dark ops 3 - Renegade (20 page)

Her legs folded, and she dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress. She pitched all that remained of the tiny bud over her shoulder. The expanse of paisley comforter spread behind her, lamps on low, with a small welcome basket of nighttime snacks—for later.

Much later.

He stopped, standing between her knees. “I didn’t expect this with you.”

“You don’t have to dredge up a load of romantic bs for me.” She leaned back on her elbows. “I don’t want that from you.”

He gathered up a handful of petals and sprinkled them along her chest, down her stomach, and lower into her lap. “Are you questioning my sincerity?”

She flicked her hair back. “No, I think you’re just trying to give me what you think I want or need.”

Her words hurt, damn it. “If you believe I’m such a bullshit artist, why do you want to sleep with me?”

“I want this—you—very much.” She sat up and crossed her legs. She rasped her fingernail up his flight suit zipper, flicking the tab at the top up and down provocatively. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“I can’t tell for sure if we’re even in the same library, because you confuse the hell out of me.” He threaded his fingers through the sensuous glide of her hair.

She tucked her cheek against his palm, her lashes fluttering closed for a second. “I don’t want you to see me as one of those idiot women who turns all giggly when you walk by.”

“Giggly is the last word I would ever use to describe you.” He combed his fingers through her shoulder-length of hair, hands falling to rest on her shoulders.

“That’s meant as a compliment, in case you were wondering.”

“I was, actually.” Her chest rose and fell faster, her pupils dilating. “Wondering, I mean.”

“Good. Then maybe we’re both at least in the same novel if not on the same page yet.”

Her gaze fell to his mouth.

He retrieved the stem from the bed and trailed the small remaining bud along her lips. “Maybe I should be worried about your expectations of me. Are you here for some kind of super sex? Because if so, I’m afraid this reputation you seem to think I have may leave you sorely disappointed. I’m a regular man who’s not into acrobatics or kink.”

“What
are
you into?”

He was more interested in her preference. Although he sincerely hoped it had nothing to do with turning off the lights, because he was enjoying the hell out of the warm glow from the lamp on low by the bed, showcasing Jill’s curves as well as the flare of desire in her eyes. He intended to use those expressive eyes to gauge just what sent her higher.

“Right now,” he teased the rose along her cheek, releasing more of the floral perfume, “I’m big time into you.”

“Now that was totally the right thing to say.” She took the flower from him and pitched it away.

He cupped her face and kissed her long and deep and exploring, sitting beside her on the rough tapestry comforter. He reached behind her and swept the spread away until it trailed the floor, leaving crisp sheets and fluffy pillows.

She smiled her appreciation against his mouth. She tasted like raspberry tea with a hint of mint from her toothpaste, and he wanted more. Without breaking contact, she eased back on the bed, her head settling to rest on the plump pillows, wafting the scent of fabric softener—his new favorite erotic smell, right up there with roses.

He almost groaned his relief at finally being able to stretch over her, their bodies crushing petals, releasing a fresh swell of perfume. Feeling the way their bodies fit together in a preshow of things to come. Her foot skimmed down his calf and up again, ramping up his desire.

Tunneling his hands deeper into her hair, he nipped along her lower lip. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve watched the light play off your red hair and fantasized about taking it down. Seeing it against the pillow is definitely fantasy worthy.”

She laughed against his mouth, husky and low. “It can’t have been that many times, given it’s been less than a week since you parachuted into the desert.”

He levered up on his elbow. “I’ll make a deal with you. How about we both toss away preconceptions about each other?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” She tugged him closer again insistently. “What were you saying before my insecurities interrupted?”

“I was telling you how beautiful you are”—he kissed her mouth—“how sexy you are”—he kissed her jaw—“how much looking at your long legs turns me on.” He sketched a hand over her hip and down her thigh.

“Clothes,” she whispered, her voice husky with passion, “we have too many clothes on. I want to see more of you.”

“I’m not going to argue with you over that.” He scrunched her shirt in his fingers.

She swept aside his hands and tossed aside her own shirt to rest by a stray rose petal. “Time for you to stand up.”

Her words took a few seconds to sink in, since he couldn’t process more than the sight of the creamy swell of her breasts in her copper-colored lace bra. Then his brain kicked into high gear. Getting both of them naked soon took top priority.

“Damn, you’re bossy.” He held up his hands. “But hey, I’m not one to argue with a chick who carries her own gun. Although I wouldn’t object if you put it on the bedside table.”

He stood, and she pulled her gun from the holster clipped to her jeans waistband. She passed him the 9 mm, a sign he understood full well was her way of displaying her trust—here in the bedroom anyway. He set the weapon on the end table. She stayed back on her pillow, reaching to tease at the tab of the long zipper that extended down the front of his flight suit.

He folded his hand over hers, and she sat up, swinging her legs to either side of him. She inched the zipper down, inch by torturous inch. The woman was a helluva temptress. She pushed the uniform over his shoulders until it bunched around his waist, taking her sweet time as her hands teased over his T-shirt before finally sweeping it over his head. With a sassy flick of her wrist, she sent it sailing. He kicked away his flight suit, leaving him only in his boxer shorts.

“Valentine’s Day underwear. You wore cupids in the desert.” She teased her finger along the waistband. “Conversation candy heart designs this time. Hmmm . . .
All-star. Loverboy. Awesome
.”

His stomach muscles went taut against the taunting tease of her caress so damn near where he needed her to touch. “Can we read my underwear after?”

“Of course,
Loverboy
,” she teased. Jill rose to her feet, her wrists draping over his shoulders. “Do you celebrate all holidays this way or just the lovers’ day?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to see my bunny rabbit boxers this spring.”

He made fast work of her jeans, all the faster as she shimmied the denim down and away. He kissed her again, and the next thing he knew, finally, finally they were naked. Her skin was smoother and softer against him than he could have imagined, made all the sweeter by the tantalizing way she arched closer, her curves imprinting themselves on him as fully as in his memory.

Angling back, he lowered her to the bed in a controlled glide, a whole lot more controlled than he felt inside. In fact, before he lost what little ability he had left to reason, he needed to take care of . . .

“Birth control. In my flight suit.” He reached down to the floor. “I’ll be back before you can . . .” He slid over her again, small packet in hand. “. . . before you can miss me.”

“Hmmm . . .” She nipped his ear, stole the condom, caressed it in place until his head fell to rest by her ear with a groan.

Drawing in a ragged breath to steady his control, he kissed along her shoulder, lower, lower still, until he drew her nipple into his mouth and rolled the tip with his tongue. She grew tighter in his mouth, her fingers digging into his back until he could feel the pierce of close-clipped nails leaving little half-moons.

He touched her, just touched and stroked and fell into the sensation of learning everything about her, her feel, her taste. Best of all, her wants. Part of him wanted to rush, to be inside her now, but another, stronger part of him needed to make the most of this night.

From the start, Jill had made it clear he wasn’t her sort of guy, so he might well not have another chance. Although he would be doing his damnedest tonight to persuade her to show up for an encore.

He’d meant it when he said he hadn’t expected this with Jill, and he damn well wasn’t squandering a second of his time with her. And afterward? They’d both come so close to death over the past few days, living in the now seemed the wisest course.

He eased his mouth away and kissed along her chest, charting his way.

Her hands played along his back. “What are you doing?”

“Playing connect the freckles, my new favorite game.”

“I think,” she gasped, “that I like this game a lot.”

“You only think? I’ll have to work harder then.”

Her hand tucked between them, and she stroked him. “I don’t think you can get any harder than this.”

His eyes slid closed, and she caressed again. His forehead fell to rest against hers, and his hands shook as he swept back her hair. Her fingers climbed around to grip his hips. He positioned himself over her, against her, nudging. Her nails dug in deeper, sinking into his flesh, urging him deeper as she bowed up. He thrust inside and damn near came apart like an untried teen. He clenched his jaw and held back, held still, held himself in check until he could hold her again.

And then he moved, and she moaned, moving with him. Her legs locked around him, lean and toned, holding strong in the moment. He couldn’t stop taking in everything about her—her sighs of pleasure, the way her jaw tensed and she bit the tip of her tongue.

He tamped down his release, determined to make this last as long as possible—or at least until she finished first. Something that seemed increasingly imminent if her breathy gasps and soft, writhing body were anything to judge by.

Her orgasm pulsed around him, massaging him over the edge. He drove into her body, taking her as high as he could until they both shuddered against each other in the after-waves.

Mason slid from her body and rolled to his back. His head dug back into his pillow, his chest heaving for air. He inched one hand over to brush his knuckles across her hand, about all the movement he could muster for the moment.

He damn well hadn’t expected this with her, and no way could he have seen how being with her would rock him on some level he’d never felt before. He’d never been so into the moment, into this particular woman. Already he wanted to have her again, to learn what made her tick and deliver it right to her doorstep.

But he couldn’t escape the sneaking sensation, the question of what could this strong, intensely confident—and competent—woman ever need from him?

Sitting on the counter in the kitchenette while Mason made breakfast, Jill needed space. Soon.

However, space was in short supply while locked up in a little condo on base with a watchdog and the hottest man she’d ever met. Of course, he was the very reason she needed breathing room. She’d been with men before—not a lot by most measures, but enough to know that something different had happened last night. Mason was different.

She wrapped the sheet closer around herself, tucking it tighter under her arms. The scent of roses clung to her “sarong,” reminding her of how long they’d rolled together in those petals while they’d loved each other with their bodies, their mouths, even their eyes.

Never had she been with a man who was so completely and totally focused on
her
. He’d said he wasn’t into toys or gymnastics, and he didn’t need to be. The man’s total and undivided attention provided enough stimulation to send any woman into orbit with a pleasure so intense she’d forgotten to breathe.

Sex was about the physical and the mind stroking. And without a question, Mason’s mind, his attention, his focus had caressed every inch of her, inside and out.

Was it this way for him every time? If so, no wonder he had women falling at his feet.

His currently bare feet. He stood at the stove in his jeans only, with the top button undone. His buffed chest rippled as he shuffled pans and ingredients in his breakfast prep, making the most of the basic food products prestocked in the refrigerator, cabinet, and fruit basket. The stubborn cowlick in his hair ramped up, still damp from their time washing each other.

She wanted him all over again, even though every well-worked muscle in her tender body told her they’d both maxed out for a few more hours at least. Her mouth watered, and it had nothing to do with the delicate crepes he cooked in the pan, the scent of brown sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon teasing her nose.

She tore her attention away from him and eyed the black leather combat boot with doggie teeth marks along the edges of the soles. “Sorry about your boot.”