Page 66 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

He frowned down at her, knowing he should be angry, he should be arguing. But her hand was smoothing over his chest with a gentle caress and she was staring up at him with those velvet eyes shining with love.

"So you'll just walk off and find someone else?" he asked with a frown.

"The biggest, meanest, thickest-muscled redneck in the South," she assured him. "Then I'll cry and tell him how mean you were to me and watch him kick your butt."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. She actually looked serious. Staring up at him with that fierce look, her pert little nose wrinkled just the slightest and her lips held in a firm line. Though he was certain there was a hint of a smile there.

"Might as well get a cat while you're at it." He smirked. "You know how much I like cats."

And he did. He loved cats. He'd just never owned one. Unfortunately, most cats really seemed to dislike him.

"I'll get a mean cat," she assured him, and yes, that was definitely a smile tugging at her lips and sparkling in her eyes. And he'll have really sharp claws. He'll scratch you for being mean to me, Clint."

He chuckled at the threat. If he wasn't mistaken, she had made the same threat when she was eleven and her parents wouldn't allow her to go with him and Reno when they went out one night while home on leave.

She had cried then. Tears running from her eyes as she swore it wasn't fair that she didn't get to see them long enough.

And they had stayed home until she had gone to bed. If he wasn't mistaken, two tough twenty-year-old Special Forces recruits had sat for nearly three hours and played Monopoly with her and Raven.

He shook his head at Morganna as he reached for his beer, only to have her lift it from his hands and bring it to her lips. And he swore it was the damnedest sight in the world, her lips touching the rim as she tilted the bottle back and drank from it.

"Your beer tastes better than mine," she whispered as she then placed it at his lips. "Taste it and see."

And he did. And it did. He could taste Morganna. Sunlight and heat filling his senses until he knew he would never be the same again.

He took the bottle from her and set it back on the table before lifting the tray and pushing it beside the beer. So he could tumble her to the mattress. So his lips could fit over hers and he could taste more of her.

Sweet and addictive, spicy and electric, the feel of her lips beneath his, her tongue stroking over his, tore through him in ways he couldn't bear to acknowledge. Hands as soft as silk caressed his shoulders, his back. Delicate little nails pricked at his flesh; a soft female moan washed over his senses.

There were no words. There was no need for them. As he consumed her kiss, he was consumed in return. As he pushed between her thighs, they parted for him; her legs lifted and clasped his hips in the most intimate of embraces.

She was still snug. Her sweet pussy was tight, hot, and he had to work for what he needed, the full clasp of snug, satin muscles rippling over the full length of his cock.

Short, gentle thrusts worked his flesh inside hers. His hands caressed her and he was caressed in turn until he was seated fully inside her, his senses exploding with pleasure as he began to rock against her.

This was what he fought for, what he dreamed of and ached for: Morganna in his arms, her breathless moans breaking free of their kiss as she arched, tightened, and exploded around him.

And as she milked his cock he followed her. His thrusts lengthened, grew faster, until a shattered cry tore from his lips and his release spilled inside her.

She was his and his soul acknowledged it, even if his mind couldn't.

Chapter 18

THE NEXT NIGHT CLINT SAT sprawled in the leather comfort of his host's living-room couch, his expression carefully bland as he watched the crowd milling about the huge room. The mansion sat on the outskirts of the city, a two-story m

onstrosity of glass and stone that had always somehow offended his tastes. Though he got along well with its owner.

Trina Blake was an oddity. A Dominatrix with a cruel streak, as well as a record a mile long. Her sexual tastes ran to women rather than men, especially small, willful women. And her gaze was currently tracking Morganna.

His Morganna. The possessiveness rising inside him had the power to bring a measure of fear to his heart. She was changing him and he wasn't certain how he would survive the outcome.

"Forget it, Trina." Clint lifted his drink to his lips, sipping at it as he spoke to the black-haired Cuban-American.

"She's exquisite," she murmured, her maroon lips curling into a smile as she shifted on her chair, her hands playing indolently with the long, coarse strands of her black hair. "I was actually ready to go after her myself when I heard you had carried her from the bar, for the second time." She cast him a mocking glance from black eyes before, oddly, checking the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. "Though she doesn't appear as submissive as I know you like them, Clint."

He turned his gaze back to Morganna. Her back was to him as she sat with several other guests, not all of whom were part of the lifestyle. Where the other submissives were catering to their Doms' needs, Morganna was socializing. Playing her part to the hilt and driving him insane.

"You have no idea what my likes or dislikes are, Trina,” he said, pulling his gaze back from Morganna and the small crowd growing around her. She was like a flame, incandescent, fragile.

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