“No man will ever own me again, Asher,” she whispers.
Those words, delivered with an emphasis on my name, hit me with a hard punch of reality. She is too insistent that he owns her. She hasn’t let go. Maybe she doesn’t want to let go. Fuck. I’ve become too attached to this woman, too fucking fast. It’s like the Walker brothers and their obsession with their women have become a contagion and there is no damn vaccine. I release her and grab the bedpost above her head. “You won’t ever be owned by anyone but him,” I say. “Got it.”
She faces me. “No,” she says, her hands flattening on my chest. “That is not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I left him for a reason.”
“To belong to him from a distance? Because you’re choosing to belong to him. To fear him, or maybe it’s not fear. I don’t know what the fuck it is.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Make me,” I say.
“No.”
“Then let go of me, Sierra.” I push off the bedpost and when I would move away, she grabs my belt loops.
“I’m not letting you go,” she says. “I don’t want him.”
“But you want me?”
“You know I want you. You know I want to know what this is between us just like you.”
“Then who owns you, Sierra? Because you’re about a fuck and good morning away from owning me, and I’m not going there if you belong to him.”
“I don’t belong to him.”
“Who do you belong to?”
“Me. I belong to me.”
“Are you sure?” I press.
“Yes. Yes.”
“Say it,” I order.
“I belong to me.”
“That’s not what I want to hear.”
“He doesn’t own me.”
I cup her head. “Say it like you mean it.”
“He doesn’t own me, Asher. And I’m saying your name to make sure you know that I know who I’m with.”
Where she belongs. That thought comes to me, and I don’t try to understand it or fight it. It’s the Walker way. Women are fuck buddies until one woman explodes into your life and overnight, changes that. There is no doubt that I caught that bug and I have none of the regret Sierra has feared. I take her in my arms and I kiss her—a deep, drink-her-in-and-fucking-own-her, kiss. Her hands press my shirt upward and I pull back and drag it over my head. Her hands are immediately on my arms, her eyes on the scar where it blends into my tattoo. She leans in and kisses it, her lips warm on my skin, while I’m hot with a variety of fantasies about where else that mouth can go. For now, I press my mouth to her mouth, and the instant my tongue touches her tongue, there is a surge between us: hunger, need, lust, my hands everywhere I can touch. Her hands everywhere she can touch. Her boots come off and then mine. She reaches for my pants and I reach for hers. It should be fucking perfect, but perfect is ruined by her voice in my head saying: “he owns me,” which leads to me thinking about her mouth on him, right when it’s on me, and I don’t like it.
I tear my mouth from hers, my hand sliding under her hair to cup her neck. “There are two ways to own someone, Sierra,” I say. “The wrong way. His way. Or the way I’m going to own you right now, tonight.”
“And your way is the right way?”
“I’ll let you judge.” My cheek slides to hers, lips to her ear. “My way means that you moan. You sigh.” My fingers lightly touch her nipple and she arches into me. “You tremble,” I add, cupping her breast. “You want more now, and yet you don’t want it enough to make it end. And I already don’t want it to end, Sierra.”
She leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder, emotion that isn’t pleasure radiating off of her and crashing into me. I cup her face and tilt her chin up, my thumb stroking her cheek. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. Everything. Can you kiss me again already?”
“Where, Sierra?”
“Where?”
“Where do you want me to kiss you? Tell me.”
“Everywhere.” She pushes to her toes, and her lips find mine, looking for an escape, trying to drive her demons away.
I want to demand her answer, make her tell me where she wants my mouth, but I feel her desperation, her need to escape whatever is in her head. And so, I press my lips to hers, I kiss her mouth, drinking her in, and I don’t taste him this time. I taste her. I taste us. I taste need and hunger and passion. “I want you naked,” I say, my hands sliding inside her jeans and panties. “In every possible way, Sierra.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m already there, and it’s terrifying.” She flattens her hand on my chest. “If you turn into an asshole, I swear—”
“You can punish me,” I promise, “and I’m still willing to offer suggestions.”
“If you turn into an asshole after I trusted you,” she says. “I won’t need suggestions, Mr. Ex-Navy SEAL who won’t be able to hide from my wrath.”
Fuck, I’m crazy about this woman. “Good thing I’m not going to turn into an asshole. I want you naked,” I repeat, and this time, I make it happen. I lower myself to one knee and take her jeans and panties with me. My arm wraps her waist and I lift her, dragging her clothing away, and setting her back down. My hands settle on her hips then and I look up at her. She stares down at me, the simmering look in her eyes all about arousal, submission. And I want that from her and not because it’s some sex game, of which I could play and play well.
I press my lips to her belly and just that easily she trembles, and it only makes me want more. Everything is more with her. I drag my mouth lower and lower until I linger a lick from her clit, my breath a warm trickle meant to tease. She reaches for me and that’s when I turn her to the bedpost, forcing her to catch herself, and presenting her perfect heart-shaped backside for my pleasure. I give it a little smack. Not the kind that hurts, but it surprises her and she yelps. I stand up and do it again, my hands resting on her cheek. “Have you ever been spanked, Sierra?” I ask, leaning in close.
“No,” she says.
“Tied up?”
“No.”
“Flogged?”
“No.”
“Had your nipples clamped?”
“Oh, no,” she says, sounding shocked.
I laugh. “Oh, yes. You’d like it. I promise”
I don’t—”
“You do. You will. You’ll like it.” My hands settle on her shoulders. “I’m going to step back and undress.”
“I can’t stay like this.”
“Just for a minute,” I say. “This is about trust. I’m not going to do anything but undress. I promise, Sierra.” I drag my hands down her arms, my fingers catching hers before I let them fall away.
I step back, and I’m undressed in about thirty seconds. Just that fast, Sierra turns to face me, her gaze raking over my naked body. Her attention lingering on my cock that is now jutted between us for long enough to distract me, and have me thinking about her, on her knees, in front of me, before her eyes jerk upward to mine.
My fantasy blow job has ended with a reality check. “Obviously we have less trust than I thought,” I say.
“It’s not about trust.”
“It is about trust,” I insist.
“Actually no. It’s about claustrophobia. It hit me right after my accident. I was trapped in the car and I just have these random triggers and—” She cuts herself off and tries to walk away.
I catch her and pull her to me, my erection at her hip. “What triggers?”
“He used to turn me around like that,” she whispers. “I know it’s you, not him. It’s not that I’m with him right now. It’s just these triggers that I have no control over and I hate it so much. I hate that I’m weak enough to have something I can’t just turn off.”
My desire to kill this man grows stronger every minute. “We all have demons, sweetheart. I have a clusterfuck of my own. So I’m going to give you advice. I’m going to tell you how to make that feeling go away.”
“SEAL training?”
“Most definitely.”
“Then yes. How?”
“Kiss me. Fuck me. Go to bed with me.”
She smiles her way into a laugh. “Is that right? That’s SEAL training?”
“It is,” I assure. “I recommend you try it immediately.”
“Then kiss me. Kiss me now and—”
I do. I kiss her, my tongue licking her mouth, and in that one stroke, we’re all over each other again. Touching. Tasting. Wanting. I cup her backside, squeezing that sweet little ass of hers and dragging one of her legs to my hip.
Her hand closes around my cock, and I’m not sure if it’s her or me that presses me inside her. I’m just there, in the sweet, wet heat of her body. I lift her then, and her hands grip my shoulders, but I don’t thrust into her. Not here. Not like this. I carry her to the mattress, and I go down with her, on top of her. We have a moment where we just look at each other and it’s combustible. And then I’m thrusting into her, driving, pumping, my hands still cupping those sweet cheeks and lifting her into me while she arches her back. We’re wild, primal, and it’s exactly where the fuck I want her. With me, and making these soft, sexy sounds, that tighten my balls every damn time she moans into my mouth or against my cheek.
She’s here.
She’s present.
But so the fuck am I. I’m with Sierra, not just some woman, and even now, driving into her, I register how insanely different that is for me. How insanely different she is to me. How mine she is in the moment now, when later she may withdraw. I want to keep her here, in the moment, outside her beast and her demons, and I force myself to pump slower, to calm my body and hers. I roll to my side and take her with me, kissing her as I do, my lips trailing to her cheek, her neck, my hand on her breast, my mouth on her nipple. I lick it, suckle it, and repeat before kissing her shoulder, her neck. Her lips. I tangle rough fingers into her hair and she breathes out, “Asher, please.”
Please, she says.
Thank you, I say.
I drive into her and we’re burning hot all over. Wild. Back to primal needs, but this time there is no turning back. We’re touching, kissing, moving, hungering for each other, and I can’t get deep enough, or close enough to this woman. Too soon, and yet just in time, she digs her fingernails into my back and tenses. A second later, she spasms around me, and I’m driving into her with the quake of my body, and that damn near rocks me. I don’t even know where she begins and I end, or where I begin and she ends. Time is some elaborate scheme to force us back to reality, but it wins. We’re suddenly out of the lust-filled, pleasure-laden bubble. Back to the world where The Beast has to be named, but not tonight.
I stroke hair from her face and kiss her. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move or the wet spot is all your fault.”
She laughs. “Of course. Blame the one who doesn’t have a rocket launcher attached to her body.”
“That’s what you’re calling my personal gear now?”
“Personal gear?”
“It’s better than rocket launcher and hero boy.”
“I was mad when I said that, but I got your attention, now didn’t I?”
“You had my attention the minute you showed up at the bar.” I kiss her and pull out, walking to the bathroom, where I clean up and grab a hand towel for Sierra.
I return quickly and offer it to her. “Thank you,” she says, taking it, and then quickly scooting off the bed to dart toward the bathroom. I turn to watch that cute ass that was just in my hands, shaking just the right amount. “I have to pee,” she calls out at the door, over her shoulder “so do not come in here.” She shoves at the door but it doesn’t quite shut.
Smiling, I turn on the bedside lamp, and then walk to my dresser and grab a pair of sweats. Once I’ve pulled them on, I flip out the overhead light. I’ve just yanked back the blankets on the bed when Sierra appears in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts, her energy and mood ten shades of sober now. The Beast is back with us. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, indicating the shirt.
“I like you in my shirt, Sierra. I like you in my bed. Come join me.”
She doesn’t move. “Asher, that talk.”
“It’s nearly five in the morning. Let’s sleep. We have all day tomorrow.”
She wets her lips and nods, crossing to join me. She climbs into the bed, and I follow, flipping out the light and pulling her back to my front. My hand settles on her hip. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m perfect, actually.”
But she’s not perfect. I can feel her thoughts beating at her, The Beast working her over. For a half hour, I listen to her thinking, without a word spoken. I lay there, holding her, making sure she feels safe, and it’s an hour after we lay down, with the sun beginning to lighten the room, that she whispers, “Devin Marks,” so softly that it seems that she thinks I’m asleep and she’s simply testing what it feels like to say his name.
I don’t reply, but holy fuck, there it is. The Beast has been named and he’s the real life Tony Stark of the world, if Tony Stark was a monster not a hero. She’s right about him. He’s well-connected with the highest levels of government, here and in other countries. I know much about Devin Marks and the many corrupt acts connected to him but unproven. And the real kicker. As a SEAL, I saved the fucker’s life. A wrong I’ll happily undo. My hand settles on Sierra’s belly, where the scars of that car accident will never heal. I wonder now if they were an accident at all. Maybe even then, she was targeted to die, but she survived.