Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (24 page)

“Stop fighting me, baby.” His lips were at her ear, his voice a hard growl as one hand gripped her hip to hold her in place. “Push out; relax for me, Morganna. You can take me. Every inch, sweetheart.” His breathing was as hard, as ragged as hers as he slipped inside more, stretching her until she was certain she couldn’t take more, yet she did. Loving it, burning with it.

“Are you mine?”

Her hips jerked at his question, at the black velvet hunger that it reflected. Only here, only within the hunger and arousal
he couldn’t deny, did she glimpse the needs that raged beneath the surface of his determination to remain alone.

“Are you . . . mine?” She repeated his question back to him, barely able to speak, but unable to hold back her own needs, her own desires.

His hips jerked as his cock pulsed inside her, flaying her tender nerve endings with blinding pleasure as he sank farther inside her, driving in those last inches with a desperate, involuntary thrust.

“Sweet God. Morganna. Sweetheart.” His head lay beside hers, his big body shuddering above her as she writhed beneath him. “Don’t fight. . . .” His hands were clenching and unclenching at her shoulder and hip as his voice became a harsh, primal growl. “Ah, baby. Don’t fight it. . . .”

Morganna heard her own cries echoing around her as liquid heat raced up her spine, sizzling at the base of her skull before surging through her bloodstream. Pleasure tore through her body, sending her senses careening with ecstasy as the blend of fiery heat and exquisite pleasure tore through her womb.

Her hips bucked, driving him deeper, causing a groan to tear from his throat as he began to move. Deep, hard strokes. He wasn’t gentle, but she didn’t want gentle. She didn’t need gentle. Arousal was like a demon clawing at her, throwing her higher, further into the excessive sensations ripping around her. She needed more. She needed all of him.

Tilting her hips, she used her internal muscles to grip his thrusting shaft, to caress him, to hold him to her as he drove inside her.

“Oh yes. There. Sweet baby . . .” His voice was a hard rasp at her ear as she tightened further around him, fighting for orgasm.

He held satisfaction just out of reach, pushing inside her over and over again, his moans, his pleasure echoing at her ear as the hunger spiraled out of control.

“Please. Clint . . . I need . . .” She could feel perspiration
building between them, sealing them together as he drove inside her.

“Are you mine? Answer me, Morganna. . . .” His deep voice was desperate, agonized.

Her chest clenched with the pain in his voice, the hunger and need he only loosed when the limits of his own control had been breached. And his limits had been breached.

Morganna arched beneath him, lifting closer, tilting her hips, and pushing her buttocks closer to the stalk of heated flesh pushing into her.

“Answer me. . . .” He was close; she could feel the hard, fierce throb of his flesh inside her, the hunger that beat beneath the silk-covered steel.

“Answer me now. . . .” His hand moved from her hips, tunneling beneath her body, his fingers rasping over the swollen bud of her clitoris.

“You . . . answer me. . . .” She tossed her head, fighting to hold on to her last measure of common sense. She was so close to giving in to him, to giving him what he needed, forgetting what she needed.

His thrusts became harder, delving past delicate tissue, stretching it to reveal hidden nerve endings, stroking them, sending brilliant bursts of light to explode at the edge of her vision as her orgasm grew closer.

His fingers rubbed around her clit, stimulating the already violently sensitive bundle of nerves as he pushed her past the brink of hunger into desperation, greed. If she didn’t come she was going to die. She was going to explode; she would never hold on to the last measure of her heart if he succeeded.

“Be mine, Morganna,” he groaned, his voice rough. “Sweet Morganna. . .”

She screamed as his fingers trapped her clit, milked the engorged flesh.

“Answer me!” he snarled, his hips moving faster, his breathing harsh. “Now. Tell me, Morganna. Sweet God, tell me. . . .”

“Yes!” she screamed out her answer. “As much yours as you are mine.”

His fingers firmed. His strokes gained in depth and in rhythm. Smooth, hard strokes as his hand moved farther between her thighs, two hard fingers fucking into her pussy as the pad of his palm rasped her clit and the thick, hard intrusion in her anus began to swell, to throb.

Release came as a cataclysm that tore through her senses. Aided by the deep, heated jets of his semen spurting into her and the rough growls of desperate male satisfaction against her ear.

Pleasure consumed her entire body, whipped through nerve endings and cells, threw her past sanity and reality, and flung her into a realm of ecstasy she couldn’t have believed possible. One she knew she would never know again without Clint.

He was reborn in her. Clint fought to find his breath, to find control that had been lost the minute he sank inside the heated depths of Morganna. The ultimate intimacy, the ultimate trust. And he was lost in her.

She was lax beneath him as he slowly withdrew from her, collapsing beside her as he struggled to breathe. His lungs labored to adjust to the sensations racing through his body—fuck that, his soul. She was touching him. Each time he touched her, each time he took her, she came away with another part of his spirit.

“This is dangerous,” he panted, facedown on the bed, boneless, so weak he couldn’t lift his middle finger if they were attacked at that moment.

“No, it’s not,” she muttered. “I’m dead already.”

A grunt of laughter pulsed from him, unbidden, involuntary. She could do that to him, make him laugh whether he wanted to or not.

“We’re going to kill each other at this rate.” He lifted his arm lazily, activating the mechanism that released the cuffs
at her wrists. The rattle of the chain against the headboard assured him she was free. But she didn’t move.

His hand touched her shoulder, smoothed back to her raised hips. Her skin was like silk, heated silk.

“We need to take a shower.” He forced himself to speak when he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Morganna’s irritated little mumble had a smile quirking at his lips.

“Come on, sugar girl.” He forced himself to sit up, staring down at her with a little smile as she rolled from the pillows that had lifted her hips to him. “We’ll shower and sleep.”

“I’m hungry,” she grumbled. “You have to feed me.”

She rolled to her back, staring up at him with smoky eyes, her expression languid, sated.

“We’ll order pizza.”

“I want Chinese.” A little frown probed at her brow.

He had an odd desire to roll his eyes at her.

“Fine. I’ll order myself pizza and you Chinese.” He shrugged as he stood up beside the bed.

“I might want a piece of pizza, too.” A smile quirked at her swollen lips.

“Minx.” He pulled her from the bed, swatting at her very delectable rear as she padded past him. “Shower. We’ll argue food later.”

“I don’t argue,” she murmured as she glanced at him over her shoulder, a provocative little wink making his cock twitch. “I win.”

How did she do it? She should have been angry, furious with him. He had forced acknowledgment that she belonged to him without giving anything in return. Without giving her what he knew himself. That he did belong to her. But she wasn’t angry. She was . . . herself. Giving. Confident. A complete enigma to him.

It didn’t matter how many different ways he asserted his hold on Morganna or how many times she submitted to his touch and his hunger; Clint found himself more owned than owning. And he’d be damned if she acted like a submissive. The only problem with that was the fact that instead of dulling his needs, her defiance kept him challenged, kept him hungry.

She kept him, period. He couldn’t remember a time in his sexual life that a woman had sustained his interest past the first few days. Of course, he should have been prepared for it. Morganna had been his greatest sexual fantasy for more years than he was comfortable admitting to. She held a part of him no other woman ever had, and that terrified the shit out of him. That fear of her hold over him was only growing. How was he supposed to walk away later when each day her hold on him only grew stronger?

“Mmm, want a bite?”

He stared down at her, where she reclined against his back, wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts, as she lifted a bit of her Moo Goo Gai Pan to her shoulders and stared back at him.

“It’s really good.” She waggled her brows comically as he leaned forward and took the bite of chicken and mushroom that she held out to him.

So close, her eyes seemed to be filled with small starlights, glittering, gleaming, within a dark gray velvet backdrop. A small smile tugged at her lips and he knew the emotion he saw in her eyes. The very same emotion he had hidden from for ten long years.

“Very good,” he agreed before leaning back and enjoying the feel of her resting against his naked chest.

She was soft, relaxed. The overabundance of silken waves that fell from her head flowed over one of his arms and reminded him of the warmth he had dreamed of whenever he dreamed of her.

“Reno hates Chinese food,” she said as she went back to the carton of food. “Steak and potatoes all the way for my brother.”

Clint played with a curl of hair as he thought of all the times he and Reno had dreamed of a potato, let alone the steak, on some of the hair-raising missions they had been sent on. Missions on which the thought of a steak urged Reno home and the thought of Morganna urged Clint back.

“ ’Nother bite?” She lifted the chopsticks and he leaned forward, taking it slowly.

He should be running like hell and he knew it. He should jump out of the bed, dress, and get drunk enough to ignore the fever raging in his blood. And he would, if he weren’t so damned relaxed. If every bone and muscle he possessed weren’t just comfortable where they were. Supporting the bundle of dynamite that lounged languorously against him.

“Why did you go into law enforcement, Morganna?” Clint was almost surprised as the question slid past his lips.

The chopsticks paused above the carton as he felt her take a deep breath.

“I wanted to make a difference, too,” she said quietly. “I hated secretarial work. Waitressing sucked. Law enforcement was there. And it taught me how to beat up on big, muscley guys.” She shot him a smile over her shoulder.

“Reno’s not going to be happy when he finds out. If Raven
had done something like that without telling me, I would have been madder than hell.” Or would he? Somehow, he wasn’t so certain.

“No. You would have been hurt,” she said with a thread of regret. “And he might be hurt. But I couldn’t take the chance that he would pull me out of it. Or that you would.”

And he would have; there was no doubt.

“I think of you sometimes when we’re on a mission,” he said, his brain seemingly disconnected from his common sense. “I think of you safe and warm, your eyes bright because you’re mad at me, or because you’re wanting me. I wouldn’t have pulled you out because I was pissed. I would have done it because the thought of you hurt . . . upsets me.”

The thought of her hurt destroyed him.

Silence filled the bedroom for long moments. The lights were low, the food scattered around the heavy wooden tray they had placed it on at Morganna’s side.

“I can’t be a pretty little doll that you and Reno take down from the shelf to admire or pick at when you have time to come home,” she said, though there was no heat, no ire, in her tone. “The house is dark and empty, and now that Raven’s married and she and Reno are trying to start a family, her time is limited as well. I need a life, Clint.”

“You could have married. Had babies.” He had voiced the same argument once before, while they were fighting, while they were hurting.

“The man sleeping in my bed wouldn’t have been you. The babies on my hip wouldn’t have been yours.” She shrugged easily. “You shouldn’t marry and have children if you can’t commit all of yourself to that family. I couldn’t do that with another man.”

She made his chest tight, made his throat sting with the lump of emotion threatening to strangle him.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he finally said. “That’s why I stayed away, Morganna. That’s why I was cruel, why I tried to make you hate me. I don’t want you to cry over me.”

“Eh, hell, Clint, it’s too late for that.” Her laughter was easy, if tinted with regret. “We take one day at a time, right? When you have to leave, I promise I won’t cry.”

She turned her head to stare back at him as he watched her in confusion.

“At least not while I’m looking?” he asked as he let his fingertips run down her cheek.

Her eyes sparkled with a glimmer of laughter. And how the hell she could be happy right now, he didn’t know. But she was, and, he admitted, he was as well. Right here, with her in his arms.

“Yeah.” She finally nodded. “Not while you’re looking.”

She turned back then, digging into her food with gusto as he lifted his beer from the bedside table and drank from it.

“Here. This is good.” She lifted a spring roll dipped in duck sauce and leaned forward for a bite.

“I didn’t really care much for the Academy,” she said then. “I’ve enjoyed working with Joe, though. And I spent a few months in intelligence gathering here in Atlanta. Processing the information that came in from the agents and fitting it with reports from informants and so forth.”

“So why did you take this assignment?” He couldn’t believe he had placed so much distance between them that he hadn’t even known what she was doing.

He had suspected for years she was up to something he wouldn’t like, but to investigate, to delve into it, meant getting involved. Getting involved meant this. While they ate in his bed, Morganna curled against his chest, sinking further into his soul.

“Because I was the only one in place for what they needed. And it mattered,” she whispered. “What they’re doing to those women . . . Women I socialized with, that I had laughed with. It was too much.”