Damian (The Caine Brothers #3) (13 page)

The “M” word still freaked him out. But at least he’d let it creep into his vocabulary. That was a start.

For now, he needed Elena. He needed to feel her skin on his, her breath mingled with his, her heart beating in time with his. She was in his blood and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. When he’d suggested walking away, the idea had been like a blow to the gut. His old life seemed like a lonely, pathetic, empty hull. How could he go back to that now that he had her?

He wouldn’t.

With a deep, growl, satisfied that things were settled, he reached for her, digging his fingers into her hair and cupping her face between his hands. “You need to lose that robe,” he said.

He dropped kisses on her forehead, her cheeks—even the bruises—and her gorgeous, delicious lips. The little plaintive sounds she made when she opened her mouth to him had his cock inflating in record time. God, he loved those sounds.

Her robe dropped to the floor in a whisper of terry cloth and her fingers moved to his trunks, fumbling with the wet fabric and his growing erection. Finally she gave up and huffed at him.

“You do it,” she said, her voice halfway between a command and a plea.

Shoving the trunks off and kicking them away took less than a second. He went back to her, but she stopped him. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and caressed it in a long, slow stroke. He held onto the counter to keep his balance while his eyes closed and his head dropped back. “Jesus, Elena. You’re killing me.”

“Mm-hmm.” The syllables came out in a low, sultry voice.

Then he felt something warm and wet circle his cock. His eyes popped open and he looked down to find her on her knees with the tip of him in her mouth. He panicked for a split-second, not wanting to subject her to the same thing she faced in that warehouse.

He grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her to her feet. “Elena, you don’t have to…”

She took her mouth off him and shot him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter?”

“I just don’t want you to have to…” he couldn’t finish the thought, so let it drift incomplete in the air.

Her brows shot up when she realized what he meant. “You think there’s any way in the world that piece of filth would be in my mind when I take you in my mouth? No. Not even close. You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking you’re so ridiculously gorgeous and you’re all mine. I want to taste every bit of you. Your body is my playground now, and I want you to remember my touch on every inch of you, so why not start here?”

Who was he to deny her? There was plenty of him for her to explore. Let her have her fun. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

He braced his feet wide because if she was going suck him off, he didn’t want to embarrass himself with noodle legs. When she took a firm grip on him at the base and took him in her mouth, he just about collapsed it felt so damn good. Hot and wet was heaven enough, but when she sucked, and squeezed with her hand at the same time, it pulled a groan from somewhere deep inside.

When she slid her lips further down his length, he felt his tip slip into her throat and held himself as still as possible. He didn’t want to buck his hips and choke her, but holy crap it felt good. Then she grazed her teeth along the length of him as she pulled back and it shot electricity to his balls.

As much as he wanted to give her what she wanted and let her finish him, he wanted to come inside her—as deeply connected to her as two people could be.

Again, he reached down and took her by the shoulders and pulled her up. “My turn,” he said.

Grabbing her by the waist he hitched her ass up onto the counter. Her claim on him went both ways. He looked forward to playing with her body, too. Her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders in a still-damp-from-the-pool mass, and her pupils dark with desire almost eclipsed the blue corneas.

Her nipples had puckered and pebbled and begged to be sucked and nibbled, but by damn he didn’t think he could hold back long enough. Instead he caught hold of her legs and scooted her until her ass cheeks hung at the edge of the counter, then opened her thighs wide enough to step into that glorious space between them.

She placed her palms on the counter behind her and threw her head back, offering the whole of herself to him.

Dear God, how could he say no to that? Not that he was inclined to, but…

“You’re taking too long, hotshot,” she said, wrapping her legs around his back and pulling her to him until the tip of his cock rested in the warmth of her opening.

“Hey, you can’t rush these things.”

“Oh?”

“I’m an expert, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

“Then do it already.” She looked him right in the eyes, her gaze concentrated desire. “I need you in me. Now.”

He didn’t need any more invitation than that, so he drove himself in to the hilt in one sure stroke, drawing a long, satisfied moan from her lips.

“Yes. That’s it,” she said.

He chuckled. “Glad to be of service.”

Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her close and started a slow rhythm, grinding his hips into her pelvis every time he filled her. He needed to brand her as his as much as she wanted to make him hers.

He thrust himself into her—pouring his hopes, his fears, his desires, his love—into each and every one, faster, harder, more insistent, making her his, making them one. Her body responded, pulling him tighter, her yearning sounds seeking some mutual place of communion

When her orgasm hit, it gripped him tight and triggered his own. He thrust hard and deep and stayed there, riding the rippling waves as her muscles stroked him from the inside.

As they spiraled back down and became two people again, instead of one, she wrapped herself around him, a soft, warm balm for his soul. He disengaged himself from her, gathered her into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom.

They climbed into bed and for the first time since they’d returned from Colombia snuggled into each other’s arms. She fit perfectly against his side, forcing him to admit that he was hopelessly lost to her.

She heaved a deep, satisfied sigh and said in a sleepy voice, “who needs fireworks when we can make our own?”

Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his wife. Or believe that he should call anyone by that word. She wore a wedding dress with a white lace top and yellow chiffon skirt, and half a garden of flowers in her hair. Easily the most gorgeous woman there, he still couldn’t believe she was all his.

They’d spent a year figuring out how to make a relationship work until it had become obvious to both of them they’d never be able to live without each other, so they planned a Fourth of July wedding, and what better place for it than the Mitchell estate?

Despite the heat, the place crawled with people. A wedding with “just family” between the two of them meant a huge crowd.

Damian had taken a moment for himself on the deck to survey the party. It had been going on for a while now with lots of booze and music—Jaxon had found a great local band. They’d even done karaoke with some really bad renditions of all the typical hits. He’d discovered his fellow SEALs should never go near microphones again.

Speaking of which, as he surveyed the crowd he didn’t see any Navy dress uniforms. Even in a crowd this size, six men in uniform would stand out. He hoped they weren’t off somewhere planning some crazy shit.

He watched Elena laugh at something one of the other women had said, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. It kind of freaked him out. He needed his edge for work. But he had confidence both he and Elena knew how to do their jobs—she assured him they were sufficiently expert—and that the focus would be there when he needed it, and afterward they would come home to each other. He still worried about the day one or the other of them didn’t come home from a mission, but being in love meant it didn’t matter if they were married or not, they’d still face the same loss. So he went with it. Better to have all they days they could than none at all.

Today, though, he’d allow himself to bask in pure, unadulterated happiness.

“One more bites the dust,” Hunter said, climbing the stairs and presenting him with a beribboned bottle of scotch. “My wedding gift to you.”

It seemed inevitable his brothers would eventually find him and give him shit. He grinned like an idiot. He didn’t care.

Xander, Jaxon, Colton, and Bishop followed Hunter, all carrying glasses like they expected to share.

Colton held out his glass, waiting.

“Fuck off, man. This is mine,” Damian said. The hurt look on Colton’s face made him laugh. “Okay, fine. If you’re going to be a baby about it.”

He poured for all of them.

“Here’s to married bliss,” Xander said, offering his glass up for a toast.

“I’m not toasting to that,” Jaxon said. “You guys may buy into the marriage thing, but I’m a bachelor to the end.”

“Right,” Xander said. He tossed back his drink. “Just wait. You’ll meet a woman one day out of the blue and before you know it we’ll be toasting you.”

“Never. Going. To. Happen,” Jaxon said.

Bishop snorted, then gulped his drink. “You’re next.”

“No way,” Jaxon said. But the panic in his eyes belied his confidence.

Bishop shrugged as if he didn’t care what Jaxon believed.

“So when’s the rugrat due, Hunter?” Colton asked.

Everyone turned to find a very pregnant Allison out in the crowd. She stood with Gracie and Elena and a bunch of older women.

“Another month or so,” Hunter said, looking for all the world like he’d just taken over another billion-dollar empire.

“You two better get to work if you’re going to catch up,” Jaxon said, waggling his finger between Xander and Damian, maybe trying to shift attention away from him again.

“I’m not making any babies,” Damian said. “You’ll have to do it yourself. Now, if you assholes will excuse me, I’m going to go dance with my wife.”

“Never thought you’d say that, did you?” Xander said, laughing as he poured himself another glass of Damian’s scotch.

“Not in a million years, bro,” Damian said.

“Feels good though, doesn’t it?”

“You know it.”

Damian made his way through the crowd, accepting congratulations along the way, until he reached Elena. He placed his hand on her waist and she leaned into him.

“Dance, Mrs. Caine?”

“Vertically or horizontally?” Gracie asked, wiggling her brows.

“I…” Rarely left speechless, he still wasn’t used to his blunt sister-in-law so just sputtered in response. This had the ladies giggling. He tried not to blush in response. How the hell had he fallen so far?

Elena patted his arm. “I told you you didn’t have the proper training for this kind of crowd.”

He squared his shoulders and stretched to his full height. The hell he’d let a bunch of girls intimidate him. “I can handle a few women.” He gave them the full weight of his SEAL glower.

They all froze for a moment, then broke out into fits of giggles and raspberries.

“Oh, God, I think I’m going into labor,” Allison managed between wheezes of laughter.

His withering gaze didn’t seem to have any effect on them, so he took Elena’s hand and dragged her away from the pit of humiliation.

“Don’t blame me,” she said, snorting as she trotted along behind to keep up with his long, determined strides. “Where are we going?”

“In the house so I can assert my dominance over you and regain my manhood.”

“Oooh, that sounds like fun.”

He rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be intimidated by my power and virility.”

They climbed the steps to the deck where his brothers had nearly finished his scotch. No respect.

“Oh I am, hotshot. Really. I am. In fact, I’m shaking in my shoes. Quivering, really.”

“Did I hear the lady say she was quivering?” Jaxon asked. “Way to go, bro.” He offered a high-five, which Damian ignored.

“Shut-up and drink my expensive booze. I’m going to go teach my wife who’s boss.”

This earned him more raspberries, and a gaggle of snort-laughs.

“Keep telling yourself that, man,” Xander said. “At least you get sex out of it. That’s the important thing.”

He stalked into the house and into the kitchen, then stopped. At this point a lot of his blood had rushed south in an effort to inflate his cock, which had made his uniform pants too tight, so all he could think of was getting out of them. He forgot the layout of the house. All he needed was a fucking room with a door.

He turned and headed down a hall, shoving open the first door he came to, only to be greeted by a squeal and a grunt.

When he focused on the scene he realized first, that he’d found the library—which he didn’t know even existed in the first place—beyond that he saw Wolfe banging one of the bridesmaids up against the shelves.

“What the hell?” he asked

“They don’t call me Big Bad for nothing.” Wolfe grinned and thrusted for emphasis.

“Ugh.” Damian slammed the door. “Not a word from you,” he said to Elena who bit her lip to keep from laughing.

He marched her back out through the kitchen and upstairs. Her room was up there somewhere. At this point his balls ached.

At the top of the stairs he threw open the first door he came to, only to find Chill Winters humping another bridesmaid on a huge four-poster bed.

“Jesus,” he said, banging the door shut. “Is everyone but me having sex right now?”

“Looks like it,” Elena said.

He tried the door across the hall. Sure enough, Suede Monroe had some girl spread across a plush rug on the floor.

“Hey, Beast. Nice reception,” Suede said.

Elena burst out laughing as Damian shut the door and moved down the hall.

“My room’s at the end,” she said. “If that helps.”

“I don’t think I can wait.”

The next door was an enormous bathroom where Buck McCormick was busy with a redhead; and finally in another bedroom he found Terrell cavorting on a California King with two women.

“What the fuck, Dick-for-brains?” Damian barked.

A blonde had her lips wrapped around the reason Terrell’s nickname was Hung, while a brunette sat very nearly on his face. Damian struggled not to smirk.