Mastered By The Mavericks (10 page)

Damn, her little yelp was cute, coming a few seconds too late to stop him from yanking
down her jeans, after making short work of the button and fly. But because the fucking
things were created to hug her curves, it took a second tug to slide them down far
enough for the discipline he was determined to deliver. As he did that, she merely
mumbled and grunted in confusion—until he swept his hand in, directly over the cotton
candy-colored boy shorts covering her crotch, then drew back a little. A little more…

“Oh, hell n—”

He kissed the rest of it into silence, as he swatted her pussy without mercy.

Brynn screamed into his mouth as he did it again, then again. Drew breath to unleash
another shriek into him—

But moaned against his lips, instead.

As he turned his next spank into a long, savoring caress.

Fuck.
Fuck
.

Her trembles.

Her gasps.

Her little jerks against his fingers, silently pleading for more…

Fuck.
Fuck
.

“Hey.” Sam’s shout from up front was edged with humor. Damn bastard had likely been
waiting for the moment with calculated glee. “Everything all right back there?”

Brynn’s face turned the color of her panties. Reb nipped at the crests of her cheeks,
letting a shit-eating grin fly before yelling, “Yep. Fine. Okey dokey…asshole.”

Sam chortled.

Brynn seethed. She bucked her hips, only to realize how that positioned her even better
for his fingers. “Get your hand out of my pants, Stafford.”

“Not a problem.” He offered it as if she’d just asked him to pull his elbow off the
armrest—while working his cock deeper into her grasp. “Ladies first. You cease and
desist, and so will I.”

“
I
never asked for a free grope!”

“Which is why you’re still enjoying it?”

The fire in her eyes intensified. She took a second, formulating a comeback. Fatal
mistake. Rebel moved faster, slipping his thumb beneath her panties, pressing in against
the nerves that waited in trembling, wet readiness.

“Oh my God!” she rasped.

“No.” he brushed the word into the curve of her jaw. “Not exactly. But ‘Sir’ will
do just nicely.”

She growled.

Moaned.

Seized into complete silence—as her clit vibrated beneath his touch.

Rebel lifted his head, watching her eyes roll back in her head. He angled his face
over hers, unwilling to miss a single second of her descent to surrender…and then
the ascent he’d bring her.

“So beautiful,” he whispered to her. “
Ma minette doux
. Take me higher. Surrender to me…deeper now…
oui, petite chatte…oui.
” As his own senses were sucked into their sensual vortex, his lips and tongue surrendered
to the language he’d first dreamed, babbled, and spoken in. The pressure in her sex
drew out the need in his own, engulfing him in a haze of pulsing primal sensation,
until he felt her body swooping and soaring on the same sexual currents. As she panted
harder, so did he. As she edged closer to explosion, so did he. As she lost more of
her mind, so did he.

Not yet.

Not…yet…

To emphasize the point, he spanked her again.

“Oh!” She breathed it more than anything, the sound husky and hot. “Shit. Ohhhh,
shit
.”

Rebel snarled low as he stroked her clit, circling steadily. “I’m so ready,
mon chou
. My cock wants to explode for you. Does your pussy want to come for me?”

“Y-yes. Ohhhh, yes. Please!”

He kissed her, finishing with a long lick along her bottom lip. She was salty with
sweat and sweet with desire. “Then say it. Just for me. The power is yours, Brynna.
Say it and make us both fly. Now. Fuck!
Now
!”

Her pussy quivered faster.

Her head fell back farther.

Her lips opened on the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Sir!”

She came apart beneath his hand.

“Ohhhh! Sir! Yes!”

He came apart beneath hers.

“
Oui, minette. Oui. C’est bon. Je jouis. Je jouis
…”

The sky might have been zooming beyond the window, but his senses spun into heaven,
occupied by one angel alone. White heat, blinding ecstasy, fulfillment like he’d never
known, all inside this cocoon beneath one thin blanket, in one fleeting minute, with
this one blazing surprise of a woman.

When he was able to process words again, he pressed in and kissed her…somehow needing
to hang onto this feeling…to her.

What the fuck
?

No. Uh-uh. That wasn’t the way things worked.
He
wasn’t the one who tried to “hang on.”
Ever.
Sure, a purpose had been met. They were well into the flight now, and he doubted
Brynn would care if they really were zooming along in a soda can—which meant it was
time for a little sweet aftercare and a lot of emotional disconnect.

The safety of the thought pulled him away from her.

Only to gaze into the reticence already entering her gaze. Then turning back out as
a blade…slicing smooth as a scalpel into his chest.

He smirked to hide the pain. Kissed her again—on the nose. “Thank you.” At least he
meant that part.

Brynn tilted her head, clearly confused. “Hrrrmm. I think that’s my line…Sir.”

He stiffened.

That still wasn’t supposed to feel that good.

“Brynna…look…”

She smacked his chest, almost playfully. “Calm down, buckaroo. I was just ribbing
you.” She shrugged. “It was a diversion tactic, right?” She waved a hand toward the
window. “And it worked. So…thank you.”

While she spoke, he eased her jeans back up her hips then offered a tissue for her
sticky hand. Christ, even the act of helping her clean up fed something deep inside
him, as if taking care of her was exactly what he’d been made for.

Lethal waters, Stafford.

The sharks are circling.

The worst sharks of all, too. The invisible ones…from the places he couldn’t get to.
The places best left hidden inside.

A warning that did him no damn good, as Brynn tugged the blanket up, curled it beneath
her chin then burrowed into the crook of his shoulder, her eyes blinking in slower
and slower rhythm. “Yep,” she murmured drowsily. “Very good. Perfect plan. Nice idea,
pirate hottie.”

His heartbeat tripped. He didn’t know whether to attest that to shock or pleasure—but
why was a choice necessary?

He dragged his hand through the ends of her hair, and brandished a provocative smirk.
“‘Pirate hottie’? Have you been digging into my pedigree, Miss Monet?”

“Hmmm? No. Just ogling your tatts. And your hair. And your ass. And maybe…a few other
things.”

He grinned into the top of her head. “And came up with ‘pirate hottie’?”

“Has a nice ring to it,
oui
?” She lifted a slow smile too, as if to complete the tease. Instead, she burrowed
deeper against him. Rebel dropped a hand to her shoulder, holding her there. Funny
little kitten. If he didn’t know better, he’d peg her as drunk…or lost to subspace.
Neither was remotely possible, though a sole truth surely rang true: the woman had
enjoyed the hell out of what they’d just done.

I don’t do orders, Sergeant
.

If she weren’t half-asleep already, and looking so goddamn delectable about it, he’d
have laughed aloud in her face.

And I don’t let subbies doze off in my arms,
cher.

So today proved to be a first time for many things.

Now he just had to make sure there would never be seconds.

‡

“T
hank fuck,” Rhett
muttered. The rumble of Rebel’s rented SUV couldn’t have come a moment too soon.
For a guy who’d spent his childhood shuttled between New York and London, the conversation
of tree frogs and cicadas was as stimulating as listening to paint dry.

On top of that, all he’d been doing for the last two hours was final tech checks,
ensuring every machine and program in front of him was speaking correctly to the same
on Kellan and El’s end in Vegas. His brain was going to explode if he had to look
at another line of security coding, or wander around the ranch testing sound levels
on mobile mics. Though as mission locales went, the only thing that beat this place
had been their special assignment digs in Iraq: a former sheik’s palace with fifteen
bedrooms and a couple of pools.

The ranch only had one pool, but the thing came with a waterfall, swim-up bar, and
private Lake Travis views along with an attached boat house—and that was before entering
the main mansion, a true Texas sprawler with five bedrooms, four fireplaces, game
room, recording studio, and spaceship-worthy workout space.
Damn
. Rebel be been a man slut, but the dude sure rocked the personal connections. In
this case, his version of “I know a guy” referred to Dax Blake, a former Spec Ops
operative who’d become one of the hottest country music stars in the solar system.
This place comprised Dax’s “Texas digs”, not to be confused with his Antebellum place
in Nashville or his “vacation chalet” in La Plagne.

Blake’s generosity perfectly fit their cover story of just being “some buddies and
a friend” enjoying their leave in a beautiful part of the country—though as Brynn
Monet climbed out of the car and gave him a cheerful wave, he wondered how he’d stick
to the “friend” part of that scenario. The woman would’ve knocked even Blake out of
his thousand-dollar boots, with that gleaming red ponytail, movie starlet lips, and
an outfit that accented every luscious inch of her pinup-perfect curves. And what
the fuck did
he
do about it? Jammed his hands into his back pockets, jerked his chin stupidly, and
hoped like hell he covered up the dork who still lived deep inside: the guy before
Sir Rhett finally surfaced, finding a safe arena for communication at last in his
life.

Time to put away
those
kinds of thoughts, as well. Far away.

“We made it.” Brynna’s cry broke into his brood, bringing needed energy to the air.
Rhett cut loose with a grin as she bounced on her toes. His expression dropped when
she remained next to the car, hanging back for Rebel.

What the hell
?

Reb had barely been civil to her last night at the Bommers, after the triple take-down
of legend. She’d barely seemed to care, only asking how fast they could get out of
town and continue the search for Zoe. Now, she waited on Moon like—

Shit.

Like a subbie on a Dom
.

“Okay, asshole,” he growled beneath his breath. “Abort that launch right now, before
you start seeing little green men too.”

Luckily, no aliens of any color appeared, though the impression clung that Brynn still
deferred to Reb. As Rebel yanked their luggage from the car, she turned and damn near
fretted over him, despite how both bags were likely a fraction of what he humped through
jungles and deserts on real missions. After Reb shirked her off with a laughing growl,
she hurried up the curved paver walkway, a new smile in place for Rhett. His tensions
eased further as she warmly embraced him.

Maybe he really had been alone too long. And maybe, hopefully, the two of them had
actually come to a little truce during the flight down from Nevada. That had to be
a good thing going forward, no matter what stupid vibes his gut threw out otherwise.

“Welcome to the shack.” He grinned as Brynn giggled.

Rebel, approaching behind her, smirked from behind his Oakleys. “I’ll relay that little
feedback to Dax, next time I see him.”

“Fuck you,” Rhett jibed.

“
Boys
.” Brynn’s tone joked equally, though ended in admonishment.

Course change.

“How was your flight?”

“Fine.”

Was their rubber band snap answer, given in unison, really the evasion he suspected?
Note to self. No more solitary ops prep in the middle of nowhere.

“It was fine.” Rebel underlined the last word as if Rhett had disputed him. “Smooth
and quick. Nothing major.”

Brynn bobbed a firm nod.
My name is Brynna Monet, and I approved this message.

What the
hell
had happened on that trip?

A little casual sleuthing was definitely in order.

“So Mackenna behaved himself, eh?”

“Affirmative.” Rebel grunted, pushing forward into the house.

“Sure did.” Again, Brynn rushed it out.

“Hmm.” Rhett kept his tone noncommittal but his stare keen. “So…the internet meme
quotes were all clean?”

She flashed a bright smile. “Every single one. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah. Crazy.”

Sam didn’t know any clean internet memes.

Brynn barely spared a glance for the sprawling main hall, the two-story granite fireplace,
and the sweeping stone archways that laid a castle feel atop the cowboy chic. “So
where’s the good stuff?”

Rhett replied by flashing a look of his own—of bewilderment. This was her window to
disclose her tease, if the question
was
one, but she only stared back, her stare intensified by expectancy.