Dark Tide, page 8
She’ll be pissed…but I don't care. I can deal with the co-worker fallout much more easily after a few orgasms.
I find the hem of his shirt and slide my hands up under it to spread them out across his massive, hard chest. He groans in my ear and kisses his way back to my mouth. His tongue slips between my lips to tangle with mine, and I scratch my nails down his pecs and roll my hips.
God, yes…
The only thing that matters now is this feeling. What we can do for each other. A temporary diversion from real life.
I pull back and drag his shirt up over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Rock hard muscle and ink fill my vision. There is hardly an inch of him that isn't covered by some color or design. The man is a walking piece of art, and I want to spend hours exploring every single line, every dip and curve, every splash of black and white and color. I want to learn every story behind every image on his body.
But that can wait ‘til later. It'll have to. I don't think either of us wants to slow anything down right now.
His large hands slide up my back and unhook my bra. I take off my shirt and let my bra drop from my arms, exposing my breasts to him fully.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Gabriella. You’re fucking magnificent.” He grabs them in his hands and buries his face between them, kissing across both breasts and then sucking a nipple between his lips.
A lightning bolt of pleasure shoots straight between my legs. I arch my back and groan as I rub against his cock.
God, his cock.
I dreamed about it last night. How amazing it felt between my legs. Inside me. How badly I want to taste him.
He lets my nipple pop free from his mouth and moves toward the other one, but I shift out of reach and slide off his lap. His wide eyes meet mine with confusion. I slowly lower myself to my knees between his legs and reach for his jeans.
A grin spreads across his face, and he leans back on his hands, giving me full access and him the perfect view. The two tattooed birds directly over his hip bones direct me toward my destination, and I drag his jeans down and expose all the ink on his thighs I couldn't see last night.
So beautiful.
I float my fingertips along his skin, and he drops his head back and shivers. His hard cock stands at attention between his legs, just as big as everything else about Rion. I reach out and wrap my hand around it, but my fingers can't even come close to touching.
One long, slow stroke makes his body bow up. A drop of precum sits at the head of his cock, and I lean forward and flick my tongue across it.
His eyes fly open, and he jerks. “Fuck!”
He buries his hand in my hair and guides me. I open my mouth and swallow him down, taking him all the way to the back of my throat then relax to take him even deeper.
“Sweet mother of fucking God. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I suck, and he arches off the bed, forcing himself even deeper. I swallow and twist my hand around the base of the shaft. He pushes up again and starts fucking my mouth in time with my stroke.
The salty tang of his precum dances across my tongue, and I moan, which only drives him harder. I suck in a deep breath through my nose and glide my tongue along the underside of the shaft, finding that place right at the base of the head that’s sure to drive him over the edge.
His other hand falls on top of my head, and he tightens his grip, controlling the speed and tempo as he pumps into my mouth and down my throat.
Come for me, Rion.
I want to make him completely fall apart. I want to swallow him down and know that I’m the one who did that to him. It’s a power trip to have such a strong man putty in my hands. To have this kind of control over someone. I twist my hand around his shaft. We both move faster, and then finally, his hands tighten in my hair.
“I'm gonna come.” He tugs at my head, but I just suck harder until he loses control and blasts straight down my throat. I swallow as he comes and comes.
Only when Rion sags back against the bed and his hands relax in my hair do I finally release him. He collapses on the bed, his breathing heavy, then sits up, grabs my arms, and drags me up to lay across him.
He pulls my face to his and kisses me, his tongue sliding deep into my mouth and tangling with my own. There's no doubt he can taste himself on me.
God, that's fucking hot.
One of his hands slides down between us and into the front of my pants. He slips a finger into my wetness and drags it up to my clit. I groan, close my eyes, and clench around him.
Rion’s chest rumbles. “Yeah, I think you're definitely going to be fucking late for work.”
Definitely.
He moves his finger in and out of me, curling it so the calloused tip hits my G-spot.
I slam my lips against his and shift my position slightly so I can crush my clit against his palm. Rion’s hips move to meet mine, and a heat starts to spread in my core. It creeps slowly across my skin and through my body. The orgasm builds until it finally crashes over the edge, and Rion ensures it keeps rolling with the movement of his hand and finger.
“Fuck, sugar, I need to be inside you.”
“Yes!” My response comes out throaty, barely a word. More like a plea.
He removes his hand from inside my pants and works the button and zipper open. I shift back and stand to kick them off, then grab a condom from the dresser and slide it down his cock. He shifts back until he’s against the headboard and motions for me to straddle him.
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he offers me a lopsided smirk that would melt my panties if I were wearing any. Rion, naked except for his ink, spread out like an offering to the gods…
How could any woman resist him?
His tongue trails over his bottom lip, like looking at me has his mouth watering. “Get up here and ride me, sugar.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. I crawl across the mattress toward him and settle across his legs, positioning his hard cock at the apex of my thighs. I lean forward and let his length glide through my release while I devour his mouth. His strong hands squeeze my hips, and I lift myself and slide down him.
“Oh, God.” The words tumble from my lips on a strangled groan.
In this position, I really feel him. His size. Every fucking inch.
I raise myself and lower myself slowly, savoring all of it. Rion’s hands tighten on me, and I press my palms flat against his pecs to get leverage before I increase my pace.
Every roll and snap of my hips, Rion thrusts up to meet me. Our bodies move together fluidly, in a perfect rhythm. His fingers dig into my hips and help guide me. With every glide down, I grind against his pelvis, giving my clit the perfect amount of friction to bring me to the edge of release quickly.
Rion’s dark eyes, almost black in his desire, stay locked on me—alternating between meeting my gaze and focusing on where our bodies are connected. “Watching you ride me, seeing my cock disappear inside of you…it’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
The gravelly tone of his already deep voice and his hard thrust up are my undoing. My pussy tightens around him, and he grunts and drives into me harder, controlling me with his strength when the entire world disappears around me.
His hands tense on my hips, and he gasps as he comes with me. I collapse onto him and bury my face against his damp neck. His heaving chest moves in time with mine.
He turns his head and nuzzles my temple as his arms come around me and squeeze. His warm breath flutters against my neck behind my ear, and he nips at me playfully. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starving.”
I chuckle and pull my head back to look into his hooded, coal eyes. I brush my fingers across his lips and lean down to kiss him languidly.
Our tongues twist and play together until I finally come up for breath. “I could eat.”
That damn grin spreads across his face, and he presses his forehead to mine. “We really should. You’re going to need some energy for what I have planned for you.”
Oh, God.
This man might kill me.
And if he doesn’t, Nicki is going to for being so damn late.
11
Rion
“This might be the best orange chicken I’ve had in my entire life.” I shove another bite into my mouth and savor the flavors dancing across my tongue.
E is a fucking brilliant cook, but he can’t compete with this.
I’ll never tell him that, though.
Though it’s possible, this just tastes so good because I haven’t eaten anything today and worked up an appetite. The company may have something to do with my enjoyment, too.
Gabriella laughs and takes another bite of her chow mein. She swallows and shakes her head. “Chinese food from a place in the middle of Nowhere, Wisconsin cannot possibly be the best Chinese food you've ever had.”
I point my chopsticks at her. “I didn't say it was the best Chinese food I’ve ever had. Just the best orange chicken. The best Chinese food is hands down in Hong Kong.”
Her eyes widened slightly then narrow on me. “You've been to China?”
Crap.
I hadn’t intended to open myself up to personal questions. It tends to lead to ones I either can’t or don’t want to answer, but I guess I can’t really say something like that and not expect her to ask. I take another bite and chew slowly. “Yup. I’ve been a lot of places.”
That should be vague enough.
One of her eyebrows wings up. “Traveling for work? I thought you guys fished mostly around here.”
I bark out a laugh at the thought of Warwick and the guys actually fishing, let alone traveling the world doing it. “We do.”
She inspects the still-healing slice on my arm. “Is that how you got that nasty cut?”
I can pull the stitches out in a few days, but it’s definitely going to leave a scar. Preacher is decent with a needle, but he’s no fucking cosmetic surgeon. I should have just done it myself.
“Yep. Accident on the boat.”
It’s not a total lie. It was an accident on a boat, just not ours. And maybe it was less of an accident and more of me being distracted and not paying attention.
If I’d been one hundred percent on my game, I never would have let that fucker get the drop on me like that. It’s embarrassing and only adds fuel to the fire for the guys thinking I can’t be trusted right now.
I would never have made a mistake like that even a year ago. Those are the kinds of things that get someone killed.
“But around here?” She pokes at her food and looks up at me.
“Yeah, we stay mostly in Lake Michigan.”
She nods slowly. “From what I’ve seen at the bar, it seems like it’s a pretty tight group. All the fishermen and guys out on the water seem to know everyone else.”
“For the most part.” I take a bite and chew. “There aren’t many commercial fishermen left, but there are a few. Plus, a lot of guys still fish for themselves or sell to small markets and restaurants.”
“So, you know pretty much everyone who operates out of this area? Are there a lot of young guys, like your age?”
Where is she going with this?
I waggle my eyebrows at her. “Why, you looking for someone to hook up with?”
She drops her head back and laughs. “You caught me. I’m looking for someone who can satisfy my sexual needs.”
My chest rumbles with the laugh that works its way up my throat. “You sure seemed satisfied to me, but I bet Billy could help you out if I’m not fulfilling my end here.” I motion between us and try to keep a straight face.
She leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, the spicy and salty tang of her chow mein mingling with the sweetness of the orange chicken on my tongue.
“Mmmmm.” My cock stirs between us, almost like it’s demanding a chance to prove her joke isn’t true.
Gabs pulls away and grins. “You do a decent job.”
I chuckle and lean back. “Gee, thanks.” It’s a good thing I know she’s just messing around; otherwise, my ego might have been bruised by that comment. “But to answer your earlier question, I was a military brat and followed my dad a lot of places. He was stationed in Japan for a while, and we made a few trips across to China.”
“Wow, hippie mom and military dad…how did that work?”
I snort and shake my head as I take another bite. “It didn't. They divorced by the time I was four, and I ended up with my dad because my mom went to live at some commune in Northern California that didn't allow children.”
That sounded a little more resentful than I intended it. Though my childhood wasn’t exactly Leave it to Beaver, I really shouldn’t complain. A lot of people had it way worse.
Gabriella licks her lips, drawing attention to them in a way that’s pretty damn dangerous when I have a semi working. “Wow, that's…kind of weird.”
I shrug and take another couple of bites. This isn’t my favorite topic of conversation, which may help relieve the swelling down south. It’s probably one of my least favorite topics—directly behind talking about my deployments. But Gabby seems genuinely interested, and for some strange reason, I don’t mind telling her as much as I thought I would.
Most girls I end up fucking either aren’t interested in anything more than getting laid so they don’t ask questions, or they’re looking to get married after my dick is in them, so they cling to me like Velcro.
Gabby doesn’t put off either of those vibes. She’s cool and relaxed and so damn easy to talk to.
If she really wants to know, there’s no harm in telling her. “She was a little flighty. I think her carefree spirit is what my dad fell for initially because it helped loosen him up a bit, but in the end, she just wasn't cut out to be a mom. I don't blame her for that.”
Seeing Grace with Will has shown me what a mother should be like—loving, doting, committed. Mom was never like that with me. Her head was never in the game. I was an afterthought to everything else floating around in her mind. Yet she had the wherewithal to recognize it instead of trying to fake it, which just would have ended badly. Leaving me with Dad might have been hard on me, but at least he cared. In his own way.
Gabby leans against the headboard and pushes her food around with her chopsticks. “Did you get along with your dad?”
I chuckle and shake my head as years of endless arguments and reprimands play through my head. “What do you think?”
Humor dances in her eyes as they travel over my naked tattooed torso and across each of my inked arms. “I think you were probably a troublemaker and your dad didn't appreciate your sense of adventure.”
Sense of adventure.
“That's pretty accurate.” And a nice way of saying he was an uptight hardass who always expected me to fall in line like one of his men and beat the crap out of me when I didn’t.
The man didn’t know any other way to live. He didn’t know how to show emotion or that he cared in any other way than pushing me harder and forcing me to conform. Not the ideal father, by any means, but he did bring me up to recognize one thing—I didn’t want to be him.
A silence lingers between us while I reflect on the not so great years I spent under his roof and she undoubtedly imagines any number of difficult scenarios I lived through.
But instead of pressing me on the tough stuff, she gives me a tiny smile. “So, where else did you live besides Japan?”
I swallow another bite and consider my answer. It's not often I talk about my upbringing or my time in the military with anyone. Then again, I rarely spend the day eating Chinese food in bed with anyone, either. I poke around in my takeout container.
There are things I can’t or won’t tell her. Ones that are either too difficult, too complicated, or are secrets I’m in no position to reveal. But there are some things I can say, ones that might appease her curiosity.
“As a child, Japan, Germany, a few places in the Middle East. As an adult…you name it, and I’ve probably been there.”
And never want to go back.
My chest tightens, and I set down my food and absently rub at my sternum.
So many memories.
So many faces.
So much blood and death.
It’s not anything I want to relive. And this conversation is definitely going down that path—one I want to avoid. Especially with a very important anniversary coming up, one that always drags me down to my lowest point every damn year.
She pokes at her food some more, eyeing me suspiciously.
I must not be very good at hiding my emotions anymore. Or controlling them, if what happened earlier with the guys was an indication. There’s no sense in going down a dangerous and emotional road with her. I have no intention of opening old wounds while sitting in bed naked, eating with a beautiful woman.
“Why did you travel so much?” She brings another bite to her lips.
I watch her push it between them. My cock twitches remembering what it felt like to be between them. I shift slightly, and a heavy sigh slips from my lips. “I was in the Army.”
“Wow.” She lowers the chopsticks she has poised at her mouth. “I didn't expect that.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Why not?”
She shrugs. “Because with your dad in the military, I would've thought that was the last thing you wanted for yourself.”
Smart girl.
Answering to someone was never on the top of my to-do list, especially when that person had the power to make my life miserable if I didn’t comply. I had other plans, but life doesn’t often go the way you want it to. That has been proven over and over again—in Iraq more times than I could count and, lately, out on the water more than I’m comfortable with.
Getting out of the Rangers was supposed to mean no more blood on my hands—no more killing and no more watching men die either because I shot them or because I couldn’t save them. Now, I’ve found myself right back where I started, just without the uniform and approval of Uncle Sam.
