Revealing Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 4) (17 page)

The chicken cacciatore sandwiches had been amazing. Though he did credit the physical activity as having something to do with that. He was always starving after a workout.

Which of course led to some smoking-hot memories of Rachel as he’d tongued her to a shattering climax. A wet suit was not a good thing to be wearing when you had a boner the size of Florida, as it turned out.

His temper built until he was certifiable by the time the dive boat reached the dock at the end of the day. Miles, Jace, and Dex were giving him a wide berth at that point. Jackasses. All three of them.

When he got home, Rachel was in the kitchen exactly where he’d envisioned her a hundred and eighty-seven times. Except she was clothed. She’d been favoring sundresses lately, and he could not find fault in her taste when this version fit like a glove, veeing over her creamy breasts and flaring into a flirty skirt that would bunch around her waist easily.

A woman who’d espoused the merits of distance while at home shouldn’t wear such a sexy dress. A woman who lived with a man who had zero willpower should definitely be wearing a bra. There should be a law. His mood slid into a dangerous place.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the arch over the entranceway because he didn’t honestly think he could cross the threshold and maintain his civility.

Rachel had twisted her hair up into a ponytail, and it swung out from her neck as she turned. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. Meatloaf okay?”

He shrugged. She might as well have said fried bat wings for all the interest he had in food. In fact, only one thing had a shot at whetting his appetite after a long day spent stewing in his own black mood.

Rachel navigated effortlessly around his kitchen, pulling pans and ingredients from the cabinets, stretching a bit to reach things on the top shelf, and he should really be a gentleman and help her. He was really not going to when every time she moved, her ponytail swished to the side, exposing that little stretch of neck.

If he put his lips there, it would be warm and smell like woman. His body tensed as his pulse leaped into overdrive, pumping blood straight to his groin. How could she stand to be in the same room with him and not want his mouth on her?

Because she didn’t find him all that tempting? Or was she trying to prove a point?
You might have given me a couple of orgasms, but at the end of the day, I’m strong enough to stick to the rules.

Maybe he needed to give her a refresher on how very wrong she was. Every nerve in his body stood up and applauded that plan. Why should he deny himself the pleasures of a woman, one who’d barged into his house, plunked herself down, and paraded her hot body around until he lost all his marbles? The devil on his shoulder cackled.

To hell with the rules.

Before his conscience could get started on reminding him of all the reasons he shouldn’t, he crossed the two feet of linoleum and put his hands on her hips, yanking her backward against his torso, and yes, she smelled divine. His erection ground into her soft bottom, and she gasped just as his lips hit that spot right below her ear.

Inhaling, he let every ounce of her essence storm through him.

She thought she could resist, did she?
Let’s put that to the test.

“What are you doing?” she murmured as he wound up that ponytail in his hand, guiding her head to the side to give himself better access to her flesh.

He didn’t bother to answer because if it wasn’t extremely obvious what he was doing, it would be in about two point four seconds.

Sucking her earlobe into his mouth, he laved at it until she moaned, then bit his way down her throat to the hollow of her shoulder, thoroughly acquainting himself with the backside of her, which had been inaccessible to him the other night. The kitchen had lots of counter space, and he planned to use it.

His fingertips nipped into her hips, crushing her against his groin, and the friction nearly drove him to his knees. He needed to be inside her like he needed to take his next breath. He needed
her
to want that more.

She picked up on his urgency and grabbed hold of his hands, shifting them from her hips to her breasts. Pressing his palms against both swells, she rubbed in little circles, panting as he interpreted what she wanted in his own way, hooking the neckline of her dress to slide his knuckles across her hard nipples. And again.

There was too much fabric in the way. He scraped at the strap of her dress with his teeth until he caught it and pulled it down her shoulder, dragging his lips along her skin as he went because it was there and he could and she tasted of heat and desire.

Her breast fell into his palm, hot and firm, and he groaned as she arched against his chest, her arousal quickening. These dresses that she wore with no bra? Amazing. His erection ached, begging him to move, to heighten the pressure building the longer he lay nestled in the second sweetest spot on Rachel’s body.

Not yet.

He yanked her dress to her ankles and then snaked an arm around her so he could slide his fingers against her stomach, under the band of her underwear and into the slick heat between her legs.

God, she was so wet and swollen, and it buzzed through his senses as he fingered her. She bucked against his hand, and he gave her more, half-drunk already on her scent and her eagerness. Her head fell back on his shoulder, and he did not miss that opportunity to suckle on her neck as he relentlessly drove her toward the peak of orgasm, circling his own hips against her backside in search of relief for the white-hot burn of his erection.

Her little cries and the way she rode his hand with no holds barred nearly pushed him over that edge, but he held on. Somehow. Because this was about her losing control, not him. But the wet heat soaking his fingers was a stark reminder that yes, she wanted him. That she was hot and ready for him. It was almost too much, but then she clenched around his fingers, going boneless in his arms, and he couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

He drew off her underwear, picked her up easily, and spun her around to sit on the counter. She was sated, heavy-eyed and so beautiful as she watched him strip out of his own clothes. Then she drew him between her legs, hooking her feet behind him. Trapping him.

Sweet God above. Why had he waited so long to indulge in this kitchen fantasy? And then her hot hands closed around his length and he nearly came right then, biting it back through sheer will.

“Hold on,” he muttered but it was more for his raging erection’s benefit than hers, and fished around for his jeans to crab-toe them up to his hand, then pulled the condom from his back pocket.

Her eyebrows shot up when she saw the packet, which only served to prove the point that he had it bad. Like the guys had said. Like he knew deep down. There was no other explanation for why he had a condom in his pocket than the obvious one—sheer optimism.

And she clearly didn’t suffer from the same affliction since there were no condoms stuffed behind the sugar bowl. How could she not want this? How was she not being driven insane with the complications that made everything between them so much more difficult?

She should be suffering as badly as he was. It was only fair.

He tore open the foil and easily rolled on the condom where his ham hands had failed him before. Not this time. Within a few seconds, he had his tip lodged right at her entrance.

His body screamed at him to shove inside her as fast and as hard as he could. Her hips rocked against him, begging for the same. But he wanted more than an orgasm. This wasn’t a mindless encounter in the kitchen that had escalated because he had a hot woman cooking for him.

Evan had been numb for so long. He wanted to feel, to be so filled with Rachel that he couldn’t remember being isolated and alone. He wanted her to be as tied up in knots as he was. He wanted her to admit it.

Her gaze stumbled over his, seeking a reason for his restraint.

But he scarcely knew how to explain the fierce, raw need coursing through him that only had a little to do with sex. He wanted to watch her face as her body accepted his, to know that he’d unhinged her, pulling back that veil she put between herself and the rest of the world. To see her in her most elemental state because that was real. He needed real.

“Evan.” The husky timbre of her voice thrilled through him. “I’m about to come apart. Please.”

The last bit tore from her throat on a sob, and he almost indulged them both because he was being tortured in kind, his muscles weeping with the effort required to hold back. But he needed more from her. Abandon. A complete loss of control because then his own inability to resist wouldn’t seem so bad.

“What do you want?” he murmured. “Tell me.”

Her eyes unfocused as his tip pushed just a fraction deeper and withdrew. “
You
.”

Not good enough. “For how long? Until you get bored?”

Where the hell had that come from?

“Not bored yet. Evan,
please
.”

Typical lawyer-speak. Evade and redirect. But that begged the question—until when then? How deep did this rabbit hole go, and how long would she be willing to jump into it with him, when she’d made it oh so clear that she didn’t do commitment. Even to the point of giving up her baby. It wasn’t a fair comparison, but he didn’t care.

He wanted more from her. And it was biting through his sanity bit by bit.

Swaying forward, he slid his hands down the globes of her rear, palming them firmly with a strong grip. As if bracing her for the coming thrust. But instead he licked one of her nipples into his mouth, rolling the tip between his teeth. She squirmed against his shaft, seeking to swallow it with her body but he held his hips rigid, denying her what she wanted until he got what he wanted.

She cried his name and slid fingers through his hair, holding his head in place as he relentlessly swirled her nipple with his tongue.

When he pulled free, she moaned and shoved her other breast forward, and because it pleased him, he suckled that one too, moving onto the creamy swell of her breast to mark it with little purple abrasions where he’d broken the skin.

“Please,” she begged again. “I’m so ready for you.”

“But we’re not supposed to be doing this,” he murmured and inched a millimeter farther inside her slick channel until he thought he’d lose his mind if he didn’t take her this second. “This is bad.”

“
So
bad.” She moaned and rolled her hips. “Maybe just this one time is okay? Since you started it and everything.”

“Oh sure,” he said smoothly. “You’ve got willpower, seems like.”

And that was the root of his black mood. She had a lot of nerve begging for the climax she knew he could give her, yet talking out of the other side of her mouth about how it would be just this once, as if it was his fault for being horny.

“But I don’t think it’ll be just once.” He tipped her chin up with one finger, piercing her with his gaze, and she stared back at him. “This is only the beginning of what’s going to happen next.”

Her eyes widened as she drank in his expression.

“I’m not going to settle for one time, Rachel. There are a lot of places on your body that I have not had my mouth on.” There were a lot of emotions spilling from her that she had yet to give voice to, but she would. He craved what was inside her with a fierceness that would be startling, except she’d been making him crazy since day one. “We’re going to do this right, or we’re not going to do it at all. Tell me you don’t want that, and I’ll stop.”

It was a dare and a promise, rolled into one. A game of chicken that could go very wrong given the intimate press of their bodies.

“What are you saying? That we’re going to be a couple?”

“If that’s what you want,” he allowed generously, though where else would this conversation have gone but there? He rolled the idea around in his head. Was that what he’d been after all along?

“What do
you
want?” she countered.

A fair question, with few answers that made sense out loud. He wanted Rachel. Without the consequences. Without the pain. Without the constant threat of her walking out the door if—when—his addiction grew between them. Which wasn’t possible since all those things were probable. In the meantime he’d take what he could.

“I don’t want to share you,” he growled.

He had no right to demand these things from her. None. But he hadn’t a clue how to deal with sheer longing that spilled over every time he saw Rachel, thought about her, caught her scent on his clothes. And he had less than zero desire to learn.

“Okay.”

He blinked. Somehow he’d envisioned her agreement coming about with more fanfare. More angst and desire, because she’d recognized that she couldn’t live without him for one more second.

If she had, his own revelations might not feel so one-sided. But he didn’t have choices that other people got. He would have to be happy with what few blessings came his way.

And this woman in his kitchen definitely was. He should treat her like one instead of forcing a showdown that hadn’t gotten him anywhere near what he truly wanted.

“Rachel. Look at me.”

She did. Slowly he ran his hands up her thighs, gripped her waist and eased inside her until he’d fully sheathed himself. Rachel gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist, clenching them so tightly together that the only thing that worked was to put his arms around her and hold on.

Their hips undulated together in a rhythm so achingly good that he felt it in every fiber of his body. He never wanted it to end, and he drew out the pleasure as long as he could until they both shattered simultaneously on a long wave.

Instantly his body was primed to do it again. And that’s when Rachel’s true danger throat-punched him. Only an extreme amount of diligence would prevent him from replacing one addiction for another. The relationship they’d just agreed to might have been the absolute worst thing he could have done.

But, as always, he couldn’t help himself. Eventually he’d have to. This was nothing more than an extension of Ilhota Rosa that he’d be forced to cut off before it went too far. Later. Much later.