Fall for a SEAL (30 page)

“I’m fine. You’ve been in love with four people?”

“Well, I
thought
I might love them.”

“That’s hard to compete with.”

“It’s not a competition.” She took another slow step.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “It should be. I’m not a forever kind of guy.”

“Wait, so you…what? Tell me all that stuff about other women
and then just change your mind? I’m not worth it?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Gaby!” Trick didn’t yell, exactly, but he wasn’t calm any longer. “You’re worth the fucking moon. But if you only have relationships with guys you can see yourself sharing a white picket fence with, then I can’t lead you on.”

“I don’t think you’re that guy, Trick!” She did yell, pretty much, but calm wasn’t really her forte
at the best of times. She was grumpy and mercurial and hadn’t been trained by the US Navy to be cool under pressure. She was toast under pressure. “I was trying to work my way up to just having a fling with you, okay?”

“A fling.” He glowered at her and crossed his arms. How the hell was she supposed to understand that body language? It told her nothing.

“Like I said, I want to be more relaxed.
But up in the hills today…it was too emotional.” She brought her fingers to her lips and held them there for a minute. “When you kiss me…I haven’t figured out how to disengage my heart from the experience yet.”

He moved closer, staring at her. “I don’t want you to.”

“But you’re not a picket fence kind of guy,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” A muscle twitched along his jaw. “We’ve got ourselves in a
real pickle.”

“So….”

He exhaled. “So let’s get some dinner? This sounds like a problem for not right now.”

Not right now, no. But soon. She nodded and he pulled a takeout menu off the fridge, giving her the option of going out or staying in.

Was there even a question?

“What do you recommend from this place?” she asked, snatching the menu.

“They have a really nice butternut squash ravioli,”
he said after a minute, smiling with amusement.

“Uh-huh. What about in the red meat category?”

“Their ragu with polenta is awesome.”

“Sold. Do you have red wine or should we pick some up on our way to grab the food?”

“We should pick some up.” He took the menu when she thrust it back at him, and eyed her warily as he dialed the number for the restaurant. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “Like you
say…this is a problem for not right now.”

— —
 

They walked the long way to the restaurant and then stopped to pick up wine and a cantaloupe at the grocery store on the way back. Trick let her carry the bag of food once he had the second bag to juggle, but when they got back and she sat down to take off her sandals—sturdy, but still heels—he dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Damn,
I forgot you were wearing these things. I should have realized how much walking we’d do.”

“I stand on my feet all day long. It’s fine.” She sighed as he squeezed first one calf muscle, then the other, and then she smiled. “But thank you for the concern.”

He took her ankle in his hands—sort of. He really braced it on his cast, and worked at the strap with his left hand.

“I can probably do that
just as easily,” she said half-heartedly, but he ignored her and she gave in. There was something quietly lovely about Trick taking off her shoes.

He ran his thumbs over the red impressions on her skin where the straps had left their mark, then stroked up her calf. His fingers awakened a million nerve endings on their slow path to the sensitive skin behind her knee, where he stopped.

“We should
eat,” he said quietly, but his hand stayed on her leg.

She leaned forward and brushed her fingers through his hair.

“What I said earlier—” He cut himself off. “I’m a bit out of my depth here, Gaby.”

“Can I babble at you, then?” She smoothed her hand over his cheek as he gave her a go ahead
nod. “This is weird for me, too. I think some of my freakout was about the intensity. You were hurt, and
I needed to see you, then we talked every day, and had two back-to-back dates. It felt like…” It felt like falling in love, or that early stages of over-eager lust that you hope might be love. But she didn’t want to say that, because she was pretty sure she knew Trick wasn’t the man to fall in love with. “Like we were burning too bright.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Damn. How come none of the
marrying kind ever said anything like that? Not smooth or practiced, just honest.

“If that was too intense…” He pressed a kiss to her right knee. “Should we should dial it back?”

“Pace ourselves?”

“Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a bit of experience with the…relaxed dating, I think you called it.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure it’s called dating.”

“I’m being polite.” He
resumed stroking the skin behind her knee, and she squirmed. How did that feel so good? “No strings, no expectations. That what you want?”

She bit her lip. Right now, she wanted him to keep touching her and to stop talking, but yeah… “I don’t know about no strings. You already know I’m the jealous type.”

He made a suspiciously growl-like sound. “No other people, no matter how slow we go.”

“Okay.” Twisting a bit in her seat, she gave him more of her leg. “But no expectations…I like that part. We see each other when it’s convenient for both of us. Like once a week? And…maybe not too much talking in between.” That one pained her, because she’d liked talking and texting to him over the past week, but it ratcheted up the expectations in her heart like crazy.

His gaze was unreadable
as he looked up at her. “That relaxed enough for you?”

“Is it what you want?”

He dropped his eyes, looking at her lap, and suddenly she had a very good idea of what he wanted.

“I want you however I can have you, Gaby.”

“I might still need time to wipe those images out of my head, of you and—”

“We won’t sleep together, then.” He cut her off, his voice firm. She read between the lines—he wanted
to keep the conversation positive.
 

She nodded her agreement. “I like kissing. I’m not…opposed to fooling around.” She found his gaze and held it, heat pulsing between them. Not opposed at all, maybe. “I know I’m giving mixed messages. It’s just…”

“I think I understand.”

“And sex isn’t off the table. Just not now.”

He let out a strangled laugh. She joined him, because it was absurd, this conversation.
 

“I’m sorry.” He tickled that spot behind her knee, and she squealed. “Uncle!” She sighed. “I really am sorry. I told you, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t, not yet.”

He squeezed her leg, then glided his hand down to her ankle before slowly dragging it back up to her knee again. A few more strokes like that, and she’d be game for anything, including sex, history be damned.

“I’m going
to tell you something, and I hope it comes out right.” His voice had taken on a rougher-than-usual quality. It was unbelievably sexy, and her heart rate picked up. “There are some things that I haven’t done with many other people. One thing in particular, I can promise I didn’t do with your roommate or any other casual hookup.”

He pressed another kiss to her knee, and this time, he kept his head
resting on her thigh.

“What…thing?” Her question came out breathlessly, and he grinned up at her. He liked this, the sexy, playful banter. Well, duh. Anything was better than overly emo girl-drama.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded without hesitation.

This time, his kiss was to the inside of her thigh.

“Oh. That thing.”

He chuckled as he nudged her legs apart with his chin. “Want me to stop?
Because I’m hungry for you, Gaby. If you’re willing.”

A shudder tore through her body. “Don’t stop.”

He hummed appreciatively and slid his left hand lazily up her leg, under her skirt and around her hip. He tugged her forward until her ass balanced right on the end of the chair, then kissed his way up the same path, shoving her skirt to her waist as he made his way to her lace-covered, soaking
wet pussy. Not a word she’d usually use about her sex, but the way he was looking at it, that was the only vocabulary that fit.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as he kissed her mound, then her thighs, breathing in deeply like he’d just discovered how turned on she was. She never wanted to forget the low grunt that tore out of his throat as he brought his head to the apex of her thighs.

She closed
her eyes and tipped her head back, but at the first hot, open-mouthed kiss to her sex, she jerked her gaze back to where his head burrowed between her legs. Mother of all that was holy, nothing had ever felt as good as Trick’s tongue licking her through her panties. It was hot and wet and rough, even though he was going slowly. He used his tongue, wide and flat, to work the lace against her clit,
and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, meeting his mouth with eager little pulses as he worked her faster than she thought possible to the edge of an orgasm.

And then he stopped.

“No,” she groaned.

“I’m just getting started, don’t worry.” He patted her hip, urging her up so he could slide her underwear out of the way.

This time, he took his sweet time, loving her with his mouth, sucking
and kissing and tracing all the intimate terrain only a handful of people had ever seen—and none of them while she was perched on the edge of a kitchen chair.

She loved it.

Seriously, having Trick go down on her was better than a candy-coated Christmas. And when he slid one thick finger into her, then added another, stretching and stroking and filling her with a delicious ache, she promised
herself that nothing—no drama, no jealousy, no insecurity—would get in the way of enjoying whatever this man had to offer her.

He was magical and perfect.

When she started to shake again, her core drew tight, her breaths grew more and more shallow. She tried to fight it, but with a puff of hot air against her clit, Trick promised her all the orgasms she wanted, and she was lost. She jerked hard
against his face, grinding herself to the final peak, then slumped back as he carefully licked her all over, avoiding the most sensitive parts.

As if he knew she’d need a moment to process what they’d just done, he stayed on his knees, his cheek pressed against her thigh, until she patted him on the head. Then he surged to his feet, avoiding her gaze like he was afraid she’d shut him down. But
that just gave her the advantage of surprise, so when he wrapped his arms around her, she went straight for his belt buckle.

“You don’t need to,” he muttered, although the straining erection behind his zipper sure begged to differ.

“I want to.” And right there, standing next to his kitchen table, she slid her hand behind the thick elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and started jerking him
off.

“I’m close,” he said with a groan after shoving his pants low on his hips.

“Do you want me…” She moved to drop to her knees, but he shook his head and tightened his grasp around her waist. He held her close as she stroked him between their bodies, his forehead pressed tight to hers as they watched together. His cock was big—thick enough her fingers didn’t fully circle around it, and wider
at the base. Long, too, and it felt like he was getting longer as she spread the glistening drops of pre-come with her thumb, then used them to stroke him faster. He smelled like warm, sweet skin and her mouth watered, wondering what he tasted like, but that could wait for next time.

Maybe after dinner.

She tried to match his muttered instructions, barely whispered on heavy breaths.
Faster
.
Harder
. More grunts, the sounds intimate and special in the quiet between their bodies, and when he came, hot and wet in her hand, she was glad he’d kept her standing, because it felt like they’d just shared something more complicated than a blow job. He pulled off his shirt, wrapping her hand in it, then kissed her with such intensity it stole her breath and probably her heart at the same time.

Watch yourself
, her head warned the rest of her body.

It was good they’d just figured out some ground rules for not getting carried away, because if that’s what third base in his kitchen did to her soul, sex would permanently alter her at a cellular level.

Whether for good or bad still remained to be seen.

— NINE —

Trick bounded up the stairs to his apartment. Six and a half days had passed since he’d seen Gaby, and she was due at his place any minute. He had a new fibreglass cast on his arm—shower friendly, so that gave him a million ideas for how to have almost-sex with his almost-girlfriend—and he had a fridge full of fresh food.

He got a lot of ribbing from the guys when he fessed up the
reason he’d been grinning all week, but they were all jealous.

As they should be—Gaby was fan-fucking-tastic, although some the best reasons were a complete secret. Like how fucking dirty she could be. She’d made a hand job hotter than full-on sex, and then gave him another hard-on just by eating dinner.

Her sweet little pink tongue should be illegal.

She’d stayed late, but insisted on going
home when she started yawning. They held hands all the way back to her place, and had a nut-achingly sweet series of kisses outside her building before a final whispered promise to see each other again in a week.

And now that day—and hopefully night—was here.

He’d changed his sheets, bought new shower gel and towels, even grabbed a new box of condoms so if they got that far, she’d see him unwrap
an unopened box. He was way over-thinking everything. When she showed up, she’d probably want to go out and do something other than getting naked. There was an outdoor concert they could go to. Sitting on a blanket together…that would be nice.

Not naked nice, but still good. Great, even, because it would be with Gaby, who only wanted to see him once a week right now because anything more was
too intense.

Jesus.
Not
seeing her was making all of
his
feelings burn brighter, that was for damn sure. He’d never done this much prep for a date.