SEAL. How his service took precedence even though it took a toll on relationships and family. But more importantly, he wanted to talk about Helen, Speed, and Samantha and how they impacted him. But if she was married or separated, taking a step back would be the prudent thing to do. He simply couldn’t get in between a relationship again without knowing whether he meant something to her or Mak had decided whatever she’d had with her husband was too important to throw away.
He was aware that people changed. Hell…he was in the process of getting his shit together, not only where Samantha was concerned, but it was time he became a full working member of his team again.
He walked back to the bed and set the photo back on her nightstand. She would tell him in her own time. He rose and looked down at her wrapped in that sheet and looking completely delectable.
He grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, slipping his feet into his shoes. She stirred but didn’t wake, her movements giving him a tantalizing view of her body, drawing his eyes to the way the sheet pulled tight across her full breasts and over the curve of her hip. His groin stirred, not a shocker as he forced his gaze back to her face, which was beautifully serene in sleep.
He sighed and worked at getting his simmering impatience and restlessness under control. His determination was his watchword. It was everything he was about, and he hardened his resolve.
He left the room and closed the door as silently as possible, then turned toward his own rack and the guys that solidified the battle-ready team he was supposed to be a part of in every way.
Except he wasn’t. Speed wafted like a ghost across his mind, making a shiver travel down his spine. He had faced many e
nemies, but his own recriminations were worse than anything anyone could throw at him. His boots made the worst bruises on his own psyche.
With the earth slip-sliding under his feet, he reached the door to the barracks and pushed it open. The problem with SEALs was they were up early because the military ingrained that in their personnel early on. The other problem was that they were worse than gossiping old ladies, nosy to boot.
Everyone was up, including Hemingway, and there was something…right about him filling up the room into seven where Speed’s slot was still open. Their LT hadn’t found the right guy to join them.
Many eyes turned his way and he met each of them. “Did you get up early?” Dodger asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Or you been up all night?” Saint asked, looking sleepy-eyed and smug.
“Aw, come on guys, even Pit’s gotta rest some time. How about it, stud? You having yourself a sleepover or are you guarding Very Special Agent Littlestar’s body one on one?” Mad Max said, and for the first time since he’d met the big man, he didn’t want to punch him in the face…much.
“He’s a consummate warrior and bodyguard…so diligent to every detail.”
“Your lives must be fucking boring if you’re worried about my up time,” he growled as several of them shoved him and Dodger slapped his butt. They all chuckled.
“You know Dodger has to live vicariously through you, man. He couldn’t bag a babe if his life depended on it.”
“Screw you,” Dodger said, flashing his middle finger toward Max.
“Max has a point,” Pitbull said good-naturedly. “Kid’s still wet behind the ears.”
Max’s grin faded and he regarded Pitbull, clear in his face that he’d expected nothing but pushback from Pitbull.
“Aw,” Saint said, pinching Dodger’s cheeks. “Look at all that boyish charm.” He gently slapped Dodger’s face and Dodger shrugged off the big West Virginian.
“You’re all a bunch of wankers,” Dodger said.
“But we’re your wankers,” 2-Stroke said, getting his own pinch in before Dodger slapped his hand away.
