Fatal Heat: A Navy SEAL Novella (7 page)

“Man,” he breathed and she nearly laughed. As a compliment, it was more effective than any flowery phrases had ever been. The heavy hands drifted down her sides, thumbs hooking in her panties. A swipe of his hands and they fell. She stepped out of them and stepped out of her shoes.

Though her heels were low, it felt as if he grew much taller once she was in her bare feet, standing before her fully dressed while she was naked.

“Here, feel how much I want you,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. Shockingly, he took her hand and placed it right over his groin. Instinctively, her hand curled around him, his penis so hot she could feel the heat through the material of his jeans. At her touch, his penis moved beneath her palm as blood raced through it, becoming even harder.

He stood still under her touch, the only sign of his arousal a dark red wash over his cheekbones.

That convinced her more than anything else that she had nothing to fear—his utter stillness. He was watching her carefully, as if to take his cues from her.

“Now you undress me.” That deep voice grew even lower.

“Okay.” Paige stepped closer, so close her naked breasts brushed against his shirt front. She reached up and undid the top button of his white shirt.

To her surprise, her hands were trembling, with excitement, with trepidation. This was so unlike her other sexual experiences, where things happened fast. There was a solemn, deliberate pace he’d established, each step toward the lovemaking like a little ceremony. Definitely foreplay, though he wasn’t even touching her, just watching her.

And yet it was almost unbearably exciting. She was so aware of everything—of the gathering shadows in her room, of the silence, of the sound and feel of her breathing. Her skin tingled with anticipation as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her intently, face expressionless. If she hadn’t noticed the high color of arousal in his face, if she couldn’t feel the thick column of his penis against her stomach she could almost think he was unaffected by her movements.

Almost.

Her fingers were at the last button before his belt and she stopped, hands hovering over the buckle. She looked up at him and he nodded.

Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled the belt, unzipped his jeans, the back of her fingers brushing against him, hot and hard. His hips jerked and she looked up at him, startled. “Get me out of these clothes fast, please.”

O-kay.

She was feeling a sense of urgency herself, like swimming in a river that was picking up speed, rushing toward rapids. She had to stand on tiptoe for a second to push the shirt off his shoulders. Half a minute later, she kneeled to pull off his jeans and briefs and take off his sneakers.

When she rose, he was naked. The most powerful man she’d ever laid eyes upon. His body was utterly unlike any other naked male body she’d ever seen. Almost as if he were a male of a different species. His body was a reflection of the life he’d led. Broad, hard muscles defined by battle and not a gym.

He was thinner than his body type would indicate, no doubt because of the injuries. Each muscle was hard and tightly defined, like an anatomy drawing in living flesh.

And the scars. Oh, God, the scars. She’d seen them on the beach but out of politeness had kept her eyes trained on his. Now she could look all she liked.

She sucked in her breath, fingers reaching out. The leg was bad enough, but this… . The scars were everywhere, some thin and white, some with thick raised keloid tissue. She touched them delicately, each scar representing untold pain. She traced a thick scar over his left side, right under the brown nipple. Obviously his rib cage had stopped what should have been a killing blow. There were two round, puckered scars even she could recognize as bullet wounds low on his hip. Together with the one on his shoulder it made a little trifecta of pain.

He was alive by a miracle.

He stilled her hand, flattening his over hers. Under her palm, she could feel hard muscle, prickly chest hair, the strong beat of his heart.

Their eyes met. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s over,” he said. “Right now, all I want to think about is this.” He smoothed a big hand over her hip, across her belly, laying his palm lightly on her mound. “Open for me, Paige,” he whispered.

There was no question. Her feet shifted, his hand slid between her legs, cupped her. She huffed out a little breath of excitement. It was as if a sun bloomed there, between her thighs. His fingers stroked her, h Obroked her flesh so sensitive there she broke out in goose bumps.

One finger circled, slid inside, and her knees weakened. She clenched around his finger and the color deepened over his cheekbones. He bent down and kissed her, not touching her anywhere but with his mouth and his hand between her legs and oh, when his tongue touched hers, she clenched tightly again around his finger. He sucked in a breath when he felt it, the breath coming from her lungs.

Another slow swirl of his tongue in her mouth. “We need to take this to the bed before I fall down,” he said against her lips.

She smiled, mouth so close to his she felt his breath. She was vibrating with heat, with excitement, and couldn’t formulate words. “Hmm.”

Max turned, stretched out on the bed, held out a big hand. “You’re going to have to be on top. Sorry. This is going to be a huge incentive to me to gain more flexibility in my leg. I like the missionary position.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” she said with a half-smile. Oh yeah, this was a man who’d like to be in command.

Paige looked down at him, at this huge, dark man on her pristine white bedspread, taking up half the bed. Almost every muscle he had was tense, in relief. One muscle, in particular. Was it a muscle? She knew her botany but not her anatomy.

Whatever it was, it was huge and hard as steel and utterly fascinating. His penis was dark with blood, the thick tip even darker, and almost reached his navel. She could see his heartbeat in the tip, trembling slightly with each beat of his heart. Though she would have sworn it was impossible, it thickened even more under her gaze.

She was supposed to put that inside her?

But then her vagina pulsed once, sharply. Her body was readying itself for him, all by itself. Her body wanted this, no question.

How strange. With her previous lovers, she realized, she had to almost coax herself into arousal—but not now. It was as if some outside force were taking her over, or maybe a really primitive part of her, one she’d never been aware of, was coming to the fore.

He curled his fingers up. “Come to me, Paige.” That low, deep, utterly male voice was irresistible. Feeling carried by forces beyond her control, she placed one knee on the bed and swung herself over him.

If you’d asked her, she’d have said she preferred the missionary position, too, at least at first. If you’d asked her, she’d have said it was awkward being on top right away, she’d feel clumsy clambering over him, wouldn’t know where to put her knees and elbows.

But nobody asked, and she found herself flowing on top of him like water, the only thought in her overheated head to try to touch as much of him with as much of her as possible. In a moment, she was stretched out on top of him, his arms holding her tightly, kissing her savagely, as if they were long-lost lovers reunited after years of separation.

One hand was holding her to him, the other reached down to open her up. Oh God, she gasped when he touched her again, she was even more sensitive there than before. Every nerve ending in her body congregating right…
there.

She moaned and he stiffened under her, kissing her more deeply, holding her more tightly. She was opened up over him and he started sliding along her lips without penetrating, so slowly she could feel in turn that broad head, the steely shaft, his thick pubic hair against her. Then back, slowly. Forward. Back. The motions speeding up. With each passage, she grew hotter and wetter. He was moving faster now, passing over her clitoris with a little explosion of feeling each time.

Explosions of feelings everywhere. Her mouth, her hands, clinging to his hard shoulders as if she’d fall off a cliff if she didn’t hang on tight, the insides of her thighs lightly abraded by the hairs on his legs, the hard muscles of his stomach brushing against hers with every movement.

Faster. Harder. Hotter.

She was on top, but not in control. He was doing everything—kissing her so hard she was breathing through his mouth, his hips moving so fast the bed started creaking, the friction burning her up.

He must have felt something: her muscles going slack as she began that luscious slide into orgasm, her breath caught in her lungs, that inward turning… something. Because the moment she started clenching around his penis, he lifted her slightly, thrust his hips up, and, oh God! entered her.

He was already moving, hard and fast, somehow timing his thrusts to her orgasm as they rocked together in some primordial rhythm that sucked her under, as if the climax were some warm tidal sea where she lost her sense of self completely, connected to life by her mouth to his and him rocking inside her.

Floating, rocking, detached from earth. Slippery and hot, clenching around him—not only with her vagina but with her arms and legs—until they were one creature, one being, fused together.

The pulses were starting to die down when he made a noise in her mouth, his movements inside her becoming short and hard—so fast she thought the friction would burn her up—and he started coming. He swelled inside her, impossibly, and came in huge hot jets and that set her off again, this time in tight clenches so hard she could feel it in her stomach muscles.

They slowed, quieted, and all the tension of the orgasm left her body in one huge whoosh, leaving her sprawled all over this huge man.

They were sticky with sweat and their juices, a feeling she’d ordinarily hate. With any other man, she’d have gotten out of bed as fast as possible to head into the shower.

Not now. Because, though they were sweaty and sticky, there was an amazing feeling of closeness, as if she’d become part of his body or he part of hers. It had never occurred to her before how incredibly
intimate
sex was.

It wasn’t just a pleasant pastime. It was a melding of bodies.

She felt every part of his body. His heart thumping against her breasts, the beats hard and steady. The crinkly chest and body hair like a little mattress, or like lying on a lawn. She smiled at that thought and opened her mouth to tell him when she felt him draw a huge breath, lifting her up.

“That was fun,” his deep voice rumbled. “Let’s do it again.”

Paige laughed, her stomach muscles brushing his.

He was serious, still hard inside her.

He gave one experimental thrust, as if asking permission, moving easily now that they’d both come.

Did she want another round right now? Hmmm. She felt really relaxed. Sex with him was exciting but really… intense.

Another smooth stroke, a kiss dropped on her shoulder.

Another. Oh God, he was heating her up.

She opened her mouth to say
okay
when her stomach suddenly rumbled.

“Well, I guess I have my answer,” he said good-naturedly.

And then his stomach rumbled.

He tilted her chin up with a long finger and waited until she opened her eyes. He smiled. “I vote we go eat ourselves silly then come back to bed. What do you say?”

And Paige Waring, staid scientist, said, “Sounds like a plan.”

O
h man, he was in heaven. Max sat up and leaned back against something really soft. Silk, maybe. Or satin? The headboard was really comfortable and looked like something a Pascha would have. The bed, too. Real girly stuff. Amazingly frilly sheets with a sort of flounce around the bottom.

He sniffed appreciatively. Everything smelled so nice, too. Even over the smell of sex, which made him horny.

Everything made him horny now. It was as if his dick had had an “off” switch that had now been switched back on. Permanently.

Paige was taking a quick shower. She’d seen the interest on his face when she said that and shook a finger at him so he stayed in bed like a good boy.

There was plenty of time.

He hoped.

Paige came out—the bathroom door opening, flowery-smelling steam billowing out—wearing a thin silk robe, wet hair hanging down her back. Shower Paige. To be added to Beach Paige, and Scientist Paige, and Dinner Date Paige and Naked Paige.

He liked the last one best.

She smiled at him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t have anything that could possibly fit you, so I guess you should put these on.” And tossed him his briefs.

He caught them one-handed, and swallowed. Put them on, followed her to the living room. Max the dog was leaping in delight at seeing them again after all of an hour’s absence. “So… no clothes of absent boyfriends around?”

Not very subtle, but he suddenly had a burning need to know.

“Nope.” She gave him a sunny smile. “Nary a one.”

“So… this thing we’re having… ”

“This
thing?”
A little frown appeared between her ash-brown eyebrows.”