Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance (9 page)

He could tell that she was upset. She felt pigeon-holed into the situation, and for that, he couldn’t blame her. He had posed the question to her specifically because he’d never thought she’d agree to his conditions.

And so, in the face of insurmountable odds, he’d done what came naturally to him. He’d hit on her – quite ferociously, and at length. It was either that, or resort to actually talking about the nightmares that kept him up at night – and he couldn’t quite commit to that. Genevieve had been completely and totally unfazed. Every time he suggested drinks after dinner, she’d politely steered the conversation back in the direction of his emotional state as he’d tried not to be enraptured by her full mouth and entrancing almond eyes.

In all honestly, he couldn’t remember whether or not he’d let anything slip. He’d been a little too busy trying to accept that he had this decadent psychiatrist to himself to really keep track of what babble spewed from his mouth. Owen had been so caught up, in fact, that when he’d left the dinner without her at his side, he’d felt oddly bereft. He half-remembered agreeing to another session in her office while they’d been eating their filet mignon, but that hadn’t gone terribly well either.

He simply couldn’t make himself talk.

The more Owen saw Genevieve, he realized that the reason he didn’t speak to her stemmed less and less from his mistrust of doctors. After the little shooting session where he’d learned her heritage – where she showed him she could shoot better than most soldiers and he’d spoken to her about his troubled family life, he’d begun to see that she wasn’t going to treat him like an object – like something broken that needed fixing.

She didn’t depersonalize their meetings – like so many other doctors did. In reality, he should have no problem opening up to her. Despite everything he told himself, he liked her. In a professional sense, that was. When it came to other arenas, using the word ‘like’ to refer to how he felt about Genevieve Thomas was a bit weak. Sean was constantly in his ear after every session, demanding that he push himself. That he’d stared armies of insurgents in the face and jumped out of planes into warzones, so why couldn’t he talk to his psychiatrist?

The simple fact of the matter was that Owen was locked up. He’d spent such a long time bundling his issues inside that to expose them wasn’t going to come without quite a bit of effort. As he’d stared at Genevieve in another office – this one slightly larger than the last – she’d never gotten angry with him, never walked out. She was patient and calm, despite his every effort to derail the subjects she asked him about.

She was just trying to do her job, and he was making it hell for her. Sean was right in one respect: he’d become a grumpy, obstinate ogre since he’d left the SEALs, and it was only going to get worse if he didn’t do something about his issues.

All at once, a wet, slick swathe swiped over the lower half of his face and a low sound of surprise escaped him. He racked the weight he was pressing, turning to see Eddie beside the weight bench, staring up at him with his goofy dog grin. Despite Owen’s foul mood, he soon found himself smiling back at the mutt as he reached out to rub his head firmly. It was like Eddie could always sense when he was feeling particularly bad.

One day he was going to have to thank Gina, Sean’s wife, for her insistence that he get a dog. It had been the one ray of light in his life during the past year.

That, and the appearance of Genevieve Thomas…even if he wasn’t allowing her to help him the way she should.

Sighing, Owen stood from the weight bench, wincing at his own stench. “Come on, boy.” He growled lowly. “Shower time.” Slinging a towel over his shoulder, he stalked toward his bedroom, Eddie padding after him.

As the former SEAL let hot water sluice over his body, he tried not to imagine how it might be if Genevieve was there with him. The young woman was much too tight-laced for her own good. The first and only time he’d kissed her, he remembered how hotly she’d pressed herself against him – the soft, ragged moan that had passed her lips. Owen had to wonder when was the last time she’d given herself to someone – really just let go.

He knew that a woman like Genevieve roused a predatory instinct in him that he thought he’d buried in his younger years. He wanted to take her…to dominate her and show her the heights of her own pleasure. She was so stiff – so controlled. So preoccupied with propriety and the boundaries of her job…If only she’d give him just a few hours…

A low groan escaped him.

Two minutes of thinking about her and he was rock hard, his erection jutting proudly against his solid abdomen. Leaning against the shower wall, he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had such control over him. He found himself torn between giving her what she wanted – divulging to her – and simply ravaging her.

Christ, he was a dog.

Reaching down, Owen curled dexterous, strong fingers around the length of his cock, jolting at the sensation that shot down his spine. As he stroked slowly over his engorged length, he pictured Genevieve in the shower with him, her hand wrapped around him instead. She would be sweet and eager, her eyes gazing up at him as her slender fingers pulled at his member, driving him insane. God, what he wouldn’t give to have her curves pressed against him…to hear her gasp of pleasure as he slid deep into her, pinning her against the shower wall.

The lieutenant cursed lowly, stroking himself faster and faster. She would moan and coo as he thrust into her over and over, her voice finally raising to the tiled ceiling of the bathroom as he showed her exactly how much her body could endure – as he plied her until she was a shuddering mass of nerves and sensation around him.

Then, and only then, would he cum. To the music of her crying his name – begging him for fulfillment.

With a primal groan, Owen tugged at his cock twice more before he felt his thighs contract, his completion stealing his breath. He gasped as he spurted all over the shower wall in a gleaming spray, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, he couldn’t move, completely drained.

If simply thinking of Genevieve made his body react like that, he could hardly imagine what having her in his arms would be like. He might very well go up in flames.

He took the next few minutes to rinse himself off before stepping from the shower to wrap a towel around his long form. As he sank down on the bed, Eddie hopped up beside him. The pup knew he wasn’t allowed on the bed and had never really seemed to care. He watched as his master lifted a pistol from his bedside table, fingering it lightly before he began to take it apart, piece by piece. In twenty seconds, the weapon’s parts were carefully arranged on the table. Then, Owen put the gun back together. He repeated the action a second time, and then a third, before he was satisfied. All of this, Eddie watched with patience and complete lack of judgement.

The handful of times Sean had seen this little routine, his gaze grew clouded, his expression concerned. Owen knew he should be thankful that he had a CO that cared so much for his well-being, but sometimes, he just wanted to be alone.

Alone with his demons.

Placing the weapon beneath his pillow, Owen then donned a pair of flannel pajama pants before sliding beneath the coverlet. Eddie circled in his corner of the bed four times before settling there for the night.

Even after he turned off the light, Owen stared at the ceiling for a long while before sleep finally found him. And, as always, once it did, the nightmares weren’t far behind.

It was pitch black when they performed the drop – right into enemy territory. It was the fourth time that Owen had dropped into Fallujah, and by this point, he knew what to expect. The moment he and his team hit the ground, they ran for ample cover in the cliffs to make their preparations.

It was going to be a quick mission – in and out. Earlier that day, the captain had delivered intel to them that one of the US Government’s most wanted people was hiding out in a very well protected cave just outside a village on the outskirts of Fallujah. They had been sent in to extract him – without killing him, if at all possible. Satellite imagery showed the cave to be fortified with a couple of semi-automatics posted in a ten yard perimeter as well as twenty well-armed men. Owen had been provided seven men – each highly trained and each having followed him into earlier missions.

They were a tight knit group, and among them was one of Owen’s closest friends. He and Eric had joined the SEALs together, had their asses kicked together, and taken the wrap for one another more times than either could possibly count. There was no one the lieutenant trusted more to have his back. Now, silently, he directed his friend, along with the other six men under his command, to their places to ready for the mission. As their best sniper, he headed for high ground. It was his job to take out at least eight of the enemy before his guys reached their front doorstep. Eric, Teddy and Michael headed down to circle around the cave and flank while Tony, Paul, Freddie and Donovan prepared to flank from the opposite side.

Owen was fitting his night scope to the rifle when everything went to shit. His head jerked up at the sound of early gunfire, and when he realized it came from the enemy, his blood ran cold. They weren’t supposed to know that they were coming! What the hell was going on down there? He raised his scope to his eye to take a look, ready to give the order to pull out – and then all hell broke loose.

Owen’s eyes snapped open as he gasped. His first impulse was to bolt upright, but, as always, he found himself frozen in bed, covered with sweat. For a moment, the furious cries of his fellow soldiers echoed in his ears – their death knells constricted his heart, and his guilt consumed him until he thought he might be crushed beneath its pressure. In his mind’s eye, he saw the faces of those who had captured them…those who had watched them suffer with smug smiles on their faces. He felt the pain of old scars, still raw and open, and tried to draw breath, only to have it stick in his throat.

At the foot of the bed, Eddie whined, disturbed from his own sleep by his master’s distress. Even as he settled comfortingly at Owen’s side, all the former SEAL could see were the faces of his tormentors – the men he’d left behind to kill more soldiers…and the cowardice he’d exhibited when he’d elected not to go back and finish the job.

Eric…Eric, Freddie and Donovan…”
Fuck
.” The word escaped him in a pained gasp.

He never knew how long this would last. Sometimes he couldn’t move for minutes – sometimes hours. And always, he watched himself helplessly, his entire body quaking in emotional turmoil.

This time, thankfully, his muscles began to relax after only twenty minutes. Owen extracted his arms from the sheets to draw them down over his face. He was now wide awake. Any semblance of sleepiness had deserted him and he would probably pass out in the lawn chair the next day as Eddie basked in the sun. Reaching down, he rubbed the dog’s massive head as he sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. His hair and back were damp, and he wanted a cup of coffee powerfully. His gut churned with nausea and his mouth was dry.

For the past year – starting with the night he’d returned to the US to be debriefed, he’d been unable to escape the memories that consumed him. They’d turned him into something that he wasn’t…a man afraid of his own future. Of living when those who’d trusted him had died.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Owen forced himself to take a deep breath.

He didn’t want this – he never had. The problem was finding someone who understood what he was going through. Who didn’t treat him like a damaged number but instead saw in him the potential to regain what he’d lost.

Genevieve.

Without thinking, Owen found himself reaching for the phone. Even when his brain started to recover – kicked in and warned him that speaking to other people about what he had done would incur judgement that no one could possibly understand – he found himself dialing her number.

He must be insane. It was two in the morning. The woman was undoubtedly asleep – and even if she wasn’t, he’d done absolutely nothing that would encourage her to answer his after-hours call. Nonetheless, Owen listened to the line ringing with bated breath as Eddie nestled against his side.

To his surprise, after the third ring, a very fatigued voice answered lowly. “Hello?”

He hesitated. It would be better if he just hung up. She could go back to sleep and perhaps, be none the wiser. But he wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight – or any night in the future- if he didn’t get a hold on what tortured him. “Dr. Thomas?”

A loud yawn punctuated the woman’s answer. “Owen?”

He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Owen…” He heard the shifting of bedclothes as her voice became steadily more alert. “It’s two in the morning. Is something wrong?”

At Owen’s side, Eddie whimpered and his master drew up courage he thought he’d forgotten. “Genevieve…I need a session.”

He could feel the woman’s surprise through the line. It was evident in the small sound of shock she made and the long silence afterward. “…Right now?” She finally answered softly, her tone carefully neutral.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “No…not now. Tomorrow. Do you have any free spots?”

She took a moment to think, the silence filled with the rustling of pages in a planner. “Well…I’m booked up all day tomorrow, but if it’s an emergency…you could come to the office after hours-”