21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (26 page)

The feathery glide of his lips against her skin filled her mind with the most provocative images. Her imagination didn’t need a lot of encouragement to feel his breath against her thighs, or the hard heat of his muscles stroking her body. Her nipples tightened, almost painfully, and she wanted to weep for the emotion sweeping through her.

The fear tumbled free, smashed by the excitement lancing through her. She wanted him to touch her. The lust gleaming in his eyes said he wanted to touch her.

He paused, almost considering. His gaze skated around the room. She didn’t know what he saw when he looked at her studio with its wild variety of statues and sculptures in various states of completion.

“What are you looking for?” She couldn’t quite mask the breathless anticipation in her voice or the impatience surging through her. Her sex clenched, dampness moistening her thighs. This close to such utter perfection and she was ready to explode from want.

“A bed,” he murmured. “Or something that isn’t filled with sharp tools that would damage your perfect skin.”

Oh
.

He thought she was perfect. Tears flooded her eyes and she lowered her arms slowly and held out a hand. “Come with me.”

Threading her fingers with his, she pivoted slowly on one foot and half-skipped, half-danced through the shadows cast by the overhead lights. She guided him through her workspace to the room hidden by an oriental divider. She spent so much time in her studio, she’d installed a bed where she could pass out when the muse let her go. Anticipation curled through her, chasing away the sudden surge of old doubts.

The oversized double mattress was hardly big enough for Brody. The tangle of sheets was all jersey cotton and she’d forgotten to make it again. She turned toward him and he crowded into her until the back of her knees touched the edge. Pulling her hands up to his chest, he flattened her palms against the flexing muscles, guiding her hands with easy strokes, letting her fingers trace the lines of his chest. His heart beat a steady cadence and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

He seemed to be as affected by their touching as she was. She swallowed convulsively, aching with so many different emotions, and she didn’t know how to give voice to them all.

“Shannon?” The gentle, sweeping word teased and comforted her. The absolute gentleness carried no hint of judgment and released a wave of tenderness in her breast.

Warmth teased her skin as the length of his body pressed close to hers, not quite touching. She basked in the heat, the slow understanding, the naked desire that he made no show of hiding, or the patience that shook off the last, lingering doubt.

She wasn’t that girl anymore. She had the control, it didn’t matter how much he wanted her. He wasn’t doing a damn thing unless she told him to do it. He’d given his pleasure into her hands and from the wide, thick size of his cock, his want was apparent. But he only stroked his body with her hands, doing exactly what she’d told him to do.

“Why not your cock?” She asked the question, blushing at the boldness obvious in her words.

“Because I’m worried that I’ll come all over you if I let you stroke me.”

She loved his rippling muscles beneath her fingers. She could study their shape for hours, but the easy confession of his own precarious state had her pulling her hands from his. She took his face in her hands. Despite his shaved appearance, she felt the hint of stubble on his cheeks.

Rising to her tiptoes, she guided his face down to hers and whispered, “Kiss me.” Their lips brushed together, once, twice, three times and then his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue gliding in and demanding entrance. She parted her lips under his, clinging to him while their tongues tangled.

She slid her hands up to smooth over his close-cropped hair. The cut tickled and tingled against her palms. She surrendered to the need to touch him and stepped into him, electricity bloomed through her as her nipples brushed his chest and his stiff erection thrummed against her belly.

He tasted so wildly, intensely masculine that she barely noticed the undercurrents of coffee, or the light dinner they shared. All she tasted was Brody, and she moaned his name into his mouth.

The delicious moment filled her with a confidence she’d never experienced and when she broke the kiss, they both panted heavily. His eyelids were lowered, drowsy with passion, and his firm lips curved into the sexiest smile.

“Make love to me,” she beckoned. “Touch me.”

Brody held onto his control by the thinnest of strings. Watching her take back her own power through control was the most arousing thing he’d ever experienced. Imagining his cock sliding into the vise of her sex had him on the cusp of blowing. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t sure he could hold out against the stroke of her fingers, not after nearly losing it to the single brush of her fingertip along his head.

But this wasn’t about him. He’d given the entire night to her and his pleasure stoked hotter because of the woman blooming in his arms. She tasted of coffee, sweet cinnamon, and a spice so feminine that it provoked every male instinct he had to claim her.

The rapid beat of her pulse, the quiver in her words, even the hesitation in her smoldering eyes told him that as titillated as she was, the power he gave her was as frightening as it was intoxicating. So she was giving it back, through her orders.

Brody slid his hands down to cup her sweet little ass and then he lifted her, driving himself crazy by stroking her body up the length of his. He deposited her on the bed, following her down and catching himself on one arm. He teased the line of her jaw and then swept down to one breast, sucking the hard little nipple into his mouth.

Her skin was a wild contrast of petal softness and pebbled hardness. Her fingers clutched his head, but he refused to hurry. He transferred his attention to her other breast, teasing the hard little nipple with light grazes of his teeth until she began to roll underneath him. His body throbbed, begging him to bury himself in the sweet, little sex. He traced his lips down her belly, pressing a kiss to the ridge of curls before delving deeper.

She was wet with need and the musk of it filled his mind with erotic images of hot, wet, mind-blowing sex. Wildness filled him along with the urge to flip her over and pound out the desperate need for release crawling through him. He wanted to pick her up and settle her on his cock and encourage her to ride him into oblivion.

He wanted to slam her against a wall.

He wanted to take her on the floor.

Every position flashed through his mind as his fingers parted her damp lips, and the heady scent of her arousal filled his lungs. She rose up to her elbows, her mouth parted as she stared at him. Their eyes met and he leaned forward to draw his tongue up the length of her slit.

Her head fell back and she cried out, the response so raw, naked and primal, he refused to tease her any further. She wanted him to make love to her. Pushing a hand under each thigh, he pressed her wider so he could delve his tongue between the folds.

Her muscles clamped, flexing and pushing back at him, but he held her firm and took her sweet little clit into his mouth. She moved under his mouth, her ass grinding against the bed. Three firm flicks of his tongue and she exploded. He drew away, slipping his finger along the labia until he could stroke her clit gently, petting her through the orgasm. He drank in the image of her, her curls tumbling free as her head rubbed against the sheets.

As she finally stilled and looked up at him, her amber eyes warm with release and passion, he slid his finger away and put it to his lips. She tasted so fucking sweet. Her mouth opened and he saw the tension beginning to coil in her. She reached out, but he evaded, backing up quickly to dart into the other room. He’d never moved so fast in his life when he grabbed his jeans and jerked a condom from the pocket.

He was back in record time, unrolling the latex over his aching cock. She was up on her elbows, her face softening at his return. He wasted no time in covering her orgasm-loose body with his. He dove down to capture the smile on her lips in a kiss. She responded, her tongue gliding out to meet his. The abandon with which she gripped him was his undoing. Shannon had no idea what control she really had over him, and he realized it only in the moment that his patience snapped.

He devoured her mouth, shifting his hands down to lift her hips, positioning her. He broke the kiss and grasped his cock to guide it to her slick entrance and pressed forward slowly. Desire flooded her expression and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. But she didn’t close her eyes as he pushed his way into the silken, hot glove of her sex, the muscles clenching him so fiercely he thought he would explode.

She was so damn tight.

Inch by inch, he worked into her sex. Because no matter what her experiences were before, she was tighter than any virgin he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting, and they all paled in comparison to the wild, wanton rising to meet him. She nodded her head as though giving him the assent he needed. Bracing her hips, he pulled back and thrust in, deeper and deeper. Her legs rose to lock around him.

He wanted to make it last, but his body had other ideas, especially when she thrashed up to meet him, pelvis to pelvis and stroke for stroke.. His balls drew tight and when she let out a moan that carried his name, he jerked convulsively against the hard fisting of her sex around him.

The orgasm shredded him and he collapsed slowly, careful to not crush her and then rolled, pulling her boneless, trembling body on top of him. They tangled in the sheets and the musky scent of their passion. She lifted her head drowsily and looked down at him, an almost heathen-like smile.

“How long before I can order you to do that again?”

Brody laughed.

Six Months Later

Somewhere in the Middle East

“Lieutenant, mail call.” The private dropped a small bundle on his belly and ducked back out of the dimly lit room without waiting for a response. The dry heat of the day permeated the sandstone building and if he didn’t have night patrols to run, he wouldn’t even be in his bunk. Picking up the little bundle, he stared at the return address.

Shannon
.

He grinned. The sexy little artist had turned out to be a hellion in bed. He’d spent most of his leave going back and forth between Mike’s Place and her studio. They talked. They had sex. They talked some more. And he posed for her.

When his leave was up, the hardest part had been saying goodbye. Harder still was her driving him to the airport and standing there with that wobbling smile. She didn’t cry, but he’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes. It was the first time anyone had been there to see him off and it unraveled a fierce emotion in his chest.

He forgave the guys in that moment. Forgave them for setting him up, a confession he’d wrung out of Damon after admitting he was crazy about Shannon, but didn’t want to tell her that he’d been a stand in. Apparently, they’d signed him up for Madame Eve’s 1Night Stand, but didn’t think he’d go for it. Matt, it seemed, volunteered for the ruse and he’d fallen for it.

Thank God, I did
.

Touching the envelope to his nose, he could imagine it perfumed with Shannon’s elusive spice. She wrote him religiously, mostly about her work and how excited she was. She filled every letter with so many details. He could see her working away in her studio. She was going back to Italy in three months and he had leave coming.

He was going to meet her in Florence.

Tearing the envelope open carefully, he caught the photo that fell out. The writing on the back was in Shannon’s curly, artistic scrawl and it just said, “My Marine.”

Flipping it over, he grinned.

The statue stood brazenly in the center of her studio. The man’s rugged features were definitely Brody’s. But it wasn’t just the raw naked man, but the mirror formed from dark marble that reflected a saluting Marine, field gear and all, facing the nude that undid him.

Damn right, I’m her Marine.

Semper fi
.

Always a Marine - Book 6

By

Heather Long

It was damn hot in the sandbox. In the town of Bamyan, a cluster of mud brick homes huddled together under the merciless sun. Temperatures soared close to ninety degrees, a heat wave for the region, despite the lateness of the afternoon. Jazz’s sunglasses barely filtered the blinding glare off the sand and camel-colored buildings when she and the other members of the FET or Female Engagement Team arrived in the MRAP armored fighting vehicle at dawn.

Her tan MARPATs were dusty with sand. The grit seemed to get into everything. The Bamyan province was designated a mountainous region, but it didn’t feel like one today. In addition to Jazz, her three-woman unit consisted of Mary “Stormer” Phillips and Roxanne “Roxy” Cortez. She’d written to Zach and Logan the other day that she never imagined two women more different than she, yet they’d developed an instant rapport.