03-Strength of the Mate (40 page)

Closing his eyes, Adam rocked his hips against the pillow beneath him. The pressure and friction against his dick felt so fucking good.

“Tell me how to make you come,” Dawson said softly, his voice rough from his climactic shouts. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how you want me to get you off.”

Adam was pretty happy rubbing himself off against the pillow. He couldn’t think of anything else. He enjoyed the heat of Dawson’s body against, and on top of him.

His wrists were still trapped in Dawson’s hand. He gasped when Dawson rolled them both onto their sides. Adam found his legs trapped between both of Dawson’s, his hole still filled by Dawson’s softening cock.

Dawson took Adam’s swollen, sensitive cock in his hand. Adam gasped as Dawson stroked him. His grip was firm, he worked his hand quickly. Adam didn’t even have time to think about what was happening.

His chest heaved as Dawson dragged his orgasm out of him. Adam couldn’t concentrate on anything except Dawson’s hand stroking his cock. His balls tightened, lifting toward his body. The first splash of come landed on Dawson’s hand, followed by several more.

Dawson made soothing, sympathetic sounds as he stroked Adam through his climax. He bit into the side of Adam’s neck, sucking at the same spot, drawing blood to the surface.

When Dawson finally released him, Adam collapsed against him. They both lay on the bed, limp and spent. Adam’s head spun, memories of all the things Dawson had said, all the praise he’d lavished on Adam, flooded his mind. They’d said some crazy things to each other.

Adam pulled himself out of Dawson’s limp arms. He stumbled to the cabinet and got a pack of baby wipes. Kneeling over Dawson, Adam cleaned them both. He cleaned as much as he could of his own come, where it had landed on the bedclothes.

He’d hoped the physical activity would have cleared his mind. Adam tossed the soiled wipes and turned back toward the bed. He caught sight of a bemused Dawson, watching him with a smitten expression. His eyes were warm and affectionate as he watched Adam’s every move.

The tightness was back in Adam’s chest and it scared the shit out of him. He knew he’d wear that same expression if he let his guard down for just a moment.

And then he suddenly remembered Tim’s words from earlier. Dawson was more intense, but Adam could believe everything he heard and saw.

Smiling down at a drowsy Dawson, Adam encouraged him to crawl beneath the bedclothes. He snuggled in behind Dawson, wrapping around him tightly. Dawson sighed heavily, relaxing back into Adam.

Things had changed this morning. Adam wasn’t sure how. He’d ask Dawson later on. He’d even talk to Tim about it if he had to. For now though, he’d sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Make sure your drivers keep their speeds up,” the platoon commander, Lieutenant Wilkins reminded Adam.

“Copy that,” replied Adam. “I gotta keep an eye on their spacing, too, so they don’t get too spread out.” There was another explosion from the kill zone near the front of the convoy. He could see the blast cloud in the distance.

“RPG,” Mercer announced. “The road’s clear of IEDs. It’s all small arms fire.”

“You got eyes on the hostiles?” asked the LT. “Any idea what we’re facing?”

“We’re seeing signs of a sustained attack,” answered Mercer.

Adam began to hear the sounds of the gun battle over the roar of his tractor’s engine. “We got a way to go around it?”

“That’s negative at this point,” Mercer replied.

“Solid copy.” Adam hated driving through the middle of an ambush. A couple of his drivers were high strung. It was hard enough keeping his own rig on the highway; making sure other drivers stayed calm and on task was a bitch.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Rodriguez shifted anxiously. He made soft whining sounds as he stared out the windshield. Like a typical Marine, Jason wanted in on the action.

“Hostiles may be targeting the fuel tankers,” Sergeant Brandt said suddenly. Sounds of gunfire were distinct in the background.

“All drivers need to watch their dispersion,” Wilkins broadcast. “They’re trying to separate tankers from Marine transport vehicles.”

“Shit,” Adam said to himself. A targeted, coordinated attack was the worst case scenario. “Roger that.” He scanned his mirrors, gauging the speed and spacing of the rigs behind him. Adam reminded his drivers to stay in close formation and maintain their speed. Slowing down and putting distance between vehicles made them vulnerable.

Jason pawed at his seat. His whines became soft yowls. Another blast sounded up ahead; the plume looked too close for Adam’s comfort. His heart rate kicked up as they got closer to the heart of the battle.

“We got intense action at the transition,” Mercer announced.

“Keep your drivers in tight formation, Madison,” Wilkins said.

“Copy that,” Adam answered. He told his drivers to stay close in line as they took the cloverleaf transition to the main road into Fallujah. “Letting yourself get isolated makes you an easier target.”

There was gunfire all around them now. Adam tried to ignore Jason’s excitement. He needed to concentrate when he took the turn on the transition. He had to maintain his speed, without flipping his rig.

The tractor vibrated with several thunderous impacts. “Fuck.” Adam took several deep breaths. He scanned his instrument cluster for any signs he’d taken serious damage. The feel of the ride didn’t change.

“Madison, what’s your status?” Mercer asked over the radio.

“I think we took a couple rounds but we’re good,” Adam replied.

“A couple of those hits looked low. No damage to your tires?”

“The ride’s steady. If I’ve got a slow leak, I’ll know in a few minutes.”

As soon as Adam hung up his mic, there was a loud blast toward the rear of his rig. Jason barked several times, swinging his head for a glimpse out one of the windows. Adam shook his head, working his jaw to ease the sudden ringing in his ears. He gripped the wheel, keeping his foot on the gas. The rig shuddered around them. Adam braced for the tanker trailer to fishtail on him, but it held steady.

Adam glanced in his side mirror. Smoke still obscured the blast site. A Humvee swung wide toward the smoke, M16 muzzles hanging from the windows. Between Jason and the ringing in his ears, Adam almost missed Sergeant Brandt hailing him.

“Madison, what’s your sit-rep? Can you advise your status?”

Adam snatched up his mic. “Still rolling under power,” he replied. The two rigs following behind him also answered up. They were unharmed, but sounded rattled.

“RPG,” Mercer spoke with clipped words. “Still trying to put distance between the victors.”

The rigs ahead of him started, one after the other, onto the transition ramp turn. Adam changed gears. He needed power as he kept up his speed on the turn. He’d made this turn, at this speed, dozens of times before. He’d even done it under fire, just not during a battle this intense.

“We’ve engaged hostiles at the top of the ramp.” Mercer’s voice was calm but intense. He was nearly drowned out by gunfire.

Adam gripped the steering wheel with both hands. As he started upward into the turn, the rig groaned. Jason braced against the steep angle. Adam dug a heel into the floorboard as the trailer started to tip. He’d be surprised if he didn’t crack the kingpin. He breathed steadily, forcing himself to stay calm and focused on the sharply curving ramp.

The ramp straightened out. Ahead, Adam saw several hostile combatants taking cover behind a small pickup. Marines in their gun truck returned fire from directly across the road. As rig after rig blew past the pickup, Marines engaged the enemy in a firefight at the top of the ramp.

Adam listened to the radio chatter. Marines urged Adam’s drivers to maintain their speed and to keep driving, no matter what. He braked hard, risking a jackknife or rear-end collision, to keep from running right up the tailpipe of the rig in front of him. Jason was tossed forward against the dash, his claws scratching loudly as he steadied himself. Adam let loose a string of surprised expletives. He got on the radio and ordered his drivers to just run over the fucking pickup.

Downshifting, Adam sent his engine revving with high RPMs. His speed had dropped to almost a crawl and it made them a giant, metal sitting duck. The rigs were taking as much gunfire as the Marines.

“Get ready to brace yourself!” Adam shouted to Jason over the roar of his engine and the sounds of combat. The upcoming turn was sharp and was going to get a little rough, since Adam was about to run right over the enemy pickup. Jason jumped down to sit on the floor of the tractor, just in case they got thrown around.

The rigs in front of him finally started picking up speed. Adam shifted gears rapidly, working to keep as little distance as possible between his tractor, and the trailer ahead. They were still moving way too slow.

He caught sight of wolves running loose on the road ahead. Not all of them wore body armor, which at least made the hostile wolves easy to spot. As if Jason could smell them, he climbed back up onto his seat.

A human appeared out of nowhere, his face peering in through the passenger window. “Holy fuck!” Adam shouted, his heart leaping into his throat.

Jason didn’t react to the face in the window. Adam was grateful he recognized Marine Corps digital camo before he pissed himself. He deciphered radio chatter ordering weres out of the rigs to engage the enemy wolves.

The passenger door swung open. Adam recognized Roger Allen, standing on the top passenger step of the rig. One hand held the door open as his M16 hung from the sling beneath his arm. With his other hand, Allen gripped the handle on the exterior of the cab.

“Corporal Rodriguez, you’ve been ordered to engage the enemy wolves,” Allen shouted, pushing the door wide enough for the large wolf to leap down from the cab.

“You scared the shit out of me, Allen,” Adam shouted. The open door let in the loud sounds of the diesel engine and the ongoing gun battle.

“Sorry, dude,” Allen shouted. “I’m gonna come around to your side, so try not to run me over.”

“Roger that,” said Adam. If they hadn’t been in combat, Roger might have meant for that to be funny. He kept his speed steady, watching Allen run around the front of the tractor. Adam lowered his side window.

Roger leapt onto the top driver’s step of the cab, gripping his M16. “I got your back, bro! Try not to knock me off with your crazy-ass driving.”

Adam grinned at Roger’s joke. None of the civilian drivers were as crazy as the Marines in their armored Humvees. With his back pressed against the driver’s door, Allen fired toward the end of the ramp. The left front fender took two rounds. Adam winced, realizing they were both right in the line of fire. The cab door was the only thing standing between him and flying AK-47 rounds.

“Keep drivin’, Madison! Just keep drivin’.” Roger hung by one hand from the side of Adam’s truck. He gripped his weapon with his other hand and squeezed off two-round bursts.

“You need to get to cover!” Adam shouted, shifting gears and finally picking up some speed. Running over the enemy pickup might send Roger flying.

Allen sent two more rounds toward the smoldering car at the top of the ramp. “My orders are to cover your ass while you drive.”

Their argument ended when Adam shifted gears again, picking up some last-second speed. He cranked the steering wheel to the left. They swung a little wide, missing the enemy pickup with the cab. The rig shuddered. Metal screeched and crunched as Adam rolled the wheels of the tanker trailer over the pickup. The crushed metal got hung up on the rear axle. They dragged it several yards onto the overpass, before it slid free.

“Ooh-rah!” Roger shouted in praise and celebration. “That’s some crazy, kick-ass drivin’!”

They weren’t out of the shit yet. He turned left onto the overpass. Adam only just missed hitting a Humvee. Several Marines were using the vehicle for cover. Another pickup and a passenger car were stopped on the left side of the overpass. The fuckers were close enough for Adam to touch. Hostiles took cover behind the vehicles, spraying bullets at the oncoming tankers.

Allen made a strange, pained sound. He slumped backward against Adam’s door.

“Roger!”

“Drive!” Allen hooked his left arm over the lowered window of Adam’s door. Somehow, he managed to keep hold of his M16. He amazed Adam when he kept firing at the enemy cars.

Blood saturated Allen’s uniform sleeve. “You’re hit!” Adam shifted gears, gaining more speed. He couldn’t afford to slow down again. Roger was already a prime target, clinging to the side of his cab.

“Keep driving,” Allen shouted again, his voice hoarse. “Don’t slow down or stop until you reach the yard in Fallujah!”

Adam didn’t bother reminding him that’s what he was trained to do. Roger was wounded and adamant. Desperate chatter on the radio raised the hair on the back of Adam’s neck. He had no idea what the biggest threat was.

The underside of the tanker in front of them exploded. The blast deafened Adam. A thick cloud of smoke and debris billowed outward from beneath the tanker. It engulfed his entire truck.

“Oh, fuck!” Adam braked hard in surprise. Roger lost his grip, his weakened arm sliding right out of the window. Adam couldn’t see a fuckin’ thing. Smoke, dirt and other shit blew in through his open window.

Adam’s body flooded with adrenaline. His eyes stung. The acrid smell burned his nose. Roger hit the pavement hard and rolled. Adam coughed, struggling to see through his tears, and the lingering smoke. He steered to the right, hoping like hell he didn’t hit Roger.

His ears were ringing. The smoke was getting thinner. As he passed, Adam saw Roger face down on the asphalt. Somehow, he’d got clear of the rig, and still had his M16 in his grip. Adam steered back toward the left, now that he knew he’d missed hitting Roger.

The smoke cleared. Adam was shocked to see the rig ahead was still rolling. It was smoldering underneath. Adam changed gears, struggling to maintain his speed. The trailer ahead swerved, kicking up strips of rubber ripped from its tires. The rig was a few hundred yards ahead, but the hard rubber still struck Adam’s tractor.