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Instead, arousal hits me like a one-two punch, and I don’t fight it, allowing it to transform my face, so he can see that the need in me matches the need in him. “You can trust me.”

He studies me for what feels like an eternity, but in the end, he nods. The motion is almost imperceptible.

I place my hand against his chest and circle him, pressing a kiss against his shoulder, his arm, the center of his back. His tattoo is a tapestry of color up close, and I spend several moments tracing the graceful black outlines with my tongue. He holds onto my wrist as if he needs the lifeline. I kiss down his spine and over the globes of his ass while my hand trails down his chest and back to his wet cock. I grip it, and in an expulsion of air, he lets my wrist go so I can stroke him while I bite and lick my way closer and closer to his tight entrance. With a cry sounding like defeat, he drops to his knees. My good hand strokes him while I use my casted arm to gently urge him to bend at the waist. When he’s finally on his hands and knees before me, I bury my face in the muscled sea of flesh and lap him like a cat with a bowl of cream.

“Oh. Fucking. God.” He pumps hard into my fist.

I bathe him with my tongue, teasing the entrance with small, eager licks. He pumps, hard and erratic. I increase the pressure of my tongue and circle the tight entrance.

“Taya, I’m gonna. Oh, fuck. Squeeze me harder.” He convulses, clenching against my tongue.

I pull us both upright and press my tits against his back, milking the remaining cum from him until it coats my hand. He arches in my arms, and I hold him against me, unwilling to back away from his warmth after the last of the shudders subside and he’s struggling to breathe.

He relaxes into me bit by bit. Jim let himself go and gave me control, not only of his pain but of his pleasure. The tough-as-nails Navy SEAL is so dedicated to the role of the alpha male, I never thought he’d allow himself to be vulnerable.

Especially with me.

Chapter Nineteen

Jim

My eyes driftopen, consciousness making itself known by slow degrees. The digital clock flashes two a.m., and I throw my arm above my head. An unfamiliar, although not unwelcome, weight shifts at my side.

Taya.

Christ.

The woman had me on all fours, moaning her name. And the moment she stepped out from the bathroom, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my bedroom like a love-struck teenager.

My jaw tenses, and my breath hitches painfully.

Raychel was the only other woman to play with my ass, and she mocked me for it every chance she got. Nothing had been about my needs, only the power trip she got from my submission to the physical pleasure. But it wasn’t enough for her.

The day our divorce was final, I’d been out celebrating with a bunch of SEALs. She stormed into the bar, spilling our private business to the public. Many snickered while others were too uncomfortable to make a sound about how she screwed so many guys right under my nose. It’s why I hate dealing with anyone besides Bear and occasionally, Martinez and Craiger.

Lux was a different story. I called Lux “brother” long before the military taught me to think that way. Raychel and her betrayal had enraged him, but he’d been overseas at the time. I hadn’t seen him again until after the divorce had gone through, and then the horrors of war briefly distracted us both from our lives back home.

Taya makes a small sound. Vulnerable, soft and wholly satisfied. When she shifts, a hint of cool air hits my skin, and I shiver as I glance down at her. I study her features and commit each bold line to memory.

I can’t afford another scandal. The only reason I haven’t been completely discredited, in the eyes of both my superiors and my subordinates, is because I’ve proven myself time and again in the field. If I showed the slightest hesitation, if I slipped up, made a wrong decision, or fucked up in the slightest way, my career and everything I’d worked for over the years would go up in smoke.

If things with Taya go belly up, my personal issues would label me as an ineffective team lead. I’ll be written off as disruptive and incompetent, and assuming I’m not laughed off the base entirely, I’ll be lucky to get a desk job in human resources.

From Navy SEAL to civilian desk lackey. My life reduced to a punchline of a joke I always stumble over.

But the promise of her warmth is a heady thing, and I reach out to pull Taya closer. The line of puckered skin along her shoulder makes me pause. The roughened skin travels down beneath her light pink camisole out of my sight, so I follow it with my fingertips. It’s soft with age and feeds into another scar along her spine.

These aren’t scratches.

She would’ve needed stitches for the scar tissue under my fingertips. And now she lies against my side with her arm in a cast. My stomach twists in on itself at the idea of my wife hurt and bleeding. My fingers clench into tight fists as if there’s some enemy I can fight to keep it from ever happening again.

Taya shifts in my arms, eyes opening to slits. “You okay?”

There’s no easy answer. Before I can speak, her eyes snap wide open, and she sits up and brisk air replaces the warmth she’d given. I pull her back, the idea of letting her leave abhorrent. One arm tightens around her and fingers from my free hand trace down the length of her spine.

Her body relaxes into me.

How have I lasted so long without the taste of her?

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