Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (6 page)

He murmured something into her hair. It might have been, “Me too.”

But then a knock came at the door and ruined it all.

He shifted her from his lap and padded to the door, stopping on the way to collect his pistol. All of a sudden, it hit her again, the thought, the realization: she wasn’t safe.

Ah, but she was. With him, she was.

He peered through the peephole and then tucked his weapon behind his back and opened the door.

The concierge, an older man, in a far-too formal suit for 4 am, nodded primly and wheeled a cart into the foyer. “The items you requested.”

Pansy grinned at Mason’s sudden consternation. His lips flapped and he patted his—empty—pockets. “I…ah…thank you.”

The concierge nodded and backed into the hall and Mason closed the door.

“I didn’t have any money for a tip,” he said, and she laughed out loud.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gets a tip,” she said, bounding to her feet and coming to survey the items on the cart. First and foremost was the domed lid covering the hamburger. She’d laughed when Mason had ordered it, but all of a sudden, she was famished. The smell coiled to her nostrils and her stomach growled. She snagged a french fry. The first aid kit was a simple one, in a metal box emblazoned with a red cross, but the condoms?

She tried to hold back her laugh but it came out in a snort. The condoms were neatly wrapped in a brown paper package, tied with a bow.

That was funny enough, but then she caught sight of Mason’s expression and she couldn’t hold back. Her hilarity rocked through the room. When he picked it up and turned it from side to side, studying it with a bemused frown, she howled.

“Your life is really something, isn’t it?” He said. To which she just laughed more.

They shared the burger—it was delicious—and then Mason gently tenderly treated her scrapes, covering a few of the larger ones with bandages.

It should not have been an erotic undertaking, but somehow it was.

He was a large man. A warrior. To watch him intently and cautiously dab at her legs, to stroke a bruise, to bind her wounds, was moving. It touched something deep within, nudged it. Woke it up. With some element of surprise, she realized what it was, this yearning.

He could take care of her.

She’d never had the need, or the desire for such a thing before.

But now it blazed through her like a wildfire.

She was tired of doing it all by herself.

She was tired of never truly trusting a man.

She was tired of being alone.

She wanted a partner.

She wanted him.

When he closed up the first aid kit and set it on the table, she covered his hand with hers. “Mason?”

He glanced at her. Their gazes locked. “Yes, Pansy?”

“I think it’s time to go to bed.”

It was time.

She wanted him.

Needed him.

Craved him on her, and over her, and in her.

It was time.

Chapter Six

Mason’s throat locked as he stared at Pansy, her wide wanting eyes, her near pleading expression.

There was no need to plead.

In the past hour, kissing her, holding her, being with her, his reticence had fled. His resistance had melted.

All the reasons and justifications and excuses for keeping his distance from her had slipped down and away, into the dark mire of his baser needs.

It was central to the core of his being, it was necessary to take her, possess her.

But still…she should be warned.

He set his hand on hers, stilled her stroking. “Pansy.”

She glanced at his hand, confining hers. Cuffing it. Her lip came out. “What?”

“There’s something about me you should know.”

She froze. Studied him. Her head tipped to the side in the way it often did. He found it adorable, but he did not allow himself to become distracted.

This was too important.

“What is it?”

“I am…”
Shit
. How to put it?

“What?”

“I am not a…gentle man.”

He almost laughed when she screwed up her features into a moue of disbelief. “You were very gentle just now, when you tended me.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper.

He scrubbed his face. “I mean…in bed. I’m not a gentle man in bed. I like it…”

She peered at him the way a meerkat on the Serengeti might peer at a lion—if it had never seen one before and had no idea how utterly savage a creature it could be. “How do you like it?”

God. A sizzle snarled through his balls.

That, and a trickle of trepidation. If he told her and she walked away, he’d be devastated. But if he didn’t tell her, he couldn’t guarantee he could pretend to be something he wasn’t. Not in the blazing heat of passion. Not the way she knocked him off balance and made him forget…everything.

He blew out a harsh breath. “I’m a Dominant.”

She stilled.

His heart ker-chunked and then launched into a rapid tattoo. He watched her, studied her—every flicker of her eyelash, trying to assess her reaction. But she was good at hiding her feelings. Her face was a mask.

“What…does that mean, exactly?”

Holy hell. He would assume she knew. At least have some clue. “I like to dominate my partner in bed.” Yeah. Simple, clear, and utterly vague.

“Do you like to…hurt women?”

Fuck!
He hated her words, the tremble in her voice. Worse, he hated the sudden doubt in her tone.

“Hell no.” A snarl. But it didn’t frighten her.

“What…exactly do you like to do? Tie them up?”

He swallowed the drool in his mouth at the thought of tying her to a bed and—

Oh. She was waiting for an answer. “Sometimes. But I prefer to command a woman to restrain herself.”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

Heat sluiced through him at her look. “Shall I…Shall I show you?”

“Show me?” A peep.

“Here. Now.” Oh, yes please.

She shook her head and his hope deflated. “I don’t like feeling helpless. Like tonight? With those men? I was terrified.”

“Of course you were. But that was real. There was no trust there, no understanding. In these things, we always make sure everyone understands the limits before anything happens.”

She nibbled her lip. Her resistance faded a tad. But then she said, “I don’t think I want to be bossed around. I don’t do well with authority.”

Oh, excellent. He tried not to crow.

He tugged her closer. “Pansy, the whole point of a D/s relationship is that the submissive is the one calling the shots.”

She tipped her head again. He really wanted to kiss her pursing lips. “I don’t understand. If you’re the boss, how would I call the shots?”

“You set the parameters. For example, if you don’t want to be spanked, I wouldn’t do that.” He shot her a hopeful look. “Do you want to be spanked?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been spanked.”

God. A virgin. She was killing him.

“But I wouldn’t mind trying it.” Holy fuck. “But I don’t think I’d want to be tied up. I don’t think I’d like that.”

“Okay. It won’t happen.”

“It won’t?” Was that a hint of petulance?

“Not unless you ask.”

Beg, but whatever. He was making progress.

“Would you like to try an experiment? Something simple? To give you a taste?”

She set her palm on his cheek and stroked his scruff with her thumb. “Yes, Mason. I think I would. But if I don’t like it…”

“If you don’t like it, just say Lola.”

“Lola?”

The Chihuahua lifted her head and made a noise, something like a huff of revulsion.

“Lola will be your safe word. Something that tells me you need to stop right away.” Because yeah, that word would do it. “What do you think? Shall we try?”

“Yes.” She settled deeper in his lap, wriggling with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Stop,” he said. He invested his tone with a bite, so she knew the game had begun.

“Stop? Stop what?” Oh yeah, he was going to enjoy this. She was far too defiant.

“Stop moving.”

She blinked. He could tell she was holding her breath. Eventually she would have to let it out so he didn’t remind her to breathe. Rather, he shifted her on his lap and arranged her against the arm of the sofa, with her legs spread out along its length. He traced her collarbone and let his finger drift down between the lapels of her robe, though still, he held her gaze. “Okay Pansy. Here are the rules. Are you ready?”

She nodded. Her eyes were like saucers.

“No moving. Not an inch. And no talking. Do you understand?”

“Can I say Lola?”

Lola whined.

He sighed. “You can always say Lola, no matter the rules. But know, when you say it, I stop. Whatever it is I am doing. I stop. So only say it when you mean it.”

“Okay.”

“All right. Are you ready?”

She opened her mouth to respond then snapped it shut and nodded.

Pleasure twined with disappointment. She learned fast. That meant he would have to work hard to catch her off guard. Or there would be few opportunities for delicious punishment.

“Okay. Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

Excitement scored him. He ticked a finger at her. “Ah ah ah, Pansy. No talking.”

She blew out a breath and flopped back down on the sofa and though she didn’t say it, he heard her think,
“Oh, all right.”

Once he was certain her eyes were closed, once he had her arms arranged as he wanted them over her head, he began.

He started slowly, scudding his palms beneath the terrycloth and cupping her breasts. She sighed, but that was all. Ah. Innocent thing. She had no idea. Slowly he caressed her, in a provoking spiral, one that walked up the swell of those delicious globes, just to the crest…and then he stopped.

She whimpered, so he did it again.

Then he pushed back the material, exposing her, and bent to take a fat nipple between his lips. Ah. It was glorious. He suckled and nipped, but schooled himself to be tender. No need to rush his fences.

Painstakingly, he drew his palm over every inch if her skin, her chest, her belly, her legs, her feet. It was gratifying to discover she was ticklish on her arch and he filed that bit of information away for later. The backs of her knees were sensitive too, and the crease at the bottom of her ass. Each touch in those places made her moan and squirm.

But she was a good girl. She didn’t open her eyes or speak or even move her arms.

It was time to incite her to rebellion.

Though he had avoided her cleft until now, he brushed it with a feather-light tease. She whimpered. Her lashes fluttered.

But still, she kept her eyes closed.

He opened her with two thumbs and bent low, to blow on her sensitive skin. She launched up with a wail.

He had trouble maintaining his glower. “What did I tell you?”

“I…don’t…but you…”

God, she was good.

“Pansy. Lie down and close your eyes.”

“But…”

“Go on. Remember what I said about self-restraint?”

She nodded.

“This is what it is. You may not move. But part of the excitement is knowing you could. Knowing you have accepted these restrictions. Because you know the pleasure will be far beyond anything you’ve ever known.”

Her eyes widened. “It already was, with you,” she said softly, and he nearly crumbled. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Self-denial was part of his game, part of his pleasure, as well.

Without a word—he was incapable of one—he guided her back down.

Oh lord in heaven above. This would be the most mind-blowing orgasm she’d ever had. He was determined to make it so.

Pansy tried to hold herself as still as she could, but she could not stop the quivering. It came from somewhere far too deep within. It was a blessing to have her eyes closed, because it was too painful to look at his beautiful face, the harsh lines of it, the rigid hunger.

To know he wanted with the same ferocity—that his pulse thrummed and his soul wailed for this, this connection, this agony—was almost more than she could bear.

She didn’t know from where he dredged up the control to move so slowly, to tease, torment and arouse her without tossing her over the back of the sofa and mounting her like a stallion. Because God, if she really was the one in control, that was what she would demand.

She wanted him so bad, she could taste it.

She’d never truly understood that saying before.

She did now.

Ah it was exquisite anguish, lying still as he continued his delicious torture. He didn’t touch her slit again and she found herself willing him to do so with every fiber of her being.

When he commanded her to keep her eyes closed and roll over, she nearly wept, because she realized he wasn’t done. Her body was already ready for him, her skin awake and alive, her womb weeping.

But still, it was heavenly, the feel of his broad palm trailing down her spine, over her shoulders, across her hips. Cupping her bottom.  She shivered a little at that. Her legs drifted apart.

The light smack on her ass was a shock.

Also a shock was the howl of delight that followed.

He set his hand to the sting and rubbed it away. “I said no moving, Pansy.” She almost muttered,
I said no spanking
but then thought better of it. She hadn’t actually told him no. Besides, she had liked it. “Put your legs back together.”

She obeyed and then shuddered as he traced the cleft of her ass. He stopped when he reached her closed thighs and she longed to arch up, giving him more territory to explore. But she didn’t. Well, not completely. She must have a little, because he chuckled.

His attention drifted lower—much to her consternation—to the back of her knees.

Oh, he really was a bastard of the first order. She tried very hard not to squirm as he tickled her mercilessly.

He deserved to be punished for this, but she wasn’t sure how she could…without moving and all.

And then it hit her.

Hit her hip, to be precise.

His erection.

It was unmistakable, with the heat of it, the hardness, the percussion of his pulse.

Surreptitiously, she leaned into it.

He froze. His fingers on her ass tightened.

She wriggled again.

His breath hissed out.

“Pansy…” A warning growl.

“Mmm?” As innocent a murmur as she could manage. It was hardly
her
fault his cock was goring her. His palm scudded up her side and she made it a point to shudder against him.

“Pansy.”

She bit back a smile. Yes. That was the tone she wanted to hear. Something feral and hungry, close to the brink of disaster.

Another wiggle. She couldn’t resist.

He responded with a growl and a light smack.

She retaliated with a sinuous undulation.

“Goddamn it.” He launched forward, moving so quickly she didn’t have time to brace herself and she nearly rolled off the couch. But he held her with one hard hand as he reached for and grabbed something off the coffee table. She knew what it was. The box of condoms.

She knew what it was, because she’d peeked.

What was it about her? He did not know.

Mason’s mind spun. His fingers fumbled as he desperately tried to untie the knot in the ribbon that encaged the box of condoms. The knot would not come undone. He should have fucking done it earlier, when he still had a modicum of control left. God knew, he had none now. It had all been burned away by a scorching passion. There was nothing left but a raging need to fuck her.