I WASN’T BUYING KSENYA’S GOOD-girl act, but I was game to play along. Her eyes had dilated at my request, but she still agreed to go to the hotel with me. She was, in fact, a stripper, not that I cared. It was about time I dated a girl who loved sex.

I’d worshipped Mia—we’d been each other’s firsts, and I would’ve never made it through BUD/S without her support. But whenever I wanted to ask her to try something new in bed, I’d chickened out, afraid of how she would react. I didn’t want to lose or disrespect her, so I’d repressed my desires. She was a “good girl,” and I’d figured that making love to her should only be about tenderness.

Since we’d been apart, I’d had mostly one-night stands with chicks in bars and flings with messed-up strippers. I wanted to be with a girl who could fulfill my every fantasy. I wanted to fuck this girl, not marry her.

I sent a quick text to my buddy to reserve the Bachelor Pad Suite at the Coronado Bay Hotel. Equipped with its very own stripper pole and a huge mirror over the bed, I couldn’t think of a better place to watch Ksenya ride me. The trip over on my motorcycle was sexy as all hell. Her tight little body wrapped around mine, her huge tits pressed into my back.

The regular girls who worked at Panthers didn’t seem to have any light inside them. Their eyes were cold, their hearts dead. Fuck, I felt dead when I dated them. But not with Ksenya. This chick was different. There’d been other damn sexy strippers from there, but this girl seemed almost innocent. Her immigrant-orphan hardship story was way more compelling than the typical stripper drama. She awoke something inside me.

Even so, I wasn’t going to chase her. I had enough willing women ready to drop their panties and suck a SEAL’s cock.

I’d only pursued one woman in my life. And frankly, I didn’t have the time to put into getting to know someone when I was deployed nine months out of the year. How could I ever build a relationship with a sweet girl who’d always be there for me if I didn’t have any time to spend with her? I’d done that with Mia and failed.

I pulled up to the hotel entrance with Ksenya and tossed the valet my keys. I pressed her against the building. My lips met hers, and her fiery mouth tasted as sweet as freedom.

She let out a slow, sweet moan. My cock hardened in my jeans—only a fine layer of denim between it and her wet panties. Navy SEALs rarely wore underwear.

I checked in at the front desk, the key already waiting for me. One of my Team guys knew the concierge; whenever one of the suites was vacant, he was happy to let one of us use it.

Ksenya’s mouth dropped when I opened the door to the suite. The pad was pure decadence: a black leather sofa faced the gold stripper pole, a mirror overhead. A full bar beckoned to me.

“Oh, Grant. This place it is very beautiful. It must be very expensive. Do you come to here many times?”

I studied her face; she looked almost dazed.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I have a friend who hooks me up. Would you like a drink?”

She smiled in agreement, so I poured her a glass of wine, myself a shot of whiskey. She studied the pole. “You want me to dance for you now?”

Hell yeah, I did. But I didn’t want her to feel cheap. “Let’s just relax for a bit.”

“Can I look around?”

“Sure. Make yourself at home.” She walked around the suite, examining the pole, the gaudy painting of a naked woman to the right of the bar.

I downed my shot, and poured another, then another. My head buzzed from my earlier beer.

She sat on one of the barstools, slowly sipping her wine.

Then I saw it. Her lips. Big and pouty, but the left edge of her mouth curled when she smiled. Just like Mia’s used to.

Fuck. I was still so hung up on that girl that even sitting here with a beautiful woman, all I could think about was my ex.

I studied Ksenya’s face. It was perfect. Completely symmetrical, as if an artist had sculpted it. No imperfections, like the small bump Mia had on her nose. Still, I’d loved Mia’s face; she was unique. She had been all mine. I was still not sure why I was never enough for her. But that was history. This was my present.

Ksenya bounced her knees, fidgeting in her swivel chair. I turned the satellite stereo on in the room. “Undressed” by Kim Cesarion was playing. Perfect.

“Dance for me.” I relaxed on my sofa, the bottle of whiskey in my hand, waiting for my private show.

Her skin flushed, and her fingers brushed down her side. My every nerve tingled.

A wicked smile slowly built on her lips, and she pranced up to the pole. She teased me with glimpses of her tan thighs, the round curve of her back. She was baiting me, fondling her chest.

“Take off your dress.”

She obliged and it slid onto the carpet. Man, she was incredible. Easily the finest woman I’d ever laid my eyes on. Including actresses, porn stars, and every stripper I’d ever fucked. She was too good to be true.

“Now your bra.” I set the bottle down.

With one hand, she unhooked her red lace bra. I motioned her to the sofa, and she rubbed her breasts in my face. My tongue lashed at them, but she slapped me away and backed to the other end of the cushions. The friction from my jeans reminded me how much I wanted her, and my breath hitched. Fine, I’d play—for now. I couldn’t wait to have my way with her.

“Show me your pussy.”

Her fingers traced down her stomach, and she pushed off her panties. Her skin looked soft and warm, a thin landing strip begging me to devour it.

I lowered my voice, touched my tongue to my upper lip. “Come here.”

Naked except for her heels, she crawled over to me. She pushed herself on top of me and straddled my lap. I closed my eyes for a second, just to feel her sensational body pressing down on mine. I lived for this moment, the moment of anticipation before I hit my target. I leaned in for a kiss.

“I told you, I don’t do extras,” she hissed before my mouth found hers.

“Don’t tease me, baby.”

“I gave you the dance you paid for yesterday. If you want to see me again, you can come by club. Tomorrow.”

She kissed my neck, my face, her warm tongue tracing my ear, and I imagined her tongue dancing around my cock. Her lips pulled away from me, and she quickly gathered her clothes, dressed, and slammed the door behind her.

Fuck.

My balls burned. I could’ve easily stopped her, but I knew I was being an asshole. After having my heart ripped to shreds by Mia, I just couldn’t allow myself to see women as good for anything other than sex. Women treated me like this too—none of the San Diego coeds wanted to get to know Grant, they just wanted to be fucked by a Navy SEAL, something to brag about to their sorority sisters. I figured after getting fucked over by Mia, these types of emotionless hookups with no future were the only way for me.

Maybe I was wrong and Ksenya was just a typical stripper playing me—after money, fame, or power—getting me all worked up so I would give into whatever she demanded. But I had to have her. I was ready to play her game.