Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (5 page)

His kiss was more than she could have imagined. Dizzying, yes. Mind-numbing and alluring and addicting. He tasted delicious, like mint and musk. His lips were soft and firm at the same time. And they molded to hers. He nuzzled her, a gentle exploration, but ah, it was not gentle for long. When his tongue eased in, and she met it with her own, she might as well have touched him with a live wire.

He went wild. With a groan he shifted his position and deepened the kiss, bringing his hands into play. Her skin shivered as his rough palms took her. Rampant, wild, he was everywhere. Her neck, her arms, the curve of her back. When he found her breasts, encircled them, scrubbed at a nipple with the pad of his thumb, she nearly collapsed. But she wouldn’t collapse, couldn’t. Because he was holding her up.

He continued to kiss her as he explored her. But it was more a consumption than a mere kiss. She met his intensity—strafing his back with her nails, gouging into the firm cheeks of his ass, tangling her fingers in his hair—urging him on to higher heights. It was a flurry, a frenzy, a senseless, mindless conflagration and she loved it.

When he rounded her hip, when he came close to a spot that was howling for his attention, she nearly melted.

He did not make her wait.

He leaned back and stared at her rain-splattered face and touched her. Nudged that nub, circled it. Teased it until she shook.

And holy God, it was good. He knew. He knew just what she wanted. How she needed it. He knew—

“You’re wet,” he murmured, dandling his fingers at her slick entrance.

Ah God. She was. Soaked with need. “You make me wet.” Nearly an accusation, certainly a tease.

His eyes flared. The muscles of his face tightened. He made a sound at the back of his throat, something savage and needy.

And he plunged.

Deep.

Two thick fingers

Filling her, taking her, making her whole.

It had never felt so good, this possession.

And this was not even the main event.

She tried not to come. She did not want to appear so easy. But something about this night—the wildly swinging emotions, the fear, the exhilaration, the relief and the joy of being alive…and this unruly lust—had worn down her reserve, eroded her walls. The moment took her. Simply took her.

He held her as she came. Held her and stroked her, and stoked her to further madness.

When she thought she could bear no more of such bliss, when she thought her heart might cease to patter and her lungs could no longer feed her blood, he lifted her into his arms and sat on the bench and held her as she gasped for breath, scrambled for balance.

Because what he’d done to her here and now in this wet little room had shifted her world off its foundation.

She did not know how she would recover herself.

Or if she wanted to.

Chapter Five

Mason buried his face in Pansy’s hair, drawing in the scent of her.
Good God.
What was this? This insanity? His blood was still hot, his cock at full mast. Kissing her, touching her, watching her come had been the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced.

He wanted more. Desperately needed more, but somewhere in the deep well of his soul he found a crumb of self-control.

He could not fuck her here in the shower. Like a beast.

To his surprise, his reserve had little to do with the mission, and the fact that she was his client, although that concern was hovering as well. Emotional entanglements created blind spots. They made men careless, caused them to lose sight of the big picture. And that was dangerous—for everyone involved.

No. it was much more than that. Aside from the fact that he had absolutely no protection—and what the hell had he been thinking to even go this far without it?—he could not unleash the dark desires of his soul. Not on her. She was far too fragile for that. Too delicate and fine.

And, if he were being honest, he was afraid of what she might think of him, of losing whatever regard she had for him, when she discovered the truth.

And if they continued this way…she would. He couldn’t keep it from her.

But ah, he wanted.

She stirred in his arms and peeped up at him. Her lashes were damp and speckled with raindrops. Her hair was wet and snaked over her breasts in undulating coils. He brushed it over her shoulder, and because he couldn’t resist, pressed a kiss on her collar bone. And then on the provocative dent where the fragile bones winged out.

Fragile.

She was. The thought pained him.

It also pained him that she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He hissed a breath at the pleasure, the pain her touch evoked.

“That was amazing,” she said, giving him a tug.

His eyes crossed. He should push her away, but he found he didn’t have the strength. It was much easier, far more exquisite to allow her to torture him.

“Your cock is so beautiful.” A murmur.

He resisted the urge to put out his chest, but her praise made him glow.

“So hard. So firm.”

Yeah. It was—

“I want it in me.”

His heart stopped. His gaze snapped to hers. “Pansy—”

She seemed to sense his restraint, taste it maybe on the damp air. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want it.” She dandled her finger in the sensitive tip, then danced it around the head, spreading the evidence of his need.

“I…do.”

“I know.” She tipped her head to the side and stared at him. Her playful smile melted away as she studied his expression. He loved that she could read him. At the same time, it scared him to death. “But?”

“But we…can’t.”

“Why not?”

So many reasons… “I’m your protector.”

“I know.” Her brow quirked. “Is it against the rules?”

Rules? No. But it was one of the unwritten ones. One everyone knew instinctively.

She frowned, but it was more of a pout. “Then why did you…do that?” She waved to the wall where he’d pinned her, stroked her, made her come.

He brushed her hair from her face. “You needed it.”

Her grip on him firmed. “I need
this
too.”

Holy hell. “We…don’t have any condoms.”

Her lashes flittered. She nibbled her lip. Then whispered, “We can call the concierge.”

He huffed a laugh. It wasn’t very convincing. “We’re both dirty. We need a shower.” A total and complete lie.

“All right.” Her minxish grin reappeared and she leaned over to grab the designer body wash off the shelf. And then—ah horrors—she made lather in her palms and reached for him again and God…

God.

God in heaven above.

Preserve him from women with minxish grins.

Her salacious touch, combined with the slick lather of the soap was un-fricking-believable. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tile and allowed the bliss to suffuse him as she worked his cock. Up and down, around. Faster. Slower. Then light, enticing brushes. As his tension rose, he fisted his hands and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out, begging for mercy perhaps.

The woman was a demon. She touched him everywhere he wanted to be touched, needed to be touched. He nearly yowled when her slender finger slipped back, beyond his balls to stroke that hellishly sensitive strip of skin in the back of beyond.

His eyes flew open. He might have made a sound—some pleading snarl—because she looked up at him and smiled. The shower pattered down on him, drumming him with insanity and washing away the soap. She continued to hold his gaze, and stroke, slowly, up and down as the suds sluiced away.

And then—God help him—she went to her knees before him and bent her head again.

Sweet Jesus. He nearly came at the hint of her breath on the head of his cock. He clenched his muscles in an attempt to hold back. Because shit, he didn’t want this to end so quickly. Ever.

When she engulfed him, he moaned. Without thought, he tangled his fingers in her hair and held her closer. She murmured something, something that rumbled through his being. He didn’t know what it was. Didn’t care.

Her mouth was a melody as it moved over him. Warm. Velvet. A sucking, suckling haven. She pumped him too, squeezing him as she worked his length. Blood surged. A knot formed in his belly. A familiar agony coiled in his balls and a curtain of bliss blinded him.

He knew he could not hold out. Knew he could not persevere. She was too much for him, too glorious in her ministrations. Far too greedy for him. She wanted everything. She wanted his all.

She touched him again, in that place where she shouldn’t. Clearly she didn’t know what disaster she taunted. Clearly she didn’t care.

He seized. Glory and gratitude gushed through him and from him. His body mind and spirit flailed in the claws of this delight. He was aware of her murmurs and moans, her lapping and sucking and strokes, but barely, and only at the most primal level of his being.

It was magnificent.

She was magnificent.

God help him.

He was lost.

He succumbed.

Mission or not, he was going to have her.

The goddamn concierge better have an enormous supply of condoms.

They did actually shower.

And to Pansy’s surprise, she enjoyed it immensely, even though she really wanted something else. She wasn’t sure why her need for him had become so clawing so quickly, but it had. It could have been nothing more than the reaction, as he said, but she doubted it.

At any rate, she washed him—all over—and he washed her. She’d never been fond of having someone wash her hair, but with Mason, with his seductive touch, it took on a new meaning.

She really wanted to stay in that shower forever. But she couldn’t.

For one thing, there were the annoying huffs and whimpers at the door. And when Lola began scratching to get in, Pansy knew it was time to emerge from this delicious dream. Lola’s claws were sharp and the last thing she needed was for her dog to burrow through the bathroom door.

So she and Mason turned off the spigots and dried each other off with lush fluffy towels, and then slipped on the robes the hotel provided.

When she opened the bathroom door, Lola pinned her with an accusing look. Pansy attempted to ignore it. This thing was new to them both. Lola had never had to deal with a strange man padding half-naked through her suite.

Hopefully Lola would come around.

Or not.

She skittered up to Mason, blocking his way, and scolding him with a high-pitched tirade.

He chuckled, which really didn’t help.

Lola hated when people laughed at her. She would probably pout all night.

Pansy scooped her up and kissed her furry face, attempting to make nice, but Lola was not mollified. She wiggled to get down and then, with one last snarl at Mason, she padded to her little kennel and curled up on her pillow.

She did, however, still glare at them both.

“Your dog is spoiled,” he said and she whirled on him.

“Hush. She’s very sensitive.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” He laughed and tugged her into his arms and he kissed her, so she didn’t answer.

The kiss was slow and easy, still something of an exploration but one that lacked the frenetic heat of their earlier exchanges. She quite liked it. She imagined she would enjoy curling up with him on a lazy Saturday morning and just whiling away the hours in his embrace.

He pulled back far too soon and peered down at her with the hint of a smile on his lips. “We, ah, should probably call the concierge.”

She couldn’t stop her responding grin. “Lets.”

It was late at night, so late one could call it early morning, but there was always someone on duty. Pansy tried not to blush as she made her request and, at Mason’s urging, she asked for a first aid kit and a hamburger. When she hung up the phone, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap on the sofa.

“It must be nice to have the world at your beck and call.”

She snorted. “The world is hardly at my beck and call.” Some days she felt as though she were living on the razor’s edge of disaster.

He shrugged. “Famous. Rich. Entitled.”

“There are plenty of drawbacks that go along with the deal.” She didn’t mean to speak so sharply, but she didn’t like the hint of distaste in his tone, though it was veiled. “I have little privacy to speak of. I live and die on the whims of a fickle industry…and there are heavy political burdens. Not to mention the fact that I am responsible for the livelihoods of a thousand employees.”

“A thousand?”

“Twelve hundred.” To be precise. “I work fourteen to sixteen hours a day, don’t take weekends or holidays and rarely see my family.”

He pulled back and stared at her. “That’s not the image I have of you.” Why did he seem so surprised? And why did disappointment shaft through her at the evidence he didn’t see her true self? Surely it was too early to expect such nonsense.

“My persona has been carefully crafted by a team of publicity experts. I’m supposed to embody the brand of FlyTower. Young. Carefree. Devoted to a life in the pursuit of the latest trend.” God, how she hated it.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and guided her head onto his shoulder. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

Such simple words.

They should not cause tears to prick at her lids or make her heart ache.

“No worries,” she mumbled into his terrycloth lapel. “We work hard to promote the fantasy.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, just being, and then he asked, “What did you mean, political burdens?”

She cringed. That was the core of it, wasn’t it? She leaned up and propped her hands on his shoulder and stared into his eyes. They were hazel with flecks of green. This close, they were mesmerizing. She wanted to sink into them.

“Pansy?”

“Hmm? Oh. The political shit.” She blew out a breath. “Our company grew too fast, too soon. We needed capital to keep up and it made sense at the time to go public. Mom brought in some of her friends as investors and of course we’re traded on NASDAQ. The trouble with that is, if you’re a publicly traded company, you have to have a board of directors overseeing everything. You lose a little bit of control and then a little more. And then…”

“And then?”

“And then Mom met Steven.”

“You say his name like it tastes bad.”

“I don’t like him.” She hated him. “It was one of those May-September romances. Young gigolo seducing an older woman, making her feel wanted again.”

“I see where this is going.”

“Yeah. Well, Steven convinced Mom to marry him.” She blew out a breath. “That was a fresh ring of hell in itself. He’s
my
age. Next thing you know, he’s on the board of directors. Issuing orders, trying to take control. When Mom died, he got her shares.”

“Shouldn’t they have gone to you?”

Pansy merely lifted a brow. It was a question she’d asked a thousand times. “I have no idea why she changed her will. I had no idea she had. But Steven, Catherine and I now have equal shares. To make things worse, we don’t agree on the direction the company should take. Steven wants to pander to the schlockier trends, to cheaper target markets, and Catherine and I want to keep it classy and upscale.”

“Well, don’t your combined votes outweigh his?”

“Technically. But if there is a public vote, the shareholders have a say and some of them have enough votes to tip things his way. That’s why I’m here, meeting with some of Mom’s friends who hold large shares.” It was tiring, always being “on”. Always battling with Steven.

Somehow, here, in Mason’s arms, she felt she could relax, release some of the tension. It was nicer than she could ever have expected. She nestled deeper. “I like this,” she said.