Page 33 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
I’m shaking. Whether from fear of the storm, or cold, or sexual excitement, I can’t tell. Since I didn’t know if there was a two-way connection between the compartments, I am glad Cece is asleep.
Charles reaches into a compartment behind him and pulls out a soft blanket, and tuck it around us. As I grow warmer, I can still feel shivers running through me. I hold onto him, as if I’m drowning and he is my rock in a storm.
He kisses my forehead, then my cheek. I turn my head and crane my neck so that our lips meet. Our first kiss is tender, tentative, as we take each other’s measure.
I lick the underside of his top lip while simultaneously stretching out against him, getting as much contact as possible. I am shivering almost uncontrollably now, driven by some kind of eagerness I found it hard to define.
As if my tongue has pressed a button, Charles lets go of restraint. He plunders my mouth, his tongue seeking out its hidden secrets and promising other things to come. My nipples harden, and I feel as if I’m melting.
His mouth tastes like mint with a hint of charcoal. His lips are warm and flexible. Although he is clean-shaven, there is just a hint of harsh stubble against my chin. He is so warm, so real, so vital — not at all like the cold man I had taken him for the day of the funeral.
My hand drifts down his side, heading toward his belt buckle.
He catches my hand. “Wait. Slow down,” he says. “Are you sure you want this, Kate?”
“I do,” I say. “I’ve wanted . . . ever since you showed up at my bedroom door in those horrible plaid pajama bottoms.”
“You know this could be a mistake?” he says, not giving voice to what we both knew, that he was only months away from his wife’s funeral and that I was terrified out of my mind by the storm.
“I know,” I say. “But I want it anyway. You don’t have to worry about infection or disease or anything. I’ve never been with a man. If this storm tears down the building, I want to know … to experience . . .”
“You’re a virgin?” His voice warbles into a squeak. Something like terror flashes across his face.
That isn’t the response I wanted. “Does it matter?” I ask,now terrified that I’d made an utter idiot of myself. I bury my face in his shirt front and give a little whimper that is half sob and half whine of utter frustration. Have I ruined my chance? Will he refuse me?
Chapter fourteen
Charles
Now what am I supposed to do? I hold her in my arms, and oh, God, yes, she feels like everything my eyes had guessed would be there. She is slim, with taut muscle, but soft where softness counts. She is so excited her nipples are small hard pebbles through her light bra and shirt.
I can tell from the heat and scent of her that she is aroused. And that kiss . . . it isn’t an experienced kiss, although she isn’t completely ignorant of how things work. Her small tongue had danced around mine, exploring and tasting.
She tastes like lemons, she smells like coconut oil and strawberries. Her dark hair has come partially loose from its neat braid and lay in enticing tendrils around her face. My penis is awake and aware, and is doing its valiant best to rise to the occasion despite my restricting jeans. Every nerve ending in my body is shouting, “Woman! Me want!”
But . . . she was a virgin?! On the one hand, I am human enough to be excited by the idea of being her first, but on theother hand I also had this old-fashioned idea that a woman’s first should be, if not on her wedding day, at least with a man she hoped would cherish her for the rest of her life.
“Kate,” I say as gently as I can with my swollen member straining against the confines of my jeans, “Virginity is something you can only give up once.”
“I know,” she says, her voice muffled by my shirt. Is she going to cry? I’d never quite figured out what to do with a crying woman. I, at least, know better than to yell or berate her.
I hold her as gently as I can and move my free hand in gentle circles on her back, trying to think what to say.
“I’m not a baby,” she says into my shoulder. “I’ll be twenty-seven in October. And you won’t hurt me. I’ve been using a vibrator since I was eighteen. Mom gave it to me when I moved into my first apartment by myself.”
That makes me laugh, and I shift her into a slightly more comfortable position. “I can just see you opening up a box, and finding …what? A realistic representation of male anatomy? Along, no doubt, with a card from your mother.”
She gives a watery little giggle. Yep, she’d been crying. “How did you ever guess? Not only that, she included a little book on auto-eroticism and a note that ‘Bob’, which is short for ‘battery operated boyfriend’, would be a better way to take care of my libido than ‘making out in the backseat of a car’.”
“What would she say if she could see you now?” I ask, figuring that this would be the ultimate in deflating both of us. Because if something doesn’t give real soon, we’ll be past the point of no return. Maybe we already are.
“She would say, ‘Katherine Ann! Get off that man right now and stop acting like a hussy!’”
I catch one of the stray tendrils of hair and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you feel like that’s what you are doing?”
She shakes her head. “No, if I were a hussy, I would have pulled you into my bedroom that first day. Those plaid pjs were not covering up your reaction to me very much at all. But you’ve been so much of a gentleman.”
“What is different now?” I ask softly.
