Page 71 of Heart of Danger
For the very first time in his life as a soldier, Mac didn’t want to die. He had something—someone—to come home to. No one in Ghost Ops had anyone to come home to, by definition, but now he did.
He wanted, fiercely, to live. He wanted to live with Catherine for the rest of their natural lives. He wanted to build their community, protect it, watch it grow. He was on the run but he could even marry Catherine. Not legally, of course, but there was a man in Haven who’d been a pastor of a church that had been bulldozed by a developer and had made his way to Haven. He was a good pastor and a good man and they could have a ceremony. One of those new age things he’d always laughed at, but he’d do it. Commit to her before his community.
Stella would cater.
Oh yeah.
Mac stripped, slipped into bed beside Catherine, turned off the lights with a flick of his finger.
He was hard as a rock. Just touching her, feeling all that warm softness next to him set him off. But he didn’t really need to feel her or even see her. Just the thought of her was enough.
Slowly, slowly he eased her into his arms, settled her head on his shoulder and lay there, one hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling, wanting Catherine more than he wanted his next breath.
She was there, right there. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he woke her up, she’d welcome him. She’d open those long legs, open her arms, open that delightful sex. He’d slide into her, like sliding into home and they’d start moving together in perfect rhythm.
At some point, though, he was going to have to do more than slide on top of her, then into her. However welcoming she always was, women wanted—needed—foreplay. And by God, he’d give it to her if he wasn’t always so fucking blasted from the heat in his head.
He did foreplay. He was even good at it. A man who looked like him had to know his way around a woman’s body, and he did. He once got a woman off by sucking her toes. He knew what to do. And he wanted to do it with Catherine.
God, yes. He wanted to kiss those pretty breasts, over and over, until his mouth knew her shape instinctively. He wanted to suck them, kiss them all over until the nipples turned cherry red and hard. Then he’d kiss his way down over that flat little belly, slowly, feeling her writhe, until he got to the main attraction.
Oh yeah. He didn’t mind going down on woman but he craved the thought with Catherine. Lifting her legs, opening them, settling down between them. God, he was sure he could stay there for hours. Puffy pink lips in that soft dark cloud of hair, begging to be kissed. What he really wanted was for her to come while stroking her with his tongue, feeling the sharp contractions against his mouth, hearing her cries and moans while fucking her with his tongue…
Oh God. He felt like whimpering. So good, it would be so good and why the fuck hadn’t he done it before? Because his brain blasted, went nova, the instant he touched her. There wasn’t anything else in his mind other than getting inside her with his dick. It was pure instinct, absolutely irresistible.
Maybe when he’d had her a few thousand times, maybe when they could settle into a routine like normal couples—though he had no fucking clue how normal couples behaved—maybe then he could indulge in some foreplay.
But now he had the burning images of his face buried between her thighs, of sucking her nipples with his hand inside her—and now that he thought about it, wow. Feeling her climax with his hand instead of his dick…except his dick, which had a mind of its own, was going to want to be inside her too.
It was all too much for him, just the thought of the thousands of hours ahead of him with Catherine as his own personal playground. God.
His dick hurt. He could feel his heartbeat there and he felt like it would split open at every pulse. His balls were pulled up tight, ready to blow. The solution to his problem was right there, right in his arms. If he went down on her right now, he could make her wet enough to take him in no time. They could be fucking in a few minutes, no question and he wouldn’t hurt so much.
But…
But she’d looked so tired. There’d been blue bruises under those glorious silver eyes. Pat told him she’d worked all day with her and Salvatore in the infirmary, had patched up one of their engineering guys who’d broken an arm trying to wrestle a beam into a wall. She’d had nothing but surprises since setting out to find him, she’d nearly frozen to death, he’d nearly fucked her to death…
Couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He would just lie here with his blue steeler and listen to her breathe and be happy she was getting some rest. There was always tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. They’d have plenty of time together. Eventually, he’d get round to foreplay.
He closed his eyes and drifted…
He was drifting along a river, warm water lapping around him, soft and gentle. He floated on his back, the sun warm on his face, the cloudless sky a blue so perfect it hurt the eyes. Mac smiled, eyes closed.
Perfect. Everything was fucking perfect.
The water lapped around him softly, moving him gently. A river? The ocean? If it was the ocean, it sure as hell wasn’t the Pacific around Coronado. That had always been cold as hell. This was somewhere else. Where? Who the fuck cared?
Wherever it was, it smelled really good. He drew in a deep breath. Most of the smells he could identify spelled trouble. Semtex, cordite, gun solvent. This wasn’t like those smells at all, this was like heaven, like springtime, clear and clean and fresh. Maybe he actually was in heaven. That didn’t make sense though. Ghost Ops guys weren’t going to heaven, unless maybe Catherine could get him in.
There was something on his arm, light and warm and soft, weighing it down. He should look and see what it was, but his eyes simply wouldn’t open. Wouldn’t do it. Everything felt so damned good he couldn’t bring himself to exert himself in any way.
And besides, if this was heaven, who wanted to mess with heaven?
He drifted, content, on a sea of pleasure.
A cry of agony pierced the air, sharp with pain. Terrible, unending pain, raw and unbearable.
Mac shot up, grabbed his Glock from the bedside table. He was a soldier, he came out of sleep fast. In a nanosecond he was oriented. He was in bed and Catherine had been sleeping on his shoulder.
