Havoc (29 page)

Leaning down, I lightly toss her hair out of
her face and brush my lips against hers. She moans softly. Wiggles.
Plants images of things I can't wait to do to her when the right
moment comes.

“Angel,” I whisper, my lips still hovering
right above hers.

She moans again, tilting her head up, so our
lips meet. I sink and moan in return. Fuck, that's good. Not why
I'm waking her up, though. Focus, Clint.

I pull away. “Baby, I know you were
sleeping.”

She opens her eyes to smile up at me. “I'll
gladly wake up for that.”

Holy hell. I try to continue, “I know you
were out, but I didn't think you'd want to miss the sunrise on your
nineteenth birthday.”

She flies out of bed, yanking my hand in
hers, dragging me to window we've watched the sunrise come through
from her first morning with me. My arms slide around her waist as
she leans her body against mine. With my face nestled in the crook
of her neck, I watch the morning light touch those hills like the
angels are crawling behind them, the tips of their halos being all
we can see. There's a certain level of tension that leaves her body
as if it's never going to return. I can feel it. I can hear it the
way she breathes. A newfound peace. And the best part of that peace
is that I helped bring her to it. I helped protect her. I helped
rejuvenate God's fallen creature, and she in return recreated me.
Win. Win.

My lips press on her collarbone, her neck,
the side of her forehead, before I whisper, “Alpha, Ms. Haven
Davenport. Alpha.”

“Thank you, Clint.” She hums sweetly at me.
My lips find another location, her cheek. “For rescuing me. For
taking care of me. Fighting for me. Giving me a new start. A new
life.”

“So I win automatically for best birthday
present?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, thank God. That pack of bubblegum I got
you was starting to concern me.”

Her elbow playfully lands in my gut, and I
fake a grumble. The action spurs a playful fight between us. She
pretends to spar, boxing at my stomach, her delicate fists never
capable of so much as a drop of pain, and I pretend to be injured
by each blow, eventually moving backward, falling onto the bed.

“Birthday champ!” She giggles, that sound
pumping life through my veins.

I reach up and pull her down on top of me,
arms wrapped around her.

“My birthday champ.”

She attempts to smile, but my lips reach her
first, replacing it. Her lips relax against mine, and I immediately
enter ecstasy. How the hell does she do that? Just the feel of her
tongue wrapped around mine, and my solider below the belt is ready
to report for duty—report for duty and never leave, might I add.
I'm sure the kiss is enough to make that happen alone, but the
added pressure that he hasn't seen the outside of my pants prison
since we met probably adds a bit to it, too. The kiss speeds up,
and I can feel her hips grind into me, forcing me to grip her
tighter as a moan seeps out of me. I've never been a moaner, but
with this girl, my body seems to have a mind of its own. Suddenly,
her hand slides under my T-shirt. I do my best to control my
excitement, but I feel the hard-on in my pants knock against her,
urging me to slide my hands down her back to grasp her ass, so I
do. One good squeeze, and she lets out a sound so euphoric, I think
I might just come in my pants. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm
not a horny fourteen-year-old. Despite my actions most recently, I
am not some virgin desperate to get my V-card removed. I can have
more control of my body than this. At least, I think I can. I mean
I should.

Her fingertips are getting braver now,
running alongside the elastic of my boxer briefs, only a mere inch
away from the boner that's calling for her touch. I have to stop
this. There are too many things that lie ahead today. We can't do
this right now.

“Haven,” I manage to break my lips away and
pant. Not taking the separation the way I expected, she lowers her
lips to my neck, swirling her tongue around. God, where'd she learn
that trick? “Haven, I—I—I.” Her tongue pushes rougher, hungrier
than before. My cock jumps, wanting to feed that hunger. Damn today
and all the plans. “Angel, pl-pl-pl please b-b-b-believe me
w-w-when I-I say there's nothing more I-I-I want than to k-k-keep
going.” Through the grace of God, I manage to lift her lips off
mine, “but what I want to do is gonna require time we don't have
right now.”

She seductively bites her bottom lip, and I
feel myself immediately regretting those words. I'm about thirty
seconds from saying “fuck the world” and handling business. Over
and over again. “How much time are we talking?”

“Hours.”

“You know,” her soft fingers tug a bit at my
waistband, “a Marine is only as good as his word.”

My eyes roll back into my head as those same
fingers brush the skin closer to my pelvic bone.

“And I'm-I'm-I'm a damn good Marine.” The
words barely leave my mouth as her fingers give a soft touch a
centimeter above the point of no return. So close are her
fingertips that I can feel their warmth. I'm not sure if I'm at the
gates of heaven or hell. I want her hands wrapped around me,
stroking, massaging, and I wanna be deep inside her, creating a
heavenly experience, but knowing her hand is right there and that
we have places to be, and I have to make her breakfast feels like
I'm at Satan's front doorstep, a tortuous kind of hell.

With two hands, I grab her and toss her off
onto her side. Aggressively, I pounce her lips, give her tongue one
push because that's all I can manage with the little brain I have
left that's not turned to mush, give her butt one more good
squeeze, and pull away.

“I'm going to take a shower, and you, you get
dressed, please. Mindy is expecting you.” I hop to my feet and
quickly adjust the hard-on that's evident.

“For what?”

Distract yourself, Clint! Grabbing jeans and
a shirt from the closet, I mumble, “A birthday surprise.”

I have to get away from her. Between the
sweet smell of vanilla she radiates and the unmistakable smell that
she's turned on, if I don't walk out of this room now, I may die in
it. A happy, sweaty, sticky death.

In a seductive voice, she asks, “Is that a
hot shower for two?”

You have got to be fucking with me. Who is
this girl, and where is my sweet, didn't even think about more than
a make-out session girlfriend? Don't get me wrong, sexed-up Haven
is something that I definitely want to explore in many ways, for
longer periods of time—I'm talking days—but did she have to come
out right now? I look back at her as her tongue wets her lips
slowly. Yup. She's trying to kill me.

I bite my bottom lip, back hitting the
doorframe to brace myself, “A very, very cold one, alone.” I turn
to slip out, dick so hard it hurts. “Unfortunately.”

After an ice-cold shower, which honestly
doesn't help much, I fumble downstairs to start prepping breakfast
while she's in the shower. Sadly, while this was supposed to be a
sweet sentiment, it's turning into a fire hazard and a complete
disaster. If I don't burn the house down first, I know the food
won't be edible.

With my ear pressed against my cell phone, I
complain, “What do you mean the shell isn't supposed to go into the
pan?”

“Clint, please tell me that's a joke,”
Mindy's voice scolds on the other end. “Who makes your eggs?”

“IHOP.” I try to pick out the little bits of
shell that are left in the liquid. “Or you.”

“Lord, help me,” she mumbles. “Did you add
seasoning and butter?”

“I did.”

“Did you add some milk?”

“Yes.” I flick the last pieces in the trash
and ask, “How do I know when they are done?”

“What do they look like?”

“Still pretty liquidy.”

Another sigh. I hope she knows not all of us
were born with a giant spoon, aka a ladle, in our hands. “Slugger,
did you turn the burner on?”

Feeling like a complete idiot, I turn it on.
I'm not that great in the kitchen. Toss me to the grill, and I can
handle it, but Basic Cooking 101 is not in my cards. I'm thankful
for Mindy and microwaves. I should've known to turn the stupid
thing on. Guess there's not enough blood rushing to the right
head.

Giggling to herself, Mindy asks, “Any more
questions? Did you burn the toast?”

“Just the first four pieces,” I grumble,
seeing Haven head down the stairs for me. “Gotta go. She'll see you
soon.”

Hanging up, I watch as Haven glides across
the living room right toward me, disabling me from continuing to
stir the eggs. She looks amazing in her loose-fitted jeans and
fitted, long-sleeve black shirt. How one person can look so amazing
in anything that drapes her flesh still amazes me.

“What are you doing?” She looks suspiciously
around to where I may be burning the eggs. Do eggs burn?

“Shit,” I gripe and turn back around, feeling
dumber than before. I focus back on the task at hand. You can do
this, Marine. They are just eggs. You've taken down how many in
combat but can't cook eggs? Shutting the heat off, I transfer
what's left of the eggs into a small serving dish. With the dish in
my hand, I grab the plate of bacon I managed to burn and relocate
it to the bar table, where there is a vase full of sunflowers
waiting for her. “I tried to make you breakfast and . . .” My face
tilts toward the food. “This happened.”

“Aw.” Her hands fly over her mouth, and she
looks touched at my efforts. Next to the eggs and the plate of
bacon is a plate of toast with jelly, jams, and spreads beside it.
There's also a small bowl of strawberries and cherries mixed
together, something even I couldn't screw up. “This is so
sweet.”

“It's a complete disaster is what it is,” I
nervously scratch the back of my neck, knowing she's masking her
disappointment. “And don't feel bad about not eating it. I just . .
.” My voice trails off as my shoulders slump, “Wanted to do
something special for you.”

Haven strolls around the table, lifts my face
with her mocha hands, and gives me the sweetest smile in the world.
Even if I did everything in the world wrong, that smile could make
it right. God, when the fuck did I become such a sap? I wish
someone would punch me. I wanna punch me.

“Thank you.”

“Happy birthday.”

Her lips land on mine again, and I feel the
tension inside fade away. Amazed how they seem even softer, though
a bit sticky from her lip gloss, I pull her body into mine. My
tongue wastes no time tackling hers, slaving it, weakening her
knees, informing me that I'm not the only one suffering. She wraps
one arm around my neck and runs the other down my white T-shirt,
sending a very distinct jolt straight to my crotch. Yeah. Looks
like I'm going to have to limit just how often I kiss her
today.

I manage to slip my mouth away from hers.
“Will you at least have some toast?”

She giggles and pulls me over to sit with her
at the bar table. Haven puts a little bit of everything on her
plate while I merely watch, knowing it's hard to be hungry watching
her eat. All my attention is on her warm mouth and the places I
would rather it be on my body. As if sensing my thoughts, she runs
her hand along my thigh right on top of my hard-on. God, this day
may be the longest yet.

A long day of prepping for Haven's party
didn't leave much time for anything else. I'm thankful. If there
was more downtime, chances are I’d either be fighting off a raging
boner or letting the fact that I can't stop time from moving
forward gnaw at me. The notion that deployment is coming full steam
ahead has been keeping me up at night since she found out. I don't
want to think about life back in the field. Stiff orders. Cold
conversations. Even colder nights. I used to wish for Spec Ops on
every shooting star, but now, I find myself wishing for more time
here, in this small corner of the world with Haven.

I knock on our bedroom door before entering.
Sure, I was being polite, but I also know that, if I get a glimpse
of her in anything else than I normally see, we'll be skipping the
party we worked so hard on.

She slowly strolls toward me, her hips
demanding my attention. Who am I to deny them when they ask so
nicely? Her hands roam up my chest. “New shirt?”

I always thought I’d die in the field, not
here in my room because a female touched me. Doing my best to focus
on my dark-yellow Michael Kors polo shirt Mindy bought for me
during our shopping trip, I manage to say, “It is.”

“It's yellow.”

“It is.”

“Hm,” her voice whispers as her hands now
travel downward, creating a map in my mind of what I want her to do
without this fence of jeans between us. They stop on my hips, “You
look amazing in yellow.”

“Not as amazing as you.” I kiss the back of
her hand and try to change focus. Though in her light-yellow,
off-the-shoulder sweater that's bearing what I pray are straps to a
spaghetti top, it's damn near impossible. “Are you having a good
birthday?”

“So far, so perfect.”

Loving how her voice pours out innocence and
the beauty of life, I smile, “And it's gonna stay that way.” When I
lean down to place a simple kiss on her lips, she grabs the collar
of my shirt, yanking me back to the very thoughts that have been
marching in the forefront of my mind. All. Fucking. Day.

I get caught up in the kiss, almost
forgetting there is a party of people in the yard next door waiting
for us. Slyly, I pull her into my body by her belt loops, nipping
just a bit at her bottom lip, a small mew of pleasure escaping her.
Holy shit, that was hot.

“You're going to kill me—you know that?” I
say when I manage to drag myself away from her. She smiles like
she's pleased, which only turns me on more. Frustrated, I grind my
teeth before finally being able to say, “Let's get you to your
party before we never make it.”