Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (31 page)

“Clint, I need you now.” Her voice was breathless, imperative.

“Shh, baby, let me feel you.” His head lowered, his lips brushing over the tops of the swollen mounds of her breasts. “You’re so sweet and warm, flowing over me like honey. Let me feel you, baby.”

She shuddered as her breath caught and he felt the soft cream flooding her sex, washing over him, easing his way as he slid inside her. Clint was hard-pressed to go easy, to take her gently. His thighs bunched with the effort to hold back, to work inside her rather than taking her. To pull back before sinking in farther, feeling the hot, wet silk gripping him, clenching along his hard flesh as he felt his chest tighten with the arousal growing within him.

He slid farther into the tub, half-reclining as his hips raised and lowered, spearing his cock into the soft depths between her thighs as his hands held her hips prisoner.

He needed to taste her. The taste of her went to his head like the most intoxicating brew, sweet and addictive. His tongue curled around a stiffened nipple, his teeth gripping the small ring of gold piercing it as she jerked in his arms.

Lower, he could feel the ball ring piercing his foreskin rasping inside her pussy, tugging at his cock, creating a friction he wasn’t certain he could bear much longer.

“Clint . . . oh God. It feels so good . . . so good. . . .” Her voice was breathless, filled with rising lust and tinged with emotion. “I love you, Clint. Oh God, I love you.”

His hips jerked as her words sent a shock wave of emotion crashing through him. He heard her cry, filled with pleasure and impossible hunger as he drove the last inches of his erection fully inside her, seating her perfectly against him.

He could feel her vaginal muscles struggling to adjust to him, caressing over his thick shaft as panting little growls of sexual excess left her throat. His lips clamped over a nipple, his mouth drawing on her as he fought to hold back the words poised on his lips. Words of hunger, need, of emotion he knew he couldn’t speak.

She was destroying him with her acceptance, with her pleasure. Damn her, she was ripping his guts out, stealing his convictions. Clint gripped her hips, holding her to him as he began to move. He ignored the sloshing water, ignored his
own certainty that she was stealing his soul as he gave her every part of himself. Silently. Irrevocably.

Morganna felt the change in Clint the moment the unbidden words passed her lips. As though a switch had been flipped, an intensity, a heat bordering supernova, seemed to fill him, whipping into her as he lost the impeccable control she so hated.

His hips moved fiercely between her thighs, lunging against her as he buried his cock inside her over and over again. Jerky, hard thrusts that stroked inside her, building the pleasure as it rasped hidden nerve endings, the ball ring creating an additional sensation she didn’t know if she could do without now.

Her hands moved from his shoulders to his head, her body arching, pressing her nipple deeper into his suckling mouth as she felt the flames of never-ending pleasure burning in her womb. Each stroke pierced more than just her vagina, filled more than just the aching depths of her sex. Her womb flexed with the driving pleasure as her heart filled with a subtle, burning emotion. Was it hers? His?

She jerked against him as she felt it building inside her, felt the change in him, the depth of his touch, the longing in his ragged groans. There was more than just the possession of her body, the sleek, thick intrusion of his cock inside her.

“God help me!” The harsh words, torn from his chest, had her womb convulsing as his thrusts became harder, deeper.

His hands held her to him, his head buried between her breasts as she felt his struggle to breathe, her struggle to breathe, felt the world darkening around her as each stroke of his cock inside her pushed her higher, burned her deeper.

“Clint. . . .” Her hands tightened in his hair as she felt her pussy tighten around his invading cock. “Oh God, yes. Deeper. Harder. Harder, Clint. Take me—”

“Mine!” The sudden, furious burst of emotion in his voice triggered her explosion. The possessiveness, the dominance,
the hard, unconscious demand, swept through her, triggering an orgasm she hadn’t expected.

Lights exploded behind her tightly clenched eyelids, brilliant bursts of light snapping through her head as she felt the sudden release sweeping through her body, her senses.

It overtook her, flung her into a midnight sky, and left her shuddering as aftershocks tore through her body. The feel of Clint’s release, hard, heated pulses of his semen jetting inside her as his hands tightened with bruising strength at her back, held her on the edge of ecstasy, refusing to release her as another hard orgasm tore through her.

Never ending. Unstoppable. She felt his lips, his teeth, at the side of her breast, marking her, stamping his ownership onto her just as his body fought to mark her with the hard, pulsing ejaculation filling her.

How long it lasted she didn’t know. She didn’t care. With each shudder of pleasure tearing through her, she felt Clint own another part of her soul. As though he hadn’t already possessed her heart, he was filling her very spirit.

Finally, the strength left her body. As though only the hunger and the hard spear of his erection had kept her upright, Morganna collapsed against his chest, spent, overwhelmed. Weakness flooded her, sapping the last bit of strength that had kept her conscious.

She felt sleep roll over her like a dark, warm blanket. Sheltered against Clint’s chest, assured of his safety, of his passion, she gave up the fight and let it have her. Sated. Warm. In Clint’s arms, she found the rest she needed.

He was going to have to get out of the damned water. Clint breathed out raggedly as he shifted Morganna in his arms, holding her against his chest as he pulled himself to his feet, water sloshing around his calves as he stepped from the tub and jerked one of the large towels from the low shelf by the tub.

He wrapped it around Morganna, drying her quickly.
A grin quirked his lips as she muttered drowsily at being disturbed. She was sleeping in his arms, despite the awkward hold he had on her, relaxed and pliant as he clumsily dried the water from both of them.

Shaking his head at her, he padded into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed, pulling the blankets over her before heading back to the bathroom to clean up the damp mess they had left there.

The woman was killing him. He couldn’t keep himself from touching her, from taking her every chance he had, filling her with his release. Feeling each hard spurt of his semen inside her did something to him that he couldn’t explain. The feeling of ownership, of possessiveness, that locked around his soul each time he marked her in such a way was starting to worry him.

It couldn’t continue forever, this blinding hunger. He couldn’t allow it to. When the danger was over, when she was finally safe, he would have to leave again. He had no intentions of tying her to him, of creating a bond that would tempt the violence that was so much a part of him.

Tossing the damp towels into the hamper after he cleaned up the mess, he moved back to the bedroom, sliding into the bed beside Morganna, trying to ignore how natural it felt. How right. She curled into his arms, a warm weight that his arms seemed to relish, that tightened his chest with pleasure. Had it been sexual pleasure alone, it wouldn’t have worried him. But it wasn’t. It was a pleasure that pierced his soul and reminded him once again of the heartache that awaited him. Because he couldn’t keep her. No matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he needed to. One day soon, he would have to let her go.

Trina blake moved wearily into her bedroom, ignoring the expensive furnishings, the large, empty bed. As empty as the house she had bought. As empty as her life.

Walking toward the antique vanity table on the other side
of the room, she pulled off the heavy silver earrings she wore, dropping them to the cherrywood vanity before sitting down on the upholstered stool and unzipping her high boots.

Her feet ached. They never ached. She had been wearing the impossibly high heels for years, moving comfortably in them, enjoying the additional stature they gave to her. The impression of height and inner strength. But lately . . . She massaged her arches, frowning at the stiffness there. Lately they had begun hurting.

She turned to the mirror, automatically uncapping a cleansing cream and spreading it over her face before cleaning the makeup off with the tissues sitting ready by her elbow. It was automatic, her nightly ritual. Cleaning off the layers of the mask she faced the world with and for a few hours, just a few hours, allowing the sensitive skin of her face to rest.

She stared into the mirror, seeing more than just the residue of the cream and makeup lifting free of her skin. There were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her skin wasn’t as unblemished as it had been or as dewy as when she was in her twenties.

She was getting old. And lately, she was beginning to feel it. She was thirty-two years old, and her home, like her soul, echoed with exactly how empty her life truly was. She was a puppet, a pawn to the lifestyle and the power she had believed she coveted at one time.

Slowly she had begun distancing herself from the criminal elements she had been involved with throughout her life. With Carmelita’s death, that had come much easier. The bitch from hell had been sent back to her fiery realm, leaving Trina in peace for a change. No more late-night phone calls, no more demands from the black-hearted bitch.

Until Diego had shown up. God, how she hated him, wished with every fiber of her being that he had been consumed in the same fiery battle that had taken Carmelita’s life. How much easier Trina’s life would have been then.
How much easier it would have been if she had never been entered into the insanity of Carmelita’s life. Maybe Trina could have had a measure of peace to go with the wealth she had amassed.

A husband perhaps. Maybe a child.

A bitter smile crossed her lips at the thought of either. Such pleasures would be quickly used against her if she even considered such things. Especially now. With Carmelita’s death, Diego’s paranoia and psychotic tendencies were no longer contained.

As Trina wiped the last of the cleansing cream from her face and stared back at her own expression, she wondered when it had become so hard to look into her own eyes. Had it only just begun, or had it only grown over the years?

Shaking her head, she had picked up her silver-backed brush and lifted it to brush out the long mass of black hair when a shadow reflected in the mirror, moving toward the bedroom doorway.

A hard, dread-filled surge of blood rocketed through her veins. She had been expecting it. Had actually thought he would come sooner than midmorning. She should have known he would know exactly when to strike.

Laying the brush down, she turned on the stool and waited.

Two of his men moved into the room silently, their hard eyes sweeping over her before ascertaining that she had no company. She had known better than to have company. She had no desire to lose another lover to the games Diego liked to play.

Seconds later, Diego stepped into the room. He had aged much more than she had in the last two years. Gray marred the thick black hair; his brows were shaggy; his once-trim body sagged. Carmelita was no longer around to make certain he maintained the image she had demanded. Without her, Diego was a mess. Trina hoped soon he would be a dead mess. She doubted she would be around to enjoy the sight.

“Good afternoon, Diego.” She kept the smooth confidence in her voice, noting the narrowing of his eyes.

He expected her to be nervous, to show her guilt. She wasn’t the fool he thought she was, and she found that she wasn’t as afraid of dying as she had once been.

“Trina.” The dark rasp of his voice sent a chill up her spine. “My prey escaped your home last night. My men reported that it appeared perhaps my prey had been warned of their arrival. Could this be true?”

The silky menace in his tone wasn’t lost on her.

She shrugged negligently. “One moment he appeared to be heading for a bedroom to screw his little whore; the next minute your men told me he had fled. He’s not a predictable man, Diego. If he were, I could have killed him myself a year ago.”

“Hmmm.” He came farther into the room, the silk of his clothes rippling over his gaunt body as she wished she had kept her heels on. They gave her confidence.

She watched, fighting her nervousness as he paced across the expensive cream carpeting toward her, his black eyes glittering with a maniacal anger.

“He and his whore escaped from my hold, Trina. I needed to know how far Santos had betrayed me, and the very people who could tell me have now flown,” he sighed, the malevolent light in his eyes sparkling with pure evil. “I will not tolerate failure from those who owe me their loyalty.”

He stopped beside her, taller only because she was sitting down, but she knew better than to stand. Only by sheer force of will did she keep from flinching as he ran his hands over her thick black hair, picking up a few strands and allowing it to cascade from his fingers.

“You were Carmelita’s most treasured playmate,” he sighed. “She often bragged about your loyalty to her. She loved you above all others, even her family.”

Only because Trina had, at one time, cherished life. She had played the game better than the others, had assured
Carmelita of her loyalty with acts that even now made Trina’s soul cringe. Life didn’t seem as important anymore when faced with the same choices.

“I loved Carmelita.” She forced a whisper of regret into her voice. “Seeing her murderers pay means everything to me.”

She stared up at him, allowing the façade of submission to enter her voice as well as her gaze. Carmelita had taught her the best way to deal with Diego’s fanaticism. His insanity.

“You failed me tonight,” he murmured.

Fear burned in her gut as his hand tightened in her hair, holding her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Mclntyre fooled me.” She swallowed tightly. “I didn’t expect him to leave the house. He must have seen your men drive up—”