Under Fire: The Admiral (23 page)

“Ben.”

The grimness in her voice snapped his head
up. God, if she wanted to stop now. He gathered all his
self-control. “Do you want me to stop?” He said it slow and
deliberate, his voice not sounding like his own. Her eyes went
wide.

“Are you crazy? No! Before we . . .” She
inhaled deeply, causing her breasts to rise so high he was sure
they would escape the purple and black lace. “I haven’t had any . .
.
ah, fuck
. My boobs are mine. I haven’t had anything fixed.
I have scars and my tat . . .” The words spilled out in rapid fire
and he let out the breath he’d been holding in fear of what she
would say. He almost laughed in his relief but contained
himself.

His hand went to one of the
boobs
and
its lace cover. “I want
you
.” Her peaked nipple pressed
against his hand. He worked the lace down, and as he bent to take
in the nipple he was overcome with Gemma’s intoxicating scent mixed
with a delicate perfume. She arched, pressing her breast to him and
banged her head on the wall. He lifted his head. Her warm hand
found its way inside his shirt, her fingers tracing across the
slash on his side. “Are my scars holding you back?” he said as her
warm fingers caused him to suck in a sharp breath. She sucked in
her lower lip and shook her head.

“Not at all.”

“Same here. Nothing is going to hold me
back.”

“I do have a question,” she whispered as he
kissed her ear.

Ben pulled his head back. “What? Is something
wrong?” His mind played through explanations as to why she wouldn’t
be comfortable having sex.

“Is there any reason doctors don’t like to do
it in bed?” She tipped her head and cut her eyes away then back.
“My bed is really very comfortable.”

“This doctor will do
it
anyplace as
long as it’s with you.” He grinned and lifted her off the dresser.
Gemma coiled one arm around his neck as her hand kept on rubbing
his erection. Which must be where all his blood was because he
couldn’t get his feet to work and he stumbled, falling back on the
bed with her astride him.

“Right.” She stripped off her shirt, tossing
it away. “Where.” Her hips moved back and forth. “I want you.” The
warmth between her legs slid over his painfully hard dick.

He released the front clasp of her bra and
had no idea why she was concerned about her breasts. He rose,
sucked one and then the other as she worked the snap and fly on his
jeans. Ben moved under her, adjusting himself so he could sit up
farther. Gemma shrugged completely out of the bra as she tilted and
rotated her hips, rhythmically creating a mind-fogging friction.
With a minor protest from Gemma he boosted her up and off him,
pressing her back on the bed then levering himself up on an elbow
to lean over her.

Gemma ran her fingers through his hair, down
his neck and over his shoulders as he tried to free the button on
her pants. Not satisfied with his progress, Gemma took over yanking
and sending a button popping against his belly. She arched and
worked the cloth past her hips to her thighs, where he took over.
He stood and maneuvered them to her ankles and stopped to remove
her shoes, finding it difficult to look at anything but the barely
there purple and black panties. Shoes gone, Gemma kicked her pants
off and began to work out of the panties.

“No.” He grasped her hand. “I want to do
that.”

She sat. “Only if I can do this.” She
shimmied his jeans down his hips and well, his erection jutted out.
Gemma didn’t hesitate a beat. She grasped him, sliding her hand
along his length to cup his balls as she took him in, her brown
eyes looking up at him. As much as he wanted to stay like that
for-freaking-ever
, he stepped back. Before he could explain
that another few seconds of that and he would finish, Gemma flopped
back on the bed cupping her breasts, her hips lifted slightly off
the bed. “My turn.”

“
Ahh, fuck.”
He kicked his jeans from
around his ankles and went to his knees between her legs, sliding
his hands up her thighs over her hips until his fingers were hooked
inside the top of the lace panties. When he had them to her knees
she lifted one leg and yanked her foot through the opening, sliding
closer to him. He put his hand between her legs and rubbed as he
kissed his way up her thigh, going damn near crazy listening to her
sounds of pleasure. He slipped his fingers inside her and she cried
out, “Yes, like that,” when he moved them. Her hips surged to the
rhythm he created with his lips and hand until she clawed at his
shoulders.

“Come here,” she commanded in a low voice
that sent tremors rippling through him. “I want to feel you on me.
Feel your skin against mine.”

“Whatever the lady wants,” he said. She
hooked her legs around him, his balls resting against her hot wet
center, the end of his jerking cock against her belly. Until now
he’d been able to keep it under control.

“Remember . . . what I said about,” he
swallowed hard, “taking it slow?”

“Hmmm.” She kissed his shoulder, then
playfully bit it. “Sure do.”

“I’m ready to go fast now.”

She bit down hard on his shoulder and reached
between them to grasp his cock. “I’m past ready for fast.” She
growled and twisted under him, guiding his tip lower. He reached
between them, covering her hand with his, and took over the guiding
part, putting only his tip inside, wanting to be sure her body was
ready. It was hot and slick and he slid in slowly, then
withdrew.

“I thought you said you were ready for fast,”
she cried out, her hips lurching upward in an attempt to keep the
connection. “I want you . . . in me,” she said in a commanding
growl. “
Deep
in me.”

That was it. He thrust inside her hard.
“Fuuuck”
was all he could say or think of as she encased
him. And he froze. They’d forgotten the condom. “Condom,” he
croaked as he withdrew.

Gemma twisted and turned from under him to
reach the drawer in her night table where the condoms were.
For
crap’s sake, by the time he got to fuck her
they’d both not
only be old but gray!
Her fingers found one and she used her
teeth to open the foil package. Ben took the condom from her
covered himself, then moved over her and
finally
into her.
And he forgot all about slow. She bent her legs and braced her feet
on the bed to counter each one of his deliberate thrusts, their
bodies slamming together in an absolute glorious rhythm. Their lips
locked together, their tongues darted, mimicking what was going on
with lower parts of their bodies. Her hands stroked the bulging
muscles in his shoulders and back, gliding down to his tight ass
digging her fingers into the pumping muscles. Starved for air they
broke the kiss. Ben put his head next to hers gasping, pumping
harder and faster as her own tension built. To keep from crying out
she locked her lips onto his shoulder and sucked, tasting his salty
sweat.

“You’re getting close,” he groaned into her
ear, slowing the rhythm. “Do you . . . want me to stop . . . make
it last longer?”

“No. Don’t stop. Don’t slow. Hurry.” He
didn’t have to be asked twice. He pounded harder, taking her
crashing over the edge, coming so damn hard she saw stars. Ben
groaned as her internal pulsing closed around him. His body tensed
and shattered with his own release. After a long moment, he
carefully lowered himself onto her. She reveled in his weight, his
warmth, the musky scent of sex and the fact he was still inside
her.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, looking down
at her. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He gave her
a devilish grin. “In this bed. Doing what we just did.”

“So, the taking it slow is definitely off the
table?”

“Definitely.” He rolled to his side, bringing
her with him.

Gemma raised up on an elbow so she could look
at Ben’s chest and belly, at the scars. “Does it make you feel
uncomfortable for me to touch these?”

“No. They’re part of me. Who I am.”

She laid her hand on the ragged unrepaired
slash and shivered, remembering how her fingers had slipped inside
the horrible gash.

“What’s wrong?” Ben covered her hand with
his.

She pushed back to look at him. “What do you
remember from that night?”

“Not much. I remember being on the road.
Nothing of the actual accident. You. Your voice. Things you said to
me. Maybe the only real memory is you.”

“Pain?”

“No. No pain. The injuries I had would’ve
caused excruciating pain. I’m lucky I have no memory.”

She sighed. He most definitely had been in
pain. “How long were you in the hospital?”

“Almost eight months off and on. Mostly on.”
His hand stroked her side over the curve of her hip. “From
infections. That water we were in . . .” His hand stilled
mid-stroke. “You weren’t sick after?” His eyes searched hers.

“No.”
Not unless you count the heart
sickness I felt thinking you were dead.

“What do
you
remember?” he asked.

Every single second
. “Seeing the car.
Seeing you inside. Trying to get you free.”

“What did I look like?”

“Ben . . .”

“I want to know. No one would tell me.”

“Okay.” She traced a finger along the right
side of his head above the hairline. “There was a long deep gash
here. Your scalp was flapped.” Her finger trailed over his eye.
“Your eye was swollen shut.” She laid her palm on his cheek. “Here
was scraped and cut. Your chest was slashed,” she ran her hand
where she remembered the injury, “here to here.”

“What . . .”

She put a hand on his mouth. “No more
remembering.” She kissed the scar. “Tonight is about letting go.”
She worked her mouth lower. “And moving forward.” He hissed in a
breath when her tongue went up and down the length of his
shaft.

She straddled his legs. “I always thought the
third time is the best.” Her hands stroked the inside of his
thighs.

He raised his head up to watch what she was
doing. “Yeah?”

She ran her thumbs along the crease between
his legs and hips. “Yes.” She leaned, trapping his erection between
her breasts.

“Why’s . . .
ohhhh,
” he groaned,
“that?”

“By the third time you know what your lover
wants, likes.” Her tongue drifted over the slit on his tip. “You
reach optimum gratification and
gratitude.
” She put emphasis
on
gratitude
, playing into his promise
there would be
gratitude
. “Knowing you’ve given your lover what they
want.”

“Then you . . . should be . . . out of your
mind with
gratitude
.” He sat, pulled her to him. “Let me get
some gratitude.” He rolled her off him.

“You think you know what I like?” she
teased.

He nodded. “This.” He wrapped his lips around
a nipple and tugged, flicking his tongue over the tip. “This.” He
spread her legs and kissed and sucked his way up and down the
inside of her thighs, not touching her core as she whimpered.
“This.” He turned her over, resting his legs between hers, kissing
her shoulders as he rubbed his erection against her. Her body
shuddered with each kiss, suck and swipe of his tongue. He lowered
himself onto her and placed his lips against her ear. “I’m feeling
a lot of
gratitude
right now.” He slid off to lie on his
side beside her. “But I think there’s a way I can . . . eh . . .
get some more.”

“Mmmm?” She rolled onto her back. “I’d be
very thankful if you got
gratitude
.”

Ben moved between her legs and did just that
and she
was
very thankful.

Ben watched Gemma sleep. She was on her
stomach, half her face buried in the pillow. He eased away from her
in degrees. For one he didn’t want to wake her, and two, it was
difficult to leave her. He could lay there forever watching her
sleep and be perfectly happy. That is, if he didn’t need to relieve
himself. He lifted his head off the pillow. Gemma’s lips spread
into a crooked smile and one eye opened partially.

“Where?”

He kissed her cheek. She snuggled under the
covers and her hand groped his crotch.

“Bathroom. Then kitchen. If I don’t get
something to eat soon I’m not going to be able to walk, much less
make you happy again.” Her smile widened. “Go back to sleep.” He
kissed her shoulder.

Gemma rolled on her back. “Not if there’s
food. There’s a list of nearby takeout places in the kitchen.”

“Nope. I want a fried egg and cheese
sandwich. How about you?” He traced a finger from the hollow in her
throat, under the covers between her breasts down to her belly
button.

She sighed. “You cooking?”

“You betcha. You stay here, I’ll bring it to
you when it’s done.” He rose and pulled on his jeans. “You have
coffee?”

“Yes.” She sat up. “I’ll show you . . .”

He sat on the bed and gently pushed her back
to the pillows. “It’s not like that kitchen is huge. I don’t think
I’ll have a problem finding what I need.”

“My coffeepot is a French press, do you know
how to use it?”

He leaned and kissed her forehead. “Only way
to make coffee is with a French press or drip pot.”

Ben rummaged around the kitchen cabinets and
had no problem finding what he needed. He put the water on for the
coffee, set the grounds in the bottom of the press, sliced cheese
and heated the pan for the eggs, all the while thinking about the
sex with her. How fan-freaking-tastic it was. How happy he was.
Maybe love was what made the difference. Yeah.
Love
. It made
him feel good to say it.

He found a loaf of bread in an old-fashioned
breadbox, sliced it lengthways and removed most of the crust. He
spread mayonnaise over the slices, a lot on his, and arranged them
on two plates. The teakettle howled and he poured the hot water
into the press.