Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (7 page)

Goddamn knot.

He tried to pull it off but it was too tight. He ripped at it with his teeth. No dice.

The fucking concierge was not getting a fucking tip, the fucker.

“Do you need a pair of scissors?”

Her tone was far too amused. He glared at her. Oh, she would pay for that barb. She would pay.

Once he got a goddamn fucking condom out. He only needed one. For now.

Savagely, he smashed the box and pried it open and reached in with his fingers, but they were too large, or the hole was too small and he couldn’t—

“Let me.” She took the box from him and easily slipped a foil wrapped packet out. Then she waggled it teasingly before him.

He narrowed his eyes and growled at her.

For some reason she seemed undaunted. Apparently she had no idea how close he was to turning into a wild fucking beast. “I’m going to fuck you,” he snarled.

“Good.”

Oh, damn her. She was good. Prodding him right where it counted.

He shoved the table back away from the sofa and pushed her down on it. He yanked the condom from her hold and tore into it with his teeth—yeah, they worked just fine for that—and rolled it on. And yeah. God. He loved the sight of her splayed before him, her breasts pressed against the cool glass, her ass up and ready. He shoved his knees between hers and forced them apart.  He rubbed his cock along her slit. It was wet. Dripping.

“Do you want it?” He hissed into her ear.

She whimpered.

“Do you?”

She shot a look at him over her shoulder. “I’m not supposed to talk,” she reminded him in a whisper.

Fuck.

His hand landed on her ass hard and harsh. The swat echoed through the room. She wailed. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Needed more.

Needed everything.

He shoved his fingers in deep, though that wasn’t really what he wanted to shove. His cock ached, howled, screamed for release.

But he was a man of control.

He would make her beg first.

“Do. You. Want. It?” He asked, punctuating each hard word with a savage plunge. “Yes,” she wailed. “Ah, God. Yes. Fuck me, Mason. Fuck me.”

Absolute fucking exhilaration rained through him. Exhilaration and glory and lust. He set himself to her entrance. Nudged in, but only a tiny bit, only enough that he could feel her shivers, her breath, her pulse sucking at the tip of his cock.

“Beg for it.”

She froze. “What?”

“Come on, sweetheart. Say please. You know you want to.”

She shuddered then, hesitated and something like fury and need, or a fury of need, scalded his bowels. He thumbed her clit. Pinched it. Gave it a gentle smack. She winced.  “Oh God.”

“No. That’s not it. Say please.”

He thought she might resist. He thought she might refuse. But, God bless her. She didn’t.

“Please Mason, Please! Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

Oh. Yeah.

He plunged in. His entire body seized at the bliss of the kiss of her body, the tight, wet, heated squeeze of her channel. He hadn’t expected it to be such a close fit, but he couldn’t complain. Other than the fact that her hold on him made his eyes cross. Made shivers of electricity prickle along his spine and dance down to coil in his balls.

There was not much time. He was far too close to perdition.

He pulled out and shoved in again and again and again, and with each lunge she groaned, wailed, thrashed beneath him. He thought to smack her ass again, but it was only a thought flitting merrily through his head, along with all the other thoughts of things he wanted, needed to do to her and with her and for her.

The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room, punctuated by the protesting screech of the table legs as it walked across the floor.

Mason had no patience for repositioning himself, so—without disengaging—he grabbed her hips and turned her at an angle and arranged her on the carpet with her ass high. He held her there, and pummeled her.

It was fantastic.

She was fantastic.

She responded beautifully, opening to his every thrust and closing as he tried to withdraw. Like a lioness fucking her mate, she went wild. Her ferocity met and matched his on every level.

He kicked her legs wider and drove deeper and she stilled. Only for a fraction of a second. Only long enough for him to take a breath. And then…oh God. She imploded.

Her body seized, wracked by a series of quakes and mind-numbing clenches that made lights dance before his eyes.

They were there. Nearly there.

He reached beneath her and stroked her clit and she sucked in a breath and came again.

This climax was his undoing.

As she closed on him, he threw back his head and roared. His soul surged, his body exulted and his essence rose. And he released. He released it all. The tension, the need, the worries, the fears, the glory. He took what she had to give and he gave it all back.

When it was finished, he was empty.

And somehow, fulfilled at the same time.

He pulled her up into his arms, though they were both still on their knees. He pulled her up into his arms and held her. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling and sent up a prayer of thanks—though he was not a praying man—that he had met her, had found her, had had her.

This was heaven. This was bliss. This was—

Through the miasma, a strange trickling sound captured his attention. That, and a warm wetness on his bare foot.

He glanced back just in time to see Lola lower her leg. She looked at him. Her lip rippled up in a show of teeth.

It looked like a smug grin.

Chapter Seven

After the most mind-blowing sex she’d ever had, Pansy and Mason finally made it to the bed. It was nearly dawn. She should be exhausted, but she wasn’t.  The evening—specifically those interludes with Mason—kept running through her head.

It was funny, she didn’t think of herself as a submissive woman in the least, but she had enjoyed that. Being taken by a commanding man. Having him hold her down and pummel her in a frenzy. It made her feel fragile and feminine, protected and safe—none of which she really was. But she couldn’t deny the yearning to be so.

She’d enjoyed the erotic touches too. And the smacks to her bottom, though those still—even now—made her blush.

But she wasn’t submissive.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about all this, but what she did like was the prospect that
she
determined the parameters.

It wasn’t as though she was lowering herself before a man—which, frankly, was never going to happen—as much as a mutual agreement to explore power…and restraint.

She very much liked the idea of tormenting him the way he’d tormented her.

She wondered if he’d allow it.

With a smile, she leaned up and stared down at his sleeping face. She resisted the urge to trace those alluring lines because she didn’t want to wake him. He’d had a rough day yesterday. He needed his sleep. The rise and fall of his chest, the thud of his heart against her palm was soothing.

She curled up against him and set her head on his shoulder. She liked the way he murmured and pulled her closer.

God, she could get used to this.

It was a pity she had no idea how long it would last.

If only there was a way to get him to stay with her.

She’d have to think on that.

But she didn’t.

Once her eyes closed, she drifted off to sleep.

Oh thank God.

When Pansy’s gentle snore rippled through the room, Mason nearly collapsed in relief. How hard was it to pretend to be asleep with her watching him? With her hovering over him, her soft breath caressing his face? When she touched him, riffling her fingers through the hair on his chest?

Did he really want her again? Already?

He’d come twice tonight in her. There was no reason for this flickering flame. He should be bone dry. Devastated. A wasteland.

Not.

The fact that he wanted her so much, with such intensity, threatened to disturb his calm. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? He wasn’t really calm. Not if he was being honest.

She’d tipped his world on its ear. Made him think things, want things, do things he’d swore he’d never even contemplate. Just the fact that he’d fucked
her
, his client—and man, what a fuck it had been—was enough to make him question his sanity.

How hard was it to lie there…and not leap on her again?

How hard was it to show some crumb of restraint?

Hard.

Damn fucking hard.

But he had to affect some element of self-control. It was who he was, who he’d always been. He had to cling to that.

It had always been something of a challenge for him, grappling with the two divergent sides of his personality. There was the dominant part of him—the cool, calm unemotional warrior who was in absolute possession of every faculty and executed all decisions and actions with exquisite precision and forethought. And the other side, the one that lived in shadow and rose up when he least expected it, the part of himself he had to keep enchained? That part of him was a roaring savage with absolutely no control.

That this woman poked the beast with a stick every time she so much as glanced at him was concerning. Hell, she didn’t even need to glance at him. He only needed to catch a whiff of her scent, hear a soft moan—
fuck
—think of her.

He wasn’t sure what all this meant, but it couldn’t be good. It certainly threatened all he was, how he thought of himself as a man.

If he had any balls at all, he’d get up right now, call Jon and demand to be replaced.

He should.

He really should.

He even lifted a hand to ease her off his chest. But that was as far as the noble intention got before something else squashed it like a bug.

He couldn’t do it. Because he really didn’t want to leave. Didn’t think he could walk away. Not from her. Not now.

Funny that.

If someone had told him yesterday that he’d be holding her, wanting her, needing her tonight, he’d have laughed in his face. Yesterday she’d been an annoying, feckless brat it was his job to protect. Today…protecting her had become his passion. As necessary to him as breathing. Tonight, somehow, she’d become someone he couldn’t really contemplate living without.

And in one night.

Hell, not even that.

How on earth had that happened?

To
him
?

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard of a man falling so fast—hell, his friends Ryder and Drake had. And Mason had mocked them mercilessly for their weakness. They’d gone from being big bad heartless SEALs to overgrown lap dogs, slavering and panting over the women who had waltzed into their lives with no warning whatsoever.

And yeah. That part shocked him the most.

No warning whatsoever.

He’d never envisioned himself in a situation like this, feeling like this and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

Drake had joked that the Navy didn’t train a man for this kind of assault, but Mason hadn’t understood what he meant.

He did now.

Ho, brother did he.

Trouble was, he didn’t know what to do about it. He had no earthly idea how to proceed with her.

It was an unfamiliar situation. One that made cold claws gouge at his gut.

One that had him lying awake long after the fingers of dawn crept through the drapes.

He must have fallen asleep.

Must have, because when he woke up, she was gone. His arms were empty, her side of the bed cold.

A flicker of panic ribboned through him until he heard the TV in the next room, and smelled something…delicious. He closed his eyes with a groan and rolled over, preparing to heave his body from this warm cocoon. He froze as his nose nudged something furry.

It rumbled. A growl.

He pried open a lid and…

Shit.

That many teeth that close?

Shit.

He lurched back and glared at the heinous gremlin who had taken up residence on his pillow. Lola stood and glared at him. He couldn’t help but note that she was naked…except for a sparkly rhinestone necklace.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she made several circles on his pillow and then settled down. Right in his spot.

He growled back at her, but there might have been a laugh somewhere in it. He heaved off the bed from the other side, even though it was awkward because it was a large bed.

He didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be in bed.

Pansy was in the other room after all.

And hell, she had food.

He grabbed his discarded robe from the floor and tugged it on, and then padded into the living room. She sat on the sofa—and ah, what memories that invoked—with a tray before her; it was covered with a plethora of domed lids. One plate, with a selection of pastries sat next to a pot of coffee. He stared down at the tray and frowned. “You ordered breakfast?”

“I was hungry.”

He stared at her, tried not to be annoyed that she was dressed. It was a cute little almost-dress, and she looked adorable, but he couldn’t help wishing she was naked.

“You should have woken me.”

“You looked tired.”

He attempted a scowl, but wasn’t sure he nailed it because she seemed utterly un-phased. “I don’t want you answering the door.” It wasn’t safe. Not while someone was after her. “Promise me you won’t do that again?”

“I can’t promise that.”

Oh. His scowl was real now.

She grinned. “I order breakfast every morning.”

“Promise me you won’t answer the door without me there.” His attempt at
the voice
had little effect. She tossed her ponytail in a wholly insolent manner. His fingers twitched. “Pansy…”

Her lashes flickered. Okay. Maybe
the voice
had had
some
effect. “All right.” A sigh. “I promise.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe, baby.”

She sucked in a breath at the unintended endearment. Hell, so did he. He attempted to steel his spine, remind himself who he was. Her guardian.

And also
, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered,
her lover
.

He ignored it.

“So,” he huffed, attempting to be all businesslike and serious. “What did you order?”

“I wasn’t sure what you like so I got a selection.”

“A selection?” It looked like enough for an army, but then, he was famished.

She grinned and patted the seat next to her.

He took it. Then kissed her—though he shouldn’t have, but hell, he couldn’t resist. He was hungry, after all. She tasted like cinnamon and coffee. She felt like heaven in his arms.

He didn’t want to stop, but his stomach growled and she laughed into his mouth. One more quick buss, and he turned to the table. “So, what do we have?” He whipped off a dome and his attention stalled on the tantalizing sight of Eggs Benedict. He looked at her. “Did you order this for yourself?”

She shook her head.
Oh thank God.
“I thought you might like it.” It was his favorite. “I also got an omelet and French toast and pastries. Oh…” She whipped off another dome. “And bacon.”

Bacon. Excellent. She was, perhaps, the perfect woman. “One of everything?” He teased.

“Just about.”

He grinned at her and pulled the Eggs Benedict closer and lit in. Must be nice to have the world at your fingertips. But then, when she was at his side, he felt that way as well. He didn’t want to explore that though. At least, not until after breakfast.

Holy Hannah, the man could eat.

Pansy stared as he demolished the Eggs Benedict, three strips of bacon, a slice of French toast and half the omelet. If she ate like that, they’d have to roll her from the room.

She sipped at her coffee to hide her smile. “Hungry, were you?”

He looked up. His eyes glinted. “Famished. Someone wore me out last night.”

Oh my. Heat crawled up her face as she remembered…everything. She lowered her eyes, to hide the force of her emotions, but he cupped her cheek and made her meet his gaze. He stroked her with his thumb. “I like that,” he murmured in a low rumble, one that set up a quivering response at her core.

“Um…” She cleared her throat. “Like what?”

“I like when you blush.” His grin was wicked.

She straightened her spine and tipped back her head, attempting to look as prim and proper, as in control as she could. “I am not normally a blusher.”

His chuckle was soft. “Yeah. I know. That’s why I like it.”

Oh lord. Was it getting hot in here? Was the air conditioner not working?

“I really enjoyed last night, Pansy,” he said. His gaze flicked to the vee of her dress, as though he was recalling some of what they’d done.

“I…I did as well.”

“Even the, ahem, naughtier bits?”

A good thing he liked her blush. She must look like a well-cooked lobster about now.

“Pansy?”

“Yes, Mason?”

“Did you like those bits as well?”

“I did.” The confession caught in her throat, but he heard. But then, he was paying attention. His focus on her was intent.

For some reason, he seemed to collapse a little, then she realized he’d been anxiously awaiting her response. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be nervous about this unfamiliar intensity swirling around them, and somehow it made her feel more confident. Confident enough to send him a cheeky smile. “I’d like to do that again.”

He froze. His features locked. His nostrils flared. His gaze bore into hers. “Shit.”

Hardly a romantic sentiment, but she had no time to complain, because he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. It was a ferocious kiss, one that had her libido zooming into overdrive. Zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat.

He consumed her with all the passion he’d devoted to the Eggs Benedict, and more. But then, she responded with equal vigor. What was it about this man that made her mindless and crazed? His scent? The hard slabs of his body? His seething urgency? His savage beauty? Or all of it? Or something more, something intangible and untouchable, an aura that blanketed him? His soul?

He was familiar to her. Familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. In a way an evening of adventure could certainly not justify. It was as though she’d known him forever, and this, whatever it was, was simply a reunion. A glorious reunion of souls.