To Seduce a SEAL (Sin City SEALs) (9 page)

“No. You keep your clothes on in front of your enemies. But you want the secret to getting naked like a SEAL?”

She nodded as she pushed her skirt down over her hips. It fell to the floor at her feet. She stepped out, which left her in low heels and her black silk underwear.

“Fast,” he said.

She kicked off her shoes.

“Good. Now please, take off your panties and get on the bed. Every second that you draw this out? It’s pure torture. The best kind. But I can’t take much more.”

She hooked her thumbs in the elastic band. “I’ll take mine off if you lose yours.”

He stood and removed his briefs. His long, thick cock stood ready and waiting for her. She followed his lead and tossed her panties aside. But she kept her gaze fixed on him.

I did it. I seduced the SEAL.

And now she got to claim her prize. The man who wanted her. Just her.

Chapter Eleven

Dante stood naked in the hotel room and stared at the woman who’d won over legions of fans. He felt like a fool opening up to her and telling her that he didn’t want to pretend anymore. But the SEAL and the French maid, the bodyguard and the star, the teacher and the librarian—those sexy-as-hell scenarios all led to meaningless sex. And he’d promised himself no more flings.

She could be the exception to the rule.

But Chrissie Tate, country sweetheart, deserved better. She shouldn’t have to be someone else to climb into bed with him. Plus, this wasn’t meaningless—not to him—even if it did come with an end date.

“Come here, honey.” He drew her into his arms and claimed her lips. He felt the give as her body melted against his. And he gently turned her and guided her movements until the back of her legs touched the bed. Then he drew back. “Lie down on the bed. On your back.”

Yeah, his words sounded like a command. But he liked calling the shots. He’d asked her to stop pretending, and he planned to do the same.

She turned, offering one helluva view of her perfect backside, and climbed up on the smooth surface of sheets and blankets. Then she rolled onto her back and stared up at him.

“Don’t move.” He stepped back and turned to the bathroom door. “I need to get a condom.”

Inside the bathroom, he moved quickly and rifled through his toiletries bag as if conducting a search. He didn’t give a damn if his travel-sized shampoo bottle rolled away and he never saw it again. He needed that condom. Now. He couldn’t leave her waiting too long. He didn’t want her to start second-guessing herself.

Bingo! His hand closed around the plastic packet. He returned to the bedroom, tore open the packet, and covered himself.

Then he joined her on the bed. He placed his hands on her bare legs, spread her limbs, and settled himself between them. He leaned forward and placed his left elbow on the mattress. He wrapped his free hand around his cock and nudged at her entrance. And let out a low, needy moan.

Jesus.

He slid the head of his dick against her wet folds, not even an inch inside, and he was close to losing it. He hoped like hell she wasn’t expecting a buffet of sexual positions designed to push that flexible little body of hers to the limits. Right now, he wanted her too damn much.

“I want you just like this. Straight up missionary.” He growled, staring down into her blue eyes. He rocked his hips forward and slid inside another inch. She moaned, and he pressed forward. She was so damn tight, and it had been a freaking long time for his eager dick. Too long. He wasn’t going to last beyond the first few thrusts. “Sorry if this bores you to tears. Next time, you can ride me, or I’ll take you from behind. But right now…I can’t, honey.”

…

Chrissie didn’t have a lot of experience with sex. But she knew that if missionary was his idea of boring, she might not survive another position.

“This…” She moaned, a low sound that began at her core and rippled up through her and momentarily erased her ability to speak.

“I’m not…” she began again. But then one of his hands slipped underneath and wrapped around her backside. He tilted her hips up and thrust deeper.

“Chrissie.” He gasped.

She looked up at his face. His brow was knit together as if he was concentrating as hard as he could. She swore he looked like a man who would give her the world if she asked. But what she wanted…what she needed…

“This isn’t…” she tried again. He drew back and buried his cock inside her. “
Oh God!”

Her muscles clenched, and pleasure erased everything else. Her world narrowed to Dante. His hands…his cock…and the feeling that she wanted to stay right here, rushing, tumbling, and yes, falling headfirst into this orgasm.

He slammed into her one last time. Then he threw his head back and roared. The low, primitive sound felt like a caress designed to draw her pleasure out until he’d taken everything he needed.

Slowly, his chin lowered to his chest, and he stared down at her.

“You’re going to have to try harder,” she said, finally able to string the words together. His eyebrows shot up, but she pressed forward. “A lot harder. If you want to bore me while you’re inside of me.”

He laughed as he withdrew from her body. She felt his weight lift from the bed—disposing of the condom she’d guess—before sinking back down onto the mattress beside her. “Next time, honey, I’ll let you ride me until you’re bored out of your mind. If that doesn’t do it, we’ll try doggie style with you bent over a chair and holding on—”

“Why wait until next time?” she murmured. She didn’t want this moment cut short with empty promises. What if they didn’t get another night together? What if he was called back even though his knee wasn’t ready for active duty? No, she didn’t want to hold out hope that they could return to this moment, naked and in bed, the pretense of their “SEAL lessons” forgotten in favor of pleasure. She wanted more of Dante Raske—
now
.

She felt his body shift on the bed beside her. She turned her head and met his gaze. He’d rolled onto his side, and one of his powerful hands now cupped his chin, his elbow pressing into the mattress.

“My recovery time is good, but I’m just a guy,” he said.

“What? Your super SEAL powers don’t extend to your…”

He tipped his head back and laughed. And she felt her cheeks warm. He’d buried his cock inside her, and she couldn’t bring herself to say the word?

“No,” he said as he smiled down at her. “They don’t. This is the first ‘training session’ that has ever challenged my recovery time. Trust me, I’m damn happy about that.”

“Would you like to run some drills?” She pushed her upper body off the mattress. Those words—
first
and
happy
—inflated her courage. “With your instruction, I might be able to help you.”

He laughed again. “Honey, if you want to do a little PT, try some sit-ups or run a few miles. I can help, but I’m not sure I’m qualified to teach this.”

“Then tell me what you like.” She slid off the edge of the bed and knelt on the hotel room carpet. He rolled onto his back, and for a second, she worried that he’d call off the lesson, that he’d had enough of her. But then, he shifted to the edge of the bed and rested his feet firmly on the floor. He leaned back on his elbows, his abs on display, and stared down at her.

“Wrap your hand around me and guide me between your lips.” He issued the order in a low, firm voice.

She moved between his legs. Her hands guided his thighs apart and made room for her. She trailed her fingers over his thigh, her gaze lingering on the red angry scar on his knee before following her fingers. Then she obeyed his instruction.

With her lips around his cock and her tongue teasing the head, she glanced up.

Tell me what to do next.

She was out of her element. Her lack of experience with seduction, with men, with blow jobs…suddenly seemed acute.

“Run your lips down to meet your hand,” he said.

She closed her eyes and obeyed. Her world narrowed to this room, the sound of his voice, and the feel of his hardening cock in her mouth. He continued to offer orders, not once laughing at her innocence.

Don’t come too soon. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to lose the sound of your voice. I want to stay right here…

…

Pleasure surged through his dick as Chrissie Tate heeded his words. She’d been so damn tentative when she first wrapped her lips around him, he’d been certain they were barreling toward one helluva disappointing BJ. Not that he gave a damn. He wasn’t naked in a hotel room and traveling down a familiar road labeled “fling” with America’s country sweetheart because she gave good head.

“Harder,” he barked as his control slipped. “With your hand.”

Was he still making sense? The fact that she’d listened and shifted her performance from disappointing to one for the record books had stolen his focus.

Her mouth felt so damn good.

But it went beyond that. She listened. And yeah, they were talking about his dick…but still, she was hanging on his every word, following his instructions like this fucking
mattered
to her.

It’s like she gives a damn about what I want. Unlike my ex…

No, he couldn’t go there. Not here. Not now.

“Chrissie.” He growled. He was beyond calling out commands. He needed… He wanted…

“Hold on tight,” she said, and her lips danced across the tip of his dick. She kept her gaze focused on his crotch. “I’m going to give you one heck of a ride.”

She executed all of the moves he’d called out earlier. Her hand ran up his aching length with the perfect amount of pressure. Hell, he couldn’t have done it better himself. And her mouth drew him in, taking him deep, until he couldn’t hold back. Oh yeah, he was going to explode.

He leaned his head back and let out a scream that summed up this fucking perfect moment.

“Hooyah!”

Chapter Twelve

“I don’t have much time before sound check.” Chrissie pushed past him and walked into the hotel room. They were in a part of Colorado he’d never heard of before this tour, in a room that looked a helluva lot like the last stop.

Dante followed her into the room and stopped in the center. He folded his arms across his chest. “And you wanted to squeeze in a lesson?”

“We could skip the SEAL training and head straight to the naked tutorial.” Her fingers toyed with the edge of her workout shirt and skirt that looked like they belonged on the tennis court. She’d skipped the elaborate disguise—apart from her Morticia Adams wig. But hell, even that was growing on him.

And yeah, he was on board with abandoning the pretense. He’d been replaying the Salt Lake City BJ in his head over and over. Looking at her, thinking about the way she’d hung on his every word, he was ready for a little naked action.

“I’m game.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Turn around and place your hands on the bed.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What about my clothes?”

“I’ll take them—”

Ring! Ring!

The innocent-looking hotel phone cut through his words and shattered the mental picture of Chrissie bent at the waist and waiting to hear his voice. He was so damn turned on that he almost said screw the phone.

“I need to get that,” he said, his tone all business even though his imagination was still taking a trip down Sexual Fantasy Lane.

He shook his head as he walked over to the nightstand and the hotel landline. He’d come too damn close to putting his desire before his job. And when it came to her safety, he couldn’t take that risk. What if her crew had found another crazed fan scoping out tonight’s concert venue? Or a knife-wielding lunatic in their hotel lobby? Shit, that might be someone from Team Chrissie Tate trying to locate the star. This call could be related to the career she put front and center in her life—the same way he made the call to serve his number one focus.

…

Next time I plan to seduce a SEAL, I must remember to unplug the phone first.

Chrissie watched the man who’d previously planned to remove her clothes and give her an orgasm that would probably keep her smiling all the way through sound check and into her pre-concert dinner with her parents. She lowered her forehead to the crisp hotel bedding. That meal promised to strip away the lingering happiness from her SEAL training sessions.

“Raske,” Dante said into the phone, drawing her attention back to their interrupted “lesson” in his hotel room. He listened for a moment and then, covering the mouthpiece, he mouthed the words, “It’s your manager.”

Mason, you’re so fired.

If her manager was looking for her, there was zero chance she’d find out if missionary would seem boring compared to bent over Dante’s bed.

“Yeah, I can find her and bring her down,” he said into the phone.

Hearing those words, she knew that reality had found a way into her orgasm-filled fantasy world.

“Stay with her parents,” Dante barked, and then he hung up the phone and turned to her, his expression grim.

“My parents?” she said.

“Your mother and father are having a shouting match in the hotel lobby,” he said. “We’re not in Vegas anymore. And I’m guessing from your manager’s panicked tone, this isn’t the norm for the middle of the day in a Colorado hotel.”

“No.” She gasped, turning to the door. “I need to get down there.”

“We do.” He stepped in front of her and led the way into the hall. “If your parents’ fight turns physical, I have a feeling your manager will run for cover.”

“Physical.” He’d headed for the elevator bank, but she couldn’t get past that word. Her parents, the same mom and dad who had once shared long kisses in the kitchen when they thought their kids weren’t looking, were close to hand-to-hand combat in the lobby?

“Chrissie,” Dante called. “Now would be a good time to haul ass.”

She jogged down the hall to the elevators. Once inside, Dante hit the
L
button.

“You don’t need to come with me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Thank goodness she hadn’t worn a costume. “I can handle my parents.”

“I’m paid to keep you away from volatile situations. I’m tempted to tell Mason to defuse this mess while I take you back to your room. There was never a question about you going down by yourself.”

“Mason can’t manage this,” she said as the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby. Compared to Vegas, the Colorado hotel’s reception area was like a ghost town at two in the afternoon. But there were a few people, and plenty of staff. Most of them were watching the show unfolding by the sofas.

“What was the point of flying out here if you refuse to attend the concerts?” her mother demanded. She was wearing her tour uniform—designer jeans and a Chrissie Tate T-shirt. Mason was probably wishing her mom didn’t have her daughter’s name written across her chest while she screamed at her father.

“Lori, you asked me to come,” her father said. He sounded tired and looked worn down compared to the last time she’d seen him. “So I’m here. I want to see the girls. I’ll take Melissa tomorrow and give you a break.”

“Who’s with your sister now?” Dante demanded. He moved at her side and surveyed the scene. And she had no doubt that the man who delivered her to orgasm heaven in plain, old, boring missionary would jump in front of her and protect her from two of the people she loved most in the world—her parents—if the need arose.

“With one of the backup singers,” she said, stepping closer. Her parents still hadn’t spotted her. And they appeared oblivious to her manager. “Miranda has a little girl about the same age. She joined us in Portland.”

“I don’t need a sitter for Melissa!” her mother screamed. And Chrissie tensed. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard her mother yell before Joe’s death, before Chrissie had played her now hit song at a local fair and walked away with a record deal, before her success had become a matter of staying at the top instead of reaching for the peak.

“You should be at the concert,” her mother continued in the same enraged tone. “Standing backstage watching Chrissie sing and smiling for cameras before and after the show. How do you think it looks to the media? I’m here, supporting Chrissie, but you’re never there. Never.”

“I’m sorry, Lori.” Her dad glanced around the room and saw her. He tried to force a smile, but his face just crumbled further. “Hey Chris—”

“You’re sorry?” her mother seethed. “Your daughter is out there night after night, earning the money that supports our family. And you can’t even show up to stand on the sidelines? Or smile for a picture? She’s still alive, and she needs you in her life. And Joe’s gone. He’s dead and—and—you have to let go. You have to. We can’t go on like this. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I can’t.” Her father closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. And Chrissie swore she saw a tear escape.

“Mom—” Chrissie called, stepping forward. But Dante’s hand closed around her upper arm.

“You can’t hide behind grief forever,” her mother said, raising the hand holding her clutch. Pain, sadness, and frustration vied for control. But in the end, her mother’s anger won.

Chrissie gasped as her mom sent the purse hurling through the air at her dad. “No!” she screamed.

“Stay back.” Dante growled, drawing her behind him as the bag hit her dad’s shoulder and fell to the floor. She struggled to get around the SEAL’s muscular frame. Her parents needed her. Someone had to control her mother. And her dad…

“They won’t hurt me,” she said. “I have to help them.”

“No,” her bodyguard said.

Across the lobby, her mother gasped, and her eyes widened. “Oh God. I’m sorry.” She scrambled forward and picked up her purse. There were tears in her eyes now. And she looked just as broken. “It’s the stress from the tour, baby. There’s so much riding on this…”

Mason approached looking as if he’d summoned his courage and decided enough was enough. If anyone had their camera phone out, a video of her parents’ fight would hit the internet soon. Her manager knew that as well as she did. And she doubted her manager wanted his country starlet linked to a domestic dispute in a hotel lobby.

Chrissie scanned the space, but she didn’t see anyone recording. They were all pretending to look somewhere else now. No one looked back at the scene, and she understood why. Mason was leading her mother away. But her father just stood there, tears running down his face.

“I wish I could, Lori,” her dad said. “But I can’t let go of our boy. I visit his grave. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I think about him out there, in…in Afghanistan, so far from home… I just want my boy to come home.”

A domestic dispute between a country star’s parents might draw interest. But there was nothing tawdry about a man weeping for his son who’d been killed in action. Of course the press might not see it that way. And what had happened here, what she’d witnessed—it was a private, family matter.

“Daddy,” she said, breaking free from Dante’s protective hold on her. Her mother was by the elevators now and no longer a threat, not that she ever was, really. And she hoped her SEAL realized that. Her mom was broken, too.

“Daddy.” She reached her father and wrapped her arms around him. The man who’d ruled over her house, raised five kids on next to nothing, sobbed against her shoulder. He stood a head taller than her. But now, he seemed small and lost.

Chrissie closed her eyes and blinked back her own tears. Love, marriage—it wasn’t supposed to look like this. A grown man weeping in his daughter’s arms for the son he’d lost while his marriage crumbled under the weight of his daughter’s career.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” her dad murmured. “I’d be there if I could.”

“I know, Daddy,” she said softly.

“But hearing you sing that song for your brother—I can’t take it.” He drew back and looked down at her. “I know it’s past time to stop grieving Joe like this. I know it.” He shook his head, and a strip of short gray hair fell over his forehead. “I can’t let go.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t ever let go.”

“I’m so proud of you. Keeping Joe’s memory alive like that night after night. I just can’t stand there and listen.”

“I know, Dad.” She stared up at her father’s tear-stained face. He’d been their rock for so long. Now, somehow, she’d find a way to take over for him. With the music he couldn’t bear to hear, with the money coming in from her growing career, she would glue her family back together.