Off Base (16 page)

She moistened her lips, her interest piqued. “What …
other
things … do you do?”

He laughed and the sound curled through her belly in ribbons of heat. “Come on. You don’t really want to know about this kind of thing.”

She swallowed. “I do. I want to know.”

His smile faded. He gazed at her for one long moment before shrugging again. “All right. Sometimes it gets a little rough.”

“Rough?”

He nodded, clarifying. “Sex.”

“Sex.” God, she was a parrot now. She squared her shoulders and tried to convey she was a mature woman who could handle a discussion about sex.
Not just any sex. Sex the way Cullen did it.

“Yeah. You know, a little spanking. Handcuffs on the headboard. That kind of thing.”

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I don’t do whips or canes or anything. Nothing like that. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but plenty of women get off on—”

“How do you know it’s not my thing?” Her chin shot up.

He laughed and shook his head. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you.”

“You don’t know
everything
about me.”

“Right. Rough sex is your thing.”

“Maybe.”

He snorted. “Your face is the color of a tomato right now.”

“S-so,” she sputtered, hating that he thought he had her so figured out. Even if maybe he did. “You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do in bed. Do you?”
God, just stop. Say nothing more.
“I mean, maybe I like that kind of thing, too.” Great. Babbling and lying now.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, but thankfully he didn’t laugh. She couldn’t have handled him laughing outright in her face.

“I guess I don’t know,” he allowed. “It’s just you aren’t exactly what I would call experienced—”

Her expression must have showed how much that statement felt like a jab. He quickly amended, “Hey, I just wouldn’t think you were into anything more adventurous than—”

“Missionary?” She shot back. “Well, you aren’t exactly versed in what I like when it comes to sex, are you?”

He gave her an unreadable look. “No. I guess I’m not.”

Plucking the cuffs from her hands, he stuck them back inside the drawer and opened another one, his movements brisk and efficient. Taking out a T-shirt, he handed it to her. “Here you go.”

She continued staring at him, those flutters still dancing in her stomach. “Thanks.”

Turning, she shut herself inside the bathroom and changed into a soft cotton T-shirt that smelled like him. Even though the hem fell mid-thigh, she kept her skirt on since it fell a little lower. Stepping out of the bathroom, she found him back in bed again.

She settled down beside him, on top of the covers, telling herself this was no different than any other night they watched TV together on her couch. Even if she kept hearing Cullen’s deep voice in her head.
Sometimes it gets a little rough.

Her sex ached and clenched, and she pressed her thighs together. His admission had done more than pique her curiosity. She couldn’t shut off the idea of Cullen … and her … and rough sex.

So what if they were in his bed and she was aroused
and
she had shaved her legs? He wasn’t going to make a move, and she sure as hell wouldn’t. Even if she wanted to, it would take more courage than she possessed to make the first move. That kind of forwardness wasn’t in her DNA.

She held herself rigidly beside him through two episodes. The tension didn’t ebb from her body. Her skin felt itchy and tight. Even if she hadn’t already seen these shows, she wouldn’t have been able to focus on the actors. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the rise and fall of his hard chest, the slope of his ridged stomach. The glint of his dog tags above his sternum.

This was insane. Her body was primed and ready to go. It had been four years since she slept with a guy. Since sex. Four years since Jackson broke up with her. Since then, there had only been the occasional kiss on a rare date. Maybe a little fondling over clothes. Her body was a drought and right now Cullen the long-withheld water. She swallowed and scratched at her itchy skin. She couldn’t handle the proximity to him.

She shifted her weight, scooting to the edge of the mattress, as far as she could go without falling. She was never going to relax, and she was stuck here for the entire night. Sleep was impossible.

That was her persistent and final thought, the last she would remember before falling asleep.

Chapter Two

Huntley was asleep.

In his bed.

It was a hell of a situation, and he could not quite wrap his mind around it. The one woman he would never fool around with was in his bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, her skirt riding high enough for him to glimpse her white cotton panties. White cotton panties that shouldn’t have been hot, but for some reason they got him as stiff as a pike. His palms itched to grip the flesh, to discover if her ass felt as firm as it looked.

He cursed and flipped to the History Channel. A war movie was playing. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to watch, but it might cool his ardor. After thirty seconds of explosions, he cursed and flipped to Comedy Central.

The comedian only held his attention for so long before his gaze strayed to Huntley again. He tapped the remote control anxiously against his leg and eyed the length of her smooth thighs on display. The swell of her ass pushed against the white cotton of her underwear.

She normally wore jeans and bulky sweaters. Blouses when the weather was warmer. He’d never seen so much of her body on display. Never had a clear idea of her shape before. He knew she was tall. Not thin. Not fat. She had always simply been Huntley.

Right now, she reminded him of those pinup girls from the 1940s. Juicy curves. Soft swells and dips and hollows that screamed femininity. He adjusted his cock, hoping to ease the throb there. No relief. Instead, he gave himself a few strokes as he stared at the long stretch of her legs and the two dimples on her lower back, directly above the top of her panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Getting a hard-on for his best friend’s sister could not be happening. Beck trusted him. He expected him to treat her with respect. She wasn’t some hook-up.

He should have brought someone home from the bar tonight. A regular at Bombs Away who he’d fucked before who knew how to play the game. It would have been one way to get his mind off Xander, and Huntley wouldn’t have insisted on following him home. He wouldn’t be so cock-hungry for her right now.

Flinging back the covers, he picked up his beer bottle from his nightstand. He deposited it in the trash and shut off all the lights in the house. Moving to his bathroom, he brushed his teeth before flattening his hands on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror.

He never should never have recruited Xander. If he hadn’t, the guy would still be alive. His bloodshot eyes stared daggers back at him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and tried to push back the urge to shout or hit something.

Beck’s words played over and over in his head.
He got it wrong. He got it wrong.

Cullen had trained him. Xander wasn’t supposed to get it wrong over there. Maybe Cullen was the one who got it wrong. Maybe he left something out, some key point of instruction. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a bad call. According to his father, he only ever made bad calls. Going into EOD instead of intelligence was his worst. He was twenty-nine years old, but his old man never missed a chance to remind him that he was a total disappointment.

With a disgusted snort, he flipped off the bathroom light and then the TV as he passed it on the way to bed. The room was shrouded in shadows, the only light creeping in from the blind slats. The neighbor had left their back porch light on and a low glow suffused his bedroom, outlining the furniture.

He slipped into bed and turned on his side. Huntley had rolled onto her back, and he watched her chest rise and fall with breaths. She was still stretched out on top of the covers.

Sitting up on one elbow, he lifted her slightly, tugging the comforter all the way down. His nose brushed her hair and he inhaled the fruity scent. Some kind of melon maybe? Strawberry? He resisted the impulse to bury his nose in her hair. “Shit,” he laughed lightly, without mirth. “You need to lay off the booze, man.”

For no other reason could he fathom his response to Huntley. They’d been hanging out for years. Never had he inhaled her hair or entertained salacious thoughts of her ass.

Even if she wasn’t Beck’s sister, she still wasn’t his type. She was a good girl. She wanted marriage, white picket fences and a passel of kids. And she wanted it yesterday. For God’s sake, she joined an online dating service. He hadn’t missed that gleam of interest in her eyes as he explained his sexual preferences, but he would forget it. He had to. He wouldn’t ruin her.

He lowered her back down, tugging the covers over her. She sighed softly against his throat and his skin reacted, tightening almost painfully. He quickly released her.

Dropping back on his pillow, he made certain a good foot separated them. Flinging an arm across his forehead, he gazed up at the ceiling where his thoughts found their way back to Xander. The pain was still there, slicing through him. Guilt so deep he felt like he was drowning in it. His fault. His failure. His father always said he had no business in EOD. It wasn’t a Thanksgiving without that reminder.
You have no business in EOD. It takes nerve and guts. You lack both, boy.

His chest squeezed and his hands opened and closed like he was seeking something to grab, something to pull him free from the quagmire.

Someone
.

His gaze slid left to Huntley again and he laughed once, a low, tormented sound. He really was one broken SOB.

His friend was dead because of him, and he was in bed with a hard-on for his other friend’s sister. This might be the lowest point in his life. Considering his less-than-stellar upbringing, that was saying something.

He expelled a breath and returned his gaze to stare blindly at the ceiling again. Gradually, his eyes grew heavy. The alcohol chugging through his system was finally working its magic. With a heavy exhale, he closed his eyes.

Chapter Three

Huntley woke to a darkened room. She blinked sleepily against the murky light and struggled for a moment to remember where she was. She sniffed, missing the usual sugar-and-vanilla aroma of her condo. It probably didn’t help her near-insatiable longing for cookies, but the aromatic candles comforted her and made her remember her grandmother’s kitchen.

This space smelled musky. There was a bare hint of leather and laundry detergent and … soap. Man.
Cullen
.

Awareness flooded her. The events of the night rushed back. Bombs Away with her brother and Cullen. Driving Cullen home. Getting into bed with Cullen.

In bed with Cullen
.

Panic and something else that felt dangerously close to excitement sizzled through her. She was on her side under the blankets—somehow she ended up underneath. She could feel the heat of Cullen radiating at her back. He drew her like a warm fire, beckoning her to come out of the cold.

She closed her eyes. It had been so long, and she had rarely ever spent the night with Jackson. Sex with him had been hasty trysts in the back of his car or at one of their houses while their parents weren’t home. There was never a lot of privacy and always a sense of urgency.

She had lived at home while completing her nursing degree, and he had never moved out of his parents’ home after high school. He was following in his dad’s footsteps and planned to take over the family hardware store. Sleeping in a bed with a man was a whole new experience for her, and her stomach felt like it was alive with a thousand butterflies. And not just any man. Cullen. Sexy, hard-body, dark-eyed Cullen.
Sometimes it gets a little rough.
God. She would never get his voice, those words, out of her head.

She shifted slightly and became aware that her skirt was around her hips. Her legs slid sinuously against the sheets. She lifted her head and dared a peek behind her at the still, long line of his body. The curve of his muscled shoulder. The shadowed angles of his face looked slightly softer in sleep. He was on his side, too; his bigger body limned in the pale glow of light seeping from the blinds. If she just snuggled back one more inch they would be spooning.

His soft breath fell with the even cadence of sleep. What would it hurt? He was asleep. For just a moment she could experience what it felt like to share a bed with a man. A man and not a boy who spent all his free time playing video games.

She inched back until the warm wall of his chest was flush with her back. She aligned her bent legs against his so they fit together like two snug spoons.

Air shuddered from her lips at the simple contact, at this closeness. She found herself regretting that she wore a shirt and could not feel the ridged contours of his chest and stomach without the barrier of clothing. Man to woman. Flesh to flesh. She yearned for it. For
him
.

His mouth was directly in her hair, his warm breath fanning the strands. The heat from his crotch scalded her bottom. She pushed back, ever so slightly, settling against that part of him. Curiosity emboldened her. She could feel the ridge of him there. Only the thin barrier of her panties and his briefs separated them.

It was terrible of her, but she wiggled. She couldn’t stop herself. Her breath quickened as she felt him grow. It was awful what she was doing—using him for her own cheap thrills while he slept—but desire seethed through her. Her sex pulsed, clenching with need. It had been too long. The vibrator in her bedside drawer couldn’t get her off like this.

She bit her lip and swallowed back a whimper as she rubbed her bottom against him. It was a mistake. Even if taking advantage of Cullen while he slept wasn’t wrong, now she ached with desire.

She couldn’t handle another moment of this self-inflicted torture. She would sleep the rest of the night on his couch. Live and learn. She flung the covers back and started to ease away.