Still Her SEAL (ASSIGNMENT: Caribbean Nights Book 10) (19 page)

Rohan

I
t’s good to take turns in bed. To try something different once in a while, because otherwise you wake up one day and realize it’s Saturday and you’ve got a date for sex with your significant other at precisely ten o’clock for thirty minutes. That’s not a bad thing—I’ve always appreciated a good plan—but there’s something to be said for spontaneity and surprises. They’re the salt that’s missing from the low-sodium crap the manufacturers sell you on because it’s heart-healthy. When it comes to relationships? You need an overdose of salt. No such thing as too much.

Hindi is one big, never-ending surprise.

I’d just like to enjoy my surprise in bed. The door was fun, but now I want to hold her. Love her. For the moment, I settle for bracing her as she comes down from her orgasmic high. She screamed so loudly when she came that my ears are ringing. No complaints from me there. Her breathing hitches, smooths out. She’s putting herself back together, and that’s a little disappointing. I like holding the pieces of her together. Yeah. I know that didn’t come out right, but she needs me right now. To hold her together, to make her feel good, to make her… forget? I wasn’t always this way, but I can feel myself tuning into her moods and it’s good. Really good.

“Now let’s do it my way.” I whisper the words against her ear and she grunts something. Gonna guess that was a yes, because I’m definitely not hearing a no. Without pulling out (a gymnastics feat and a half), I walk us toward her bedroom, and yes, I see stars with each step. You know those car ads where the manufacturer reminds you in tiny little letters that the daredevil driving their car at insane speeds around hairpin turns is a professional and you shouldn’t try any of this at home? Walking, holding Hindi up, and keeping my dick deep inside her sweet, tight pussy requires the kind of coordination and mental fortitude that should be rewarded with a gold medal.

I’m this close to coming when I make it inside her bedroom. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist, riding me, bumping up and down in the best possible way, and generally driving me fucking crazy. I’d like nothing more than to throw her down on the bed (Hindi’s made her position on gentle clear) and have my way with her. Ride her hard, make her scream my name. The hand that’s not anchoring her in place glides all over her, touching her throat, her breasts, her back. I can’t get enough of her, and getting inside of her hasn’t changed that.

I step through her bedroom door, kick that fucker shut just in case she has unexpected company, and aim for the bed. Except… I might have to reassess that plan because her bed is buried beneath a mountain of discarded clothes. Might have to have sex in her closet—it’s got to have space, seeing as how she can’t possibly own
more
clothes.

“Oops,” she whispers, nipping my lower lip. “Did I mention I haven’t picked up today?”

Today
seems optimistic.
In forever
would be more accurate. She’s only been in the Florida Keys for a handful of days—how the hell has she acquired this much baggage? I spent the better part of my Navy career packed and ready to go. My gear fit in two duffel bags—most of it weapons. I could roll on a few minutes notice. Hindi, however, looks like she’d require a moving van to make it to the end of the block.

She wiggles on my dick and fuck housekeeping. I can roll with it. Reaching down, I pin her to me with one arm (because if she falls, we’re totally breaking my dick) and sweep the mountain to one side. Once I have an empty space, I fill it up with her. I slide her off my dick and set her down. It’s a miracle my pants haven’t ended up around my ankles and I’d like to keep my dignity intact. She sprawls on the sheets, legs apart, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re no fun.” She pouts up at me, but there’s both twinkle and challenge in her eyes. Hindi’s face. Her playful, mischievous expression, like
Life’s a game and don’t take things seriously
. But she worries more than she lets other people know. She covers up the concern with smiles and laughter, but she’s scared. Of not being perfect?

Yeah. She can join my club. You don’t make Lieutenant Commander because you fuck up, and once you’ve earned the job, it becomes a responsibility. If I got shit wrong out in the field, gave the wrong command, turned right when I should have turned left, my men paid the price. I only worried about sixteen guys, but Hindi tries to please the whole world. Someone, somewhere, did a hatchet job on her self-esteem.

“Strip,” she says. “I’ll go first. Show you how it’s done.”

She doesn’t waste any time either. She kneels up on the bed, sliding her tank top over her head in one long, sexy pull. Her shirt has one of those built-in bra thingies, so she’s naked underneath it. Fuck. Me. Have her tits gotten bigger since the last time we were naked together? I need to hold them and find out, see if they taste as good as they did six years ago. She twirls her shirt around her head and then launches it over her shoulder, where it’s swallowed up by the mountain of discarded shit. Explains a lot about the state of her bedroom. The way she looks at me? That’s my second miracle right there, because there’s no explaining the interest she takes in me.

I think I groan. I’m not a fine art kind of guy, but even I know that Hindi’s the best picture in the gallery. She’s the Monet, the Mona Lisa, the one woman I could look at for hours. Did I think I could look and not touch? Not a chance. I mentally vault the velvet rope keeping me apart from Hindi. If I put her on a pedestal, it’s going to be so the right parts of her are on mouth-level. I have to touch her. Her skin is golden brown from the sun and someone’s been swimming naked, because she has no tan lines. I love her body, all those soft curves and sweet, secret places. She’s just as perfect as I remembered her.

I strip down faster than I’ve ever stripped before. Forget about building the anticipation or even trying for Chippendale moves. I need to be naked and on top of her now.

While I work, Hindi hums something that sounds suspiciously like it’s from
Magic Mike
. You know. That movie about the odd-jobs guy who stars in an all-male stripper revue after hours? Guess my girl has a few dirty fantasies of her own. I shove my pants down and watch as her gaze shoots from my face to my dick like a racecar released by the pace car. The look on her face is approving.

“Here’s a hint. Improvisation. It’s your new best friend.” She sprawls backward on the bed and sucks her finger into her mouth. She stares me straight in the eye as she does this and it’s the hottest, craziest thing ever. My dick thinks there’s some kind of one-way connection between her mouth working her finger, making it wet, and us. Maybe there is. She’s definitely dialed into one of my dirtiest fantasies, the one where she sucks me into her mouth because that finger of hers is way too small and I’m not. She sucks and slides her mouth up and down me, and because she’s got her pussy parked on my chest, I’ve got the best view ever and then we move on to part two of that fantasy, where I eat her out, timing each lick to her mouth on my dick.

“Distract me now and you won’t get to see how my new plan plays out.”

“You have a plan?”

“You bet.” Just as soon as I get on the bed, it’s go time. I plant my knee on the side of the bed and then halt as she throws up a hand. The one with the naughty, wet finger.

“Wait,” she says. “Maybe we should review your plan and make sure we have buy off.”

Or I could nix the plan and move to the backup plan, which involves me, spanking, and Hindi. Guess who gets to go over my knee?

“It’s a five-step plan. A list of where I’m going to kiss you.”

“Huh.” she says, which is not quite
oh baby do me now
or her screaming my name. It sounds… doubtful.

“You can rank order the list,” I promise her. “Then I’ll know where to start next time.”

I roll on top of her and she mock-rolls her eyes, a devilish look in those baby browns. “Missionary?”

I catch her mouth gently with my teeth. “Shhh. Don’t be such a critic. Got to get through the things on my list.”

She feels amazing beneath me and I deserve just a moment to enjoy her. Her legs part, gripping my hips, and my dick finds out firsthand that she’s still slick and hot. She feels incredible, and shit only gets better when she gasps. I slide forward an inch and she moans. It’s the best action and reaction ever.

“Step one.” I lean down and kiss her neck. The neck is one of the most vulnerable parts of a woman. The delicate skin, the soft curve—it wakes the predator in guys. Kissing Hindi’s neck, running my lips over the sleek line as she arches into my touch, makes me want to pin her in place—and protect her. Kiss her. Kill for her. Those two feelings are connected. I tuck her hair behind her ear, smoothing the wild strands back as I nibble my way down to her collarbone. More moaning… more whimpering.

“Two.” Reluctantly, I move my mouth away from her neck. While I could stay there all day, I feel the need to convince her about the power of a well-thought-out plan. Lifting her hand to my mouth, I press a small kiss against her fingertips. I suck her ring finger into my mouth, giving her back what she gave me, and my kiss is just as much a preview for tonight’s feature movie, a hint of what’s to come. I stroke my tongue down her finger, circle the base, nip the tip gently. I’m playing show rather than tell.

“Rohan.” She moans my name, her fingers gripping my shoulders, nails digging in. See, she’s starting to understand the pleasure in planning, but I need her wilder, crazier.

“Three.” I move down her body, kissing her breasts. You see where I’m going with this? I worship her with my mouth, covering every inch of her silky skin with kisses. And where my mouth goes? My fingers go, too. Her tight pink nipples are the cherry on the sundae. I save them for last, rubbing and kissing my way toward the center, and then sucking her in deep.

“We doing okay? Need to adjust the plan? I’m open to feedback.” I’m teasing, but I mean it too. Whatever she needs, I’ll give it to her.

“I think I like this plan,” she whispers back.

“Then we’re ready for the next step.” I sink down her body, pulling her legs over my shoulders. “Step four.”

I lean in and slide my tongue through her folds, finding her clitoris. She hums and moans, her hands twisting in my hair as she holds on. I kiss her again, deeper, harder, licking my way around her clit. There are twice as many nerve endings in the clitoris as in the penis. Eight thousand happy spots for me to hit, and I plan to find them all. She rides my face with abandon, shrieking my name and moaning commands to
do it harder
and
right there
and
Rohan
. That last one? That’s my favorite. She knows exactly who she’s with.

Me.

And when she comes, I kiss her down from her high, resting my cheek against her and breathing her in. She’s fucking awesome, so amazing. So goddamned perfect. For all her shrieking and yelling, she comes quietly, just a fierce clenching and then a letting go as she melts into me. I want to be the one to feel her do this, see her come part, for the rest of our lives.

Which means it’s time for step five.

“Five.” I ease back up her body and kiss her forehead. This is the sweetest spot to be, watching her eyes as she blinks up at me, warm and relaxed. She’s come apart for me. Trusted me to catch her and to put her back together again. I kiss her with all the love I’ve got in me—and it’s a lot.

I still love her.

I swallow the words. I can’t tell her—not yet. I need to figure out the best way to do it, and just blurting out the words isn’t special enough. You don’t play chopsticks for the halftime show at the football championships. You go all out. Fireworks, marching bands, star power. If you’re lucky enough to have an audience, you do everything in your power to keep their butts in their seats and their eyes glued to the stage because once you’ve lost them, you’ve lost them. Gone. Kaput.
Forever
.

Hindi is the most important audience I’ll ever have and the word
forever
doesn’t begin to describe the amount of time I plan to hold her interest. All I need is a plan. The single most important, best-thought-out, most fucking awesome plan of my life.

But for now, I pull her closer and get closer. Slide into her and take her on another ride with me.

Hindi

M
ake love, not war. The hippie anthem of the sixties has never made sense to me until now. Rohan MacCarthy is the secret weapon in the battle of the sexes. He’s my Kryptonite, my guilty pleasure, my panty-wetting favorite pleasure. The morning after we jump each other, I wake up in my bed, wrapped around him.

Early morning Ro makes the best of teddy bears. One arm is thrown over his head and the other holds me close. His face is relaxed and utterly, perfectly kissable. The scruff darkening his jaw is the frosting on the perfect cake and I really, really need to lick him. Except—it’s first thing in the morning and I really need some alone time in the bathroom with toothbrush first.

Naturally, he picks this moment to opens his eyes. He traces my mouth with his thumb, a slow smile curving his own lips. “Morning.”