BEAST: A Bad Boy Marine Romance (4 page)

G
uilt
from my initial reaction to his injuries tormented me.

At first I was determined not to stare at his face, horrified that he’d be insulted by my reaction. But the second his face came into focus, I held back a sob, and a lump grew in my throat.

The right side of his face was mangled, taut raw flesh accented with blue and red scars. His jaw was uneven, and his right eyelid slumped, filled with what must’ve been a glass eye. The remnant of his ear was dappled and twisted. But the other half of his face was clean-shaven, handsome and rugged—a bright turquoise eye, strong chin, black hair shorn in a Marine Corps high and tight haircut.

Flashes filled my brain, stored images I must’ve retained from newsreels and graphic war movies. Had it been a roadside bomb? An outmanned firefight? Some type of chemical attack? I wouldn’t ask him. For now, I was content with the trust he had shown me by unveiling his scars.

“I guess I should’ve gone to the party as Two-Face,” he said, his voice somber.

“No, you’re beautiful. You make a sexy Hulk.” I caressed his face, my fingers tracing its divots. “Plus, then you’d be DC, and I’d be Marvel. We would’ve never had a chance.”

He let out a small laugh, but flinched at my touch. “You’ve seen me now. You’re free to go.”

This was my chance to end this night safely and in control.

Or I could get wild—do what I’d only ever read about in my books.

Cut loose.

I’d always admired those women who owned their sexuality, like Marisol. Indulged in pleasure without any guilt or shame. I wondered what it would be like to live in the moment.

I was picky, but I still had needs, and right now I needed some action—and sadly these days the warm glow from my eReader was about the closest that I felt to having any heat radiating on my body. But even the artificial afterglow of one hot night with my latest romance hero did little to warm my heart. After all, I hadn’t hooked up with a guy since winter break. I missed everything about being around men—their masculine scents, their non-subtle eye fucks, their rough hands. At least my book boyfriends were gorgeous, witty, and incredible lovers—but most importantly, they wanted more from their heroines than just a one-night stand.

And I was sure this man wasn’t looking for anything more than a hookup.

Isa, put on your clothes and get the hell out of here. This is not you. You are responsible, conservative, and goal-oriented.

Faced with the opportunity to indulge in my fantasy of hot, wild sex with a hunky alpha male, I had to admit that the reality of the situation made me realize how rigid I’d always been.

But somewhere deep in my soul I wanted to lose myself in this damaged man, give him pleasure to alleviate his pain, experience ecstasy and release.

And maybe he could heal me too.

The heat between us rose, and I erased the distance between us, like two magnets being drawn together.

I traced his face with my fingers, running the tips over his lips. Rough, wild, and dangerous. As he remained still, my hands explored his incredible body—rock-hard muscles, deeply embedded scars, and intricate ink. All making him look like the sexiest badass alive.

He bit his bottom lip, his pupil dilated.

Hungry.

Ravenous.

Intense.

His chest heaved, and the sight of this raw, ferocious man before me sent a shock between my legs. I ached for him to relieve the tension that consumed my body.

I pressed my palm onto his chest, the green body paint staining my hand. “I want to stay. I want you.”

Damn, did I just say that?
My words betrayed my will.

The left side of his mouth widened into a grin, although his right side remained frozen in time. With one arm, he clutched my ass and wrapped my legs around his waist. I gasped as his mouth covered mine. His lips were neither soft nor sweet—they were hard and hungry. The length of his cock and the hair on his chest let me know that, unlike my previous boyish lovers, I was about to be fucked by a real man.

There was no turning back. I needed this Marine inside me in the worst way.

His kisses were out of control. I’d never been kissed like this before, like I was an oasis in the middle of the desert. His mouth tasted minty and hot, and his manliness intoxicated me. He awoke a latent desire in me, summoning my inner wildcat. I kissed him back, kissed him everywhere. His mouth, his lips, his neck, his scars. My hands explored his insanely ripped body, stroking him like he was my personal sex toy. I gripped his hair and dug my nails into his back, kneading him closer to me, never wanting to let him go.

I’d always been the good girl, living vicariously through my friends’ hookups, only indulging in my fantasies in the safety of my mind. Whether it was from a place of fear or control, I had never allowed myself to fulfill my desires. But tonight, with this nameless sex god in my grasp, I made a silent vow to not hold anything back. I was going to let him fuck me like it was the last night of the world.

He shoved my ass on the countertop as his hands worked their way down my body, his mouth suckling on my nipples. A moan escaped my lips. I could feel my pulse beat in my core, and the thought of his hot tongue working its magic between my legs was almost enough to make me orgasm. I arched my back as his fingers teased my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit.

“Oh, yes,” I moaned. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He groaned and dropped to his knees, his lips teasing me, showering my warm, wet flesh with kisses. He pushed his finger, first one, then two, deeper inside me, twisting and turning, and I gasped. I ran my fingers through his hair, wanting more of him, more of his tongue, more of his fingers. One wicked glance up at me, and he buried his face in my pussy. Ohmigod. His tongue danced around me, licking me into a frenzy as sensations of bliss pulsed through my body. Glancing down at this sex god going to town on me, my legs now wrapped around his neck, I felt so naughty. I didn’t even know this guy’s name, so why did he feel so right?

“I’m gonna lick you until you come all over my face, baby.”

Ahh. His tongue worked its magic against my clit. A rush of pleasure coiled in my core, rising and falling, desperate for release. My pussy throbbed and a wave of ecstasy exploded through my body, the sweet freedom making my body tremble.

He looked up at me, as he slowly stood up, his one eye hungry with desire. I kissed his neck, careful to give his wounds extra attention. I wanted to take my time, explore every inch of his body. It would take me a lifetime to memorize it, but I might only have this one night. I kissed his chest, lavishing love on his nipples. I massaged his hard flesh, all the while studying the scars and tattoos on his muscular frame.

What was his story? Where was he from? What had happened to him?

I licked my way down all eight sections of his abs to his happy trail before dropping to my knees. His shorts were still on, so I unbuckled his belt, pushed down his boxers, and his huge cock stood at full attention. Wow, it was beautiful—thick, long, and harder than concrete.

I took a moment to look up into his eye and smile. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t taking pity on him—I wanted this, I wanted him. He was the hottest man I’d ever seen, and the scars only made him sexier to me.

He bit his lip and ran his fingers through my hair. My mouth opened and my lips created a seal around his cock, and he let out a heavy grunt. I licked the head and did my best to take him deep. I’d never really enjoyed giving blowjobs, even though I’d wanted to please my ex-boyfriends. But pleasuring the man standing above me, his sculpted body naked for my eyes only . . . for the first time in my life I truly appreciated how sexy this act was. How giving him this pleasure might take away even a small bit of his pain.

He groaned and his eyes hooded. “That’s it, baby. Suck me hard.”

I obeyed his command, locking my eyes with his. I took him deeper, sucked harder, my hand wrapped around the shaft. I needed to give him pleasure, make him need me.

I wanted to taste his hot cum in my mouth, but he pushed me off of him. I rose, never losing his gaze. He threw me over his back like he was some caveman and I was his possession, opened his bedroom door, and tossed me down on the bed.

He reached for a condom, ripped open its package, and rolled it on his cock. I touched his hand. I had so many questions, but before I could open my mouth, his body hovered over me. He asked me if I was sure and I gave him an affirmative nod and a breathless yes. He exhaled one deep breath, parted my thighs and slid inside me, setting my every nerve on fire. He grabbed my hips and pushed deeper. I was so wet for him, my pussy clamped around his cock.

“Baby, you’re so tight.”

I moaned and he pulled out and thrust fully inside me. He pinned my hands behind my head and fucked me.

“How do you want it, baby?”

Lust had taken over my mind. I had only one goal—to completely lose myself in this moment, and have him lose himself inside me. “Hard and rough.”

“My kind of girl. Spread your legs, baby, that’s it.”

He pushed my legs back so my knees were near my neck. I arched my back and he thrust harder, faster, rougher, my pussy stretching to take him, take him deep. His left hand clutched my ass, pulling me into him, ensuring my clit received the indirect stimulation that I craved.

“So fucking sweet. Show me how much you want me.”

And I did. I writhed under him, working my hips, rocking back and forth for him, like I was performing an intimate dance just for him.

“That’s it, baby. Take me deep.” He squeezed my hand and pumped deeper, rubbing my nipples. He was so huge I was astounded that I wasn’t in pain, but I was loving every to-the-hilt second of him being inside me.

He released my hands, pulled me up so we were facing each other, and wrapped my legs around his waist. His mouth sucked on my tits, and I almost came again, but he slowed the pace, edging me like I’d only read about in my romance books. “Not yet, sweetheart. You don’t come until I say you come. Ride me now; don’t hold back.”

My hips swiveled around his cock, my clit rubbing against him. My ecstasy came in waves, but every time I was close he somehow managed to change his pace, not allowing me to go over the edge, to end this moment.

He slapped my ass and pulled my hair. “God, you’re so fucking sexy. Good girl. Do you want to come?”

“Yes.” I ground deeper into his body, savoring his touch, his silent intensity, his beautiful cock. I was so wet, so hot, every cell in my body bouncing in euphoria.

“Say it. Tell me what you want.”

“Make me come.”

Mouth on my nipples, he grasped my hips in both hands and pounded me down on his cock, finally setting me free. I let out a scream as he held me close, rocking my body through my orgasm. A final deep thrust and he let out a guttural groan. Then I collapsed in his arms.

We cuddled for a few minutes, our bodies intertwined in the now green-stained sheets. The silence was awkward; I didn’t know what to say. Despite my assurances to myself that I could handle this random hookup, a wave of guilt crashed down on me. I couldn’t believe I just had sex with this man.

I didn’t even know his name.

I wondered what this naked man next to me was thinking.

My fingers traced the scar on his shoulder. “What’s your name?” I whispered.

“Grady,” he said in a low tone.

Grady? Holy shit! As in Grady Williams? The war hero? I’d read a magazine article about him. He couldn’t be. But Grady wasn’t a common name.

I popped up in bed and stared down at him. “You’re Grady ‘The Beast’ Williams? The youngest living Medal of Honor recipient?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ay dios mío!

There had been a before picture of him in the magazine and I remembered thinking he was so handsome, but I hadn’t recognized him tonight underneath all his scars.

“Oh my god! You’re a hero. My dad’s, like, obsessed with you.” So obsessed, in fact, that my father dreamed of writing Grady’s war memoir. My mind raced, trying to recall all the details of the article I’d read. Grady was legendary. This badass had thrown his body on a hand grenade to save his friends’ lives.

He rolled away from me, and sat up on the side of his bed. I sat next to him and noticed his hand was shaking. “I’m not a hero. I was just doing my job. Fucking bullshit that I was given an award to remember the worst day of my life.”

This guy blew my mind. “Are you kidding me? You saved the lives of your friends—you could’ve died. You threw yourself on a
grenade
, Grady. How are you not a hero?”

“Anyone would’ve done it.”

Um, okay. Not true. Hell, my old dance partner once used my body as a shield because he didn’t want to get wet in the Splash Zone at SeaWorld. Worse yet, he split the second my life fell apart.

“So that’s why you freaked out back there?”

I wanted to feel something, connect on more than a physical level. I’d always been fascinated with warriors—I’d written a paper for my classics course on “The Ancient Greek Hero”—it was about time to get to know the modern version.

He didn’t reply, not that I expected him to, and instead stood and walked into the bathroom. I heard the water turn on and I lay back down, paralyzed in bed.

I’d just been fucked by the man the press hailed as “America’s Bravest Beast.”

I
scrubbed
the green body makeup off my chest, the saccharine sweet aroma filling the shower—at least it smelled better than the coppery scent of blood. I flashed back again to that night, the image of my buddy’s brains strewn on cammies before my body imploded. No matter how many fucking therapy appointments I had, no matter how many bottles of vodka I drank, no matter how many girls I fucked, every time I closed my eyes, I was right back in Iraq.

Black Widow, AKA Isa, however, had done something that no girl had done since I’d been back. She didn’t abandon me after one of my episodes. In fact, she chased me down to make sure I was okay.

I was shocked she ran after me. Her presence calmed me down faster than I normally would have had I been alone.

I never realized how much I needed someone to care about me.

After forty surgeries, flat-lining twice, and excruciating rehab, I definitely had my share of freak-outs. Fireworks, of course, were an obvious trigger, but lesser things set me off too. The sound of dogs baying in the night, the scent of diesel, the crush of a huge crowd. After a few too many flashbacks, my ex-girlfriend flipped out, packed her bags, and left without looking back. Fuck that bitch. All those nights in the hospital, dreaming about her, and she left me the second she could conjure up an excuse. But I knew the truth—it wasn’t because of my nightmares, it was because she couldn’t stand to be dating a circus freak. Her new boyfriend was one of those collegiate pretty-boy types—lean body, shaggy hair, looked like he could be an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He could blend in at her country clubs, where I’d always stand out like a mutant.

But I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to deal with my problems. Even in
Beauty and the Beast
, at the end the Beast turns into a prince. I would always remain a one-eyed jackass.

I stepped out of the shower. By now, I’d given Isa enough time to flee the scene of the crime. No matter how she tried to hide it, I saw her look of disgust when she saw my face. And this girl had recognized my name—she’d definitely find an excuse to bail.

Back in the bedroom, I was shocked to find her still naked, curled in a ball on my bed. I’d expected her to already be dressed, phone and keys in hand, ready to make an exit.

She was so fucking hot and I’d seen her somewhere before, but I couldn’t remember where, which wasn’t surprising with my memory loss. Looked like an angel—well, the Victoria’s Secret kind. Her long hair cascaded around her chest, the wisps barely covering her nipples. Her green eyes were the color of kryptonite, and her tanned skin was completely smooth. And her body—full, natural breasts, tiny waist, and a tight, round booty.

I recognized her, but where the fuck from?

Before my injuries, I never forgot a face, which was why I knew I would’ve made an excellent scout sniper, my dream job. But I would never qualify anymore. This facial recognition didn’t even do me any good either.

Her pupils appeared dilated and she pulled at her hair. “Hey.”

Yup, she was definitely looking for a reason to bail. “Hey. I’m going to drive you home.” I walked over to my dresser, threw on some boxer briefs, gray sweatpants, and a T-shirt.

Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, okay. I hoped I could hang out for a bit.”

Kickass. Maybe I’d read her wrong and she was up for another round. Maybe she even could look past my face. “Okay. You want some pizza?”

She hopped out of bed, and I stared at her naked ass as she walked into the bathroom. This chick was fine as all hell. She looked like a movie star—she definitely didn’t want to date a guy who looked like the Terminator.

When she came out of the bathroom, I handed her a T-shirt of mine, hoping that when she finally grew sick of looking at me, she’d leave it behind and her scent could comfort me for a few days.

God, when did I become so fucking pathetic?

That was easy—the night my face was blown up.

She went into the living room, slipped on her panties, and sat down on the sofa.

I warmed up some slices of Round Table pizza. The silence was awkward. I shouldn’t have told her my fucking name. Now she’d probably interrogate me and I’d have to relive that night. Not that I could ever forget it—it played on an endless loop in my head.

I sat down next to her and handed her a plate.

Her lips widened into a smile. “Thanks. So, just wanted to tell you not to worry about what happened at the party. I’m a psych major, and I want to apply for a doctoral program in clinical psychology after I graduate. I’m a really good listener if you want to talk.”

Great. I fucked a shrink. Well, a future shrink. This chick wanted to lay me down on a sofa and instead of riding my cock, force me to confess my deepest sins. Most women tried to fix men anyway, but this woman was going to school for that shit. I didn’t need her to pity me.

“I’m good. Talking never solves anything.”

She pursed her lips, and I turned away when I caught her staring at my face. “I disagree.”

My breathing accelerated, and I could feel my pulse quicken. “Yeah? Well, you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. All the shrinks I’ve met do nothing but try to numb me on drugs. This one jackass told me that I should just get over my friend dying, treat his death like a bad breakup with a girlfriend. Fuck that dude. I have shrapnel from my buddy’s skull embedded in my neck and my fucking psychiatrist thinks I should just get the fuck over it?”

She inched over to me on the sofa and placed a cautious hand on my thigh. I liked the way she touched me. She stroked my forearm, and I imagined her stroking my cock.

“Your therapist was clearly incompetent. But there are treatments that work,” she said, her tone warm and soothing. “I just read a study that Transcendental Meditation really helps people with PTSD.”

“Sounds like some quack hippy bullshit to me.” I glared at her. “Fucking you was the best therapy I’ve had in months.”

She bit her lip and removed her hand from my thigh.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Man, I shouldn’t have said that. My grandma would whip my ass if she ever heard me talk to a girl like that. These days I’d lost my impulse control. The sooner Isa realized that I’d become a complete asshole, the sooner she would leave.

But I wanted her to stay.

“It’s okay.”

We finished our food in silence.

“So are you getting out of the Marines?”

“I don’t want to, but I’m pretty fucked up, so I’ll probably get forced out—it’s for the best. I don’t wanna be some fucking POG stuck at a desk, a twenty-year staff sergeant.”

Her brow crinkled. “I don’t understand. What’s a POG? I thought you were a sergeant?”

I’d forgotten how to talk to civilians. “Person Other than Grunt. I am a sergeant. I meant that being a scout sniper was the only thing I ever wanted to do. I’d been selected for sniper course, but because I lost my eye, I’m ineligible. So I’m nothing but a grunt.”

Grunt, that’s who I was.

A warrior.

A motherfucking beast.

“Oh. Well, you can do anything now. You’re a hero. Go to college, go on one of those cheesy reality shows, write a war memoir . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Fuck that. Why was everyone nagging me to go to college? I wasn’t a dumbass, and I didn’t need a goddam degree to prove that I was smart.

I hated reality television. My buddies gave their lives for our freedom and no one remembered their names. Yet these asshat celebrities posted selfies of themselves licking donuts and wearing American flags and were treated like gods.

As for writing a book, that sounded worse than therapy. I never wanted to be a public figure. The last thing I wanted to do was to have the details of my fucked up childhood exposed for the whole world to read.

“I’m not cut out for college because I can’t remember shit with my brain injury. And actually, a producer asked me to be on that dumbass dance show—
Dancing under the Stars
. I guess every year they try to get some fucked up vet to compete, to balance out all the fame whores. I told him I’d rather go back to Iraq.”

She closed her eyes for a second, a pained look on her face. “Don’t blame you. I hate that show. It’s so fake.”

Her tone sounded bitter, but it was refreshing to meet a girl who didn’t seem to be obsessed with celebrities.

“And I’ve had several agents and writers hassling me about writing a book, but I can’t write and I don’t trust anyone with my story. So that’s never going to happen.”

Her mouth gaped, as if she wanted to say something else, but instead she just took another sip of her beer.

This sucked. I didn’t want some chick telling me what to do, trying to inspire me. I yearned to take care of a woman, have her need me, not the other way around. “Why do you want to be a shrink? You must be pretty messed up—all the shrinks I’ve met had some serious issues.”

She shifted in her seat and stared toward my balcony. “My mom died four years ago. I went through a really rough time, so studying psychology helped me.”

Fuck, I was being a complete dick. I wasn’t used to people being this open with me. Most girls just blew smoke up my ass. Even so, Isa clearly saw me as a project, someone to fix. Not as an equal. Not as a man. Definitely not as potentially her man.

“Sorry about your mom. My dad left before I was born, and then my mom abandoned me—I haven’t seen her in years, though she must think I’m rich because she keeps trying to contact me ever since I got my medal. My grandparents raised me.”

She nodded, and I could almost see her mind racing, creating some kind of psychological profile of me, pieced together from her knowledge of my actions that led to my Medal of Honor, the flashback she witnessed, my scarred face and body, and the brief tidbits I’d just offered.

Enough. This session was over.

I turned on the TV, landing on a channel airing the Country Music Awards. I didn’t want to talk anymore, but I didn’t want her to leave.

I never wanted to go out anymore—I’d become a recluse, holed up in my own world, alone with my demons. I’d only left tonight because I could go in costume, and look how that turned out.

Even so, I felt comfort in sharing our silence. After a few more songs, I knocked back my beer and knelt in front of her.

I lifted the T-shirt off of her body and just stared at her, sitting on my sofa in nothing but her black lace panties. Her cheeks were flushed; her breasts were soft and round, real. Her nipples looked like ripe cherries.

Her gaze focused on my face. She reached her hand out to touch my skin, and I recoiled.

“No, let me look at you,” she whispered.

Fuck it; I wanted to get laid again, so I’d do whatever it took. If she wanted to examine me like some sort of circus side-stage attraction, I’d let her. Her soft fingertips traced my flesh, the charred remains of my ear, my scarred body.

“Can you see well? I mean, is your vision okay?”

“I see perfectly. I see your soft lips, I see your hard nipples, I see your trimmed pussy.”

Her face turned pink. Guess she wasn’t used to a man talking to her like that.

Enough of this bullshit. My hand grasped her neck, and our mouths met, my tongue probing her mouth. She made the sweetest little groan—less of a sigh, more like a purr. My cock became even harder, and my mouth focused on her nipples. I took one into my mouth, sucking, teasing, and my hand worked its way down her incredible body. Her belly was taut yet soft. I pressed on the fabric of her panties, her warm flesh slick with wetness.

A wicked smile graced her face, and she spread her legs wide, so fucking wide I was impressed. She was flexible as fuck. My mind filled with images, thousands of different positions I could fuck her in. I quenched that thought—this would probably be just another one-night stand.

But the night was not over yet. I rubbed her clit, and she writhed under my hand but kept her eyes focused on my face. Why? Why would she want to look at me? Did it get her off to examine my wounds? I didn’t need a pity fuck. I flipped her on the sofa and pulled her panties off.

She gasped but pressed her ass backwards.

“Don’t fucking move.” I sprinted to retrieve another condom.

When I returned, she was in the same position—her curvaceous booty propped right up in the air. She gave me a coy glance over her shoulder.

I resumed my post, slapped her ass, and pumped my cock into her slick slit. Man, she felt incredible—wet, warm, tight as fuck. I kissed the back of her neck and rubbed her clit.

“Yes, ohmigod, Grady. Yes!”

I loved the way she said my name. My heart beat strong.

She let out a yelp as I drove deep inside her. I could fuck her for days. I could fuck her forever. But we might not have forever; as far as I knew we could only have tonight.

Her face flushed with pleasure. “Oh, baby, yes, just like that.”

I loved a girl who knew what she wanted. This woman moved with the grace of a dancer, her hips swiveled around me, her pussy clenched and released my cock. I pumped her hard, my hand working her pussy, desperate for her climax. Desperate for my own, the only moment when I could experience pure joy and erase my pain. Forget for a few blissful seconds who I was and what I’d seen, and what I’d done.

“Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

“Grady, oh, Grady. Yes!”

She exploded into moans, her pussy pulsating around my cock, the sensation pushing me over the edge. One deep groan and our physical connection, the moment we’d shared was over.

I pulled out, gave her a pat on her ass, and walked over to the trash to throw the condom away.

I wanted her to sleep beside me, but I was afraid that I would scare her, wake her in the night with my screams, or even worse, choke her in my sleep. As much as I wanted to find someone to take care of, someone who could learn to love me, I couldn’t risk endangering her.

And it went deeper than that. Even my closest friends weren’t aware of all the dark stuff that existed in my mind. If Isa ever learned how clearly fucked up I was, she’d want nothing to do with me.

I wanted so much for a woman to truly see me—as a sexy man, as a protector, as her true love.