American Made (Against the Tides #2) (9 page)

Leaning in, I run my fingers through the wetness in her pussy again before dragging it to her ass and working a finger back into her. I blow across her clit, following the trail with my tongue. I eat her pussy like I’m starving and work a second finger into her ass. Using my free hand, I open her pussy more and plunge my tongue into her before rubbing her clit between my fingers.

The cab of the truck fills with the sound of her moaning and panting but it’s nothing compared to the sound of her screaming my name and it echoing around me. It spurs me on. Letting go of her clit, I suck it between my lips, rolling my tongue over it while filling her pussy with three fingers. I drive them into her, sliding them in time with the ones in her ass until her body clamps down on my fingers and her pussy spasms with her orgasm.

As much as I want to feel my cock buried in her pussy right now, I wouldn’t trade what just happened for anything—tasting her as she came gives me a high that I can’t even begin to explain. Emerson’s body continues to thrash but I don’t stop until I’m satisfied and she’s pushing me away. I help unhook her legs from where they are and slide her clothes back into place as she tries to catch her breath.

“My turn.” Smiling, she tries to push me back against the seat but I stop her. “What are you doin?” she asks.

I grab her and kiss her again. I know she can taste herself on my tongue but she doesn’t seem to care and that turns me on more. My cock throbs in protest of what I’m about to do, threatening to make me pay later.

“You didn’t say anything about you touchin’ me in this theory of yours, gorgeous. As much as I wanna feel your pussy slide down over my cock I just can’t let that happen right now. It doesn’t matter that my poor cock is beggin’ to slide into that perfect ass of yours, or feel your tongue slide along it before suckin’ it deep into your mouth. I just couldn’t handle swayin’ your mind.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

I grin. “I’m not fuckin’ you until you figure out if this theory of yours is true. If my touchin’ you cured whatever you were thinkin’ about me, I’ll do anything you want me to do to you.”

“And if it didn’t?” she whispers, letting me know that she already knows even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

I shift to the edge of the seat and open the door, sliding to the ground without looking away from her. “Simple. If it didn’t cure your needs, you tell me what you want from me and then I’ll do whatever you need me to do to your body to get you to scream my name again.”

“I can’t believe you’re gonna walk away without fuckin’ me,” she mutters when I get ready to close the door.

“There’s a simple solution, Emerson. Tell me that I’m right and this infatuation you say we have isn’t goin’ away simply because I touch you and get it out of our systems, and I promise I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

I slam the door closed and stroll back to my truck. I wait for her to scream at me to come back, but she doesn’t. It’s OK, though, because based on the look in her eyes I don’t think it will be long before she’s begging for me to fuck her senseless.

My stomach churns as I check the zipper on my dry suit, tug my harness straps tighter, and stare out the window into the pitch black. So far there has been no signs of the boat we got called out for. That’s never a good thing.

I hate search and rescue missions because I never know what we’re going to find, if anything at all. Having to go home empty-handed and watch the hope drain from people’s faces when we tell them that we couldn’t find their loved ones is the worst part of this job.

When the call first came in we all thought it was a joke. I mean, seriously, who the hell names a damn boat The Pearl Necklace? I laughed, I won’t lie, my mind instantly took that and made it dirty. To top it off they stated that the captain’s name is Sebastio Alexander. Who the hell comes up with a name like that? First, I wondered if that was what the captain was thinking when he picked the name of the boat, then my mind skid head first into imagining myself giving Emerson a pearl necklace of my own. As soon as I realized it wasn’t a joke I felt like the biggest asshole in the world and snapped into action, forcing Emerson to the back of my mind even though that is the last place I want her.

We’ve been at this for hours now and still haven’t seen a damn thing. It’s beginning to frustrate the hell out of me. Doing searches in the daylight is one thing, but at night when you have to rely on heat sensors and radar, you hope and pray that your eyes see their emergency beacon flash or we pick up their EPRIB signal. On top of all that, it started pouring rain about an hour ago.

From what I’ve heard over the radio, the last time anyone saw or spoke with the captain was when he was pulling out of the port in Kittery, Maine. There was a sighting about four hours ago a few miles off the coast of Marblehead but other than that, nothing. The fact that we haven’t had an update since then has us all on edge.

Every few hours we go back to base and refuel, letting the crew that Knox is on take our spot so we don’t miss anything. With a situation like this, where there was only one person on board and no radio contact, we can’t afford to miss anything.

Tim, the flight mechanic, taps my leg and points at the screen attached to the wall of the helicopter. It’s nothing but a tiny blip on the starboard side of the screen, but it’s more than anything we’ve seen all day. Tim calls out the coordinates so the pilot can get us closer while I get myself situated to jump. It doesn’t take long before we’re hovering where we need to be. Tim snaps his tether in place before pulling back the door and dropping to the floor so he can see. I do the same thing right beside him. I hang my head over the edge and point out everything I see through the rain as I see it when the spotlight scans over it.

“I don’t see the vessel but it looks like he’s on an emergency raft. It looks like the raft is capsized as well and he’s just layin’ on top of it to stay out of the water.”

After we figure out that there is actually a person on top of that raft, everything happens in a rush. With a water temperature that isn’t even sixty degrees and no clue how long he’s actually been in the water, there is no way to know how bad the guy’s situation is until I get down there. I snap the hook on the end of the line to my harness and pull my goggles into place.

Tim waits for me to signal that I’m ready before he pushes the button to activate the line. My ass lifts off the floor of the helicopter and I give him a thumbs up to tell him I’m good to go down. “Load check,” he says, his voice filling my ears. “Load check complete.” I push away from door and dangle, being lowered slowly. “Swimmer out the door.”

This is what I live for. I love the heart in your throat feeling as you’re suspended in midair. There’s something about not knowing what’s going to happen that gives you a rush even though it scares the hell out of you at the same time.

The second I hit the water, my breath rushes out of my lungs. I throw my hand in the air after unhooking the line to show that I’m clear and swim as hard as I can through the rotor wash to get to the raft. The fact that the guy isn’t trying to flag me down or make any movement at all scares me so I try to get to him as fast as possible. 

It feels like it takes forever for me to reach him. Pulling myself against the edge of his raft, I check him over the best I can. His eyes flutter a few times before he squeezes them shut.

“Sir, my name is Gentry Rice. I’m with the U.S. Coast Guard. Can you tell me your name?” His eyes crack open as I yell at him over the noise around us but he doesn’t respond. Hypothermia is the first thing that pops into my mind and I know if I don’t get him out soon it could be deadly. I call up to Tim, letting him know what is going on, and have him send the basket down.

Everything after that is calculated moves to get him into the basket and pulled into the cabin. Once he’s inside, his care his handed over to Angie, the flight medic, and I wait to be pulled back up. I climb over everyone once I’m inside and take my seat so I’m out of the way. I hand things to Angie as she asks for them while I sit and catch my breath. Warming blankets, blood pressure cuff, anything to make her job easier while hoping for the best.

“He’s drunk, you guys,” Angie says after wrapping him up. She motions me closer and opens his mouth. As much as I don’t want to sniff this guy’s breath, I do it anyway. I don’t have to get as close as I think I do before I’m slapped in the face by the smell of rum.

“That explains why he isn’t complaining about freezin’.”

We’re almost back to base when Sebastio starts finally starts moving. His arms flail as much as they can around being strapped down and he begins yelling about his legs. Angie attempts to calm him down, asking what is wrong with his legs because there is no physical damage.

“I lost everything, God damn it!” he screams, his voice echoing around us. “Fuckin’ woman left me and took everything. My fuckin’ home. My beautiful fuckin’ Pearl Necklace went down with a full load of my junk. The least I could’ve gotten out of this fuckin’ catastrophe is for Jaws to bite off my leg!” Angie continues to try to calm him down and after a few more minutes of him screaming it turns to drunken sobs. “I would have rocked the shit out of a fuckin’ peg leg.”

I bite back a laugh as we touch down on the ground and the paramedics unload him. Tim reaches across the cabin and punches me in the shoulder when I finally can’t hold it back any longer. When I get ahold of myself and climb out, Knox’s crew is there waiting for us.

“Were you just laughing?” he asks, stepping up beside me. I nod, waiting for them to close the doors to the ambulance before I speak.

“We searched for that fucker for how long? Found him and thought he was dead. Turns out he’s just trashed.”

“Seriously?”

As we head inside, I start stripping off my gear because I feel the exhaustion setting in and I know if I sit down before it’s off, it won’t be coming off anytime soon. “Mhm. No boat in sight. Capsized life raft with him on top of it. He started bitchin’ a few minutes ago about not gettin’ his leg bit off by a shark and gettin’ a peg leg.”

“Oh Jesus.” He laughs. Hauling his phone out, he shoves it toward me. “That’s awesome, but this is better.”

I expect a dirty photo, but that’s not what I get. It’s a photo of a paper target with the bullseye shot out of it with the caption “Boom bitches”. Just like that, Emerson is back in the forefront of my mind.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’d say she’s ready.”

For the past five weeks we’ve worked every day at the range to re-train her body to shoot from the opposite side of what she’s used to. We would go between shifts and, thanks to Rush’s connections, we were allowed in even when no one was there. If she wasn’t at the range, she was at the gym pushing herself to get back to where she needs to be. Training has wreaked havoc on her body, and leaves my cock throbbing every time. Neither one of us will complain though, because neither one of us wants to be the first to break. However, the more I get to know her, the more I figure I will be the first one to give in to what I need. Even though I don’t want that to happen, I can’t fucking wait to finally sink into her perfect body and make it mine.

I curl into the back of the couch and wait, covering my bare legs with the blanket from behind me. Every night, whether I know he’s coming or not, Gentry shows up. It always comes with an excuse too. Usually it has something to do with checking on my leg and shoulder which gets me out of my clothes and usually results in him getting me off so I don’t complain. 

I hate to say it but he’s wearing me down. He said that he wouldn’t have to fuck me to make me his, and I’m starting to think he was right. I’ve never begged anyone to fuck me but I’m getting close to it. I’ve offered every time he’s touched me, I’ve attempted to push him myself, but nothing is working. I’ve never been turned away like this before and if I didn’t know he was trying to prove a point it would probably upset me. Well, watching him leave with a hard on helps my ego too.

I’m almost asleep when I finally hear his truck pull up outside. The fact that I know he’s going to walk through the door any second make my stomach flutter. It’s new, exciting, and I’m not all at prepared to feel like I do.

The front door opens and when it closes behind him, I hear the lock engage.
That’s new.
He’s never locked the door before. His feet shuffle across the floor then suddenly stop.

“Unless you plan on fuckin’ me tonight, I don’t see the point of lockin’ the door!” I laugh, but when I realize he hasn’t laughed or responded, I get nervous. He’s usually the first one to say something. Inching off the couch, I tiptoe toward the entryway and peer around the corner. “Gentry, are you OK?” I ask when I see him.

Standing in the middle of the floor, he’s completely still. His eyes are closed, shoulders slumped, and he looks like he’s frozen in the middle of toeing off his boots. When he hears my voice his chest swells with a deep breath and he grunts.

I step up to him, tipping his chin up so I can see his eyes. They crack open and the corner of his mouth curls up at me. “Why are you at my house? And why are you almost naked? Not that I’m complainin’.”