She made a sound somewhere between panting and screaming, and it was good. “Yes, Rey. More.” She was reduced to single words too.
He obliged by pressing his tongue under her nipple, sucking it to the roof of his mouth until she keened with appreciation. His cock pushed toward its destination, but she wore those damn padded pants.
Then her fingers dipped into his shorts and closed around his shaft. She could glove it tight and squeeze like that, or run her fingers from tip to balls, or flick her thumb, or anything—oh, fucking hell, that was everything—whatever she wanted, all good.
What she wanted appeared to be bringing his man into the light and looking, and that was mighty fine too. She licked her lips, and that armed more than his imagination.
Medical literature claimed men didn’t pass out from natural erections, but it seemed unlikely that much blood could go one place and not make a guy dizzy. His brain filled with images, her mouth front and center.
As if she knew his mind, she lowered her head. When her lips encircled his cock, he thought he’d died again, this time with no pain. Her mouth was wet and hot, not tight and balls-deep like fucking her pussy, but so wet, and the pop of her lips on the tipof his cock was heaven. The little wet slurp as she bobbed on him was a sound he heard in dreams.
She went up and down and simultaneously gyrated her tits on his pants. He got the hint—touch them too.His hands reached for her nipples and rolled them the way he already knew she liked. His moves sent her faster, lower, and the harder he tugged, the deeper she opened her throat until he swore he was never returning from the pleasure zone.
“Now.” He warned her it was coming. She could pull off, but she didn’t, so he thrust while her mouth slid down his rod until his ears buzzed with pressure. Then the explosion, brighter, redder, hotter than the rest of his body, all of the pain and pleasure poured out as he let go and called her name.
Maybe he said more, but she was flat on his chest and silent, so maybe he hadn’t said he loved her. They could stay like this—
A single shot jack-knifed him upright, and he flipped out of the sled, fumbling with his fly and hunting for his boots. “Stay down. Now.” His rifle and tactical vest should be—
“Was that a shot?”
Chapter 20
Grace’s voice pulled Reyfrom Afghanistan to crash into the world of the no-legged man. She peeked through the flap. “It’s a flare.”
A flare meant distress, a rescue plea, not a threat. Alongside him, she donned her gear with the speed of a woman who wore arctic survival suits. It took both of them, but it wasn’t impossible to crawl-hop to the door and with Grace’s help clamber into the chair.
The emergency was obvious as soon as they exited. Where blown snow had drifted at one edge of the fishing area, it must have concealed thinner ice. The farthest tent was tilting, half-submerged.
“Damn.” Today his post-coitus speech didn’t linger.
Snow clogged his wheels closer to the slushy pile-up, and Grace added her strength to move the chair. A big guy, maybe two-fifty, was trying to throw a rope to someone hanging on an orange cooler in the water beyond the tent. Ice creaked, and two other men had boards they pushed from positions on theirknees, but they looked unstable. A light rescuer had a better chance of making it to the water’s edge. He pointed to the man with the rope. “Take me. There.”
She understood and pushed him closer until he said stop.
“Stay here.”
“But I can—” She must have understood his expression. “Right.”
The way he waddled off-kilter on his short stub and his bent knee, trailing the legs of his pants, probably resembled a freaky penguin crossing the ice to the man with the rope. The stranger was trembling, and Rey realized the person in the water was a kid, maybe a teenager. Ah, shit, a kid wasn’t going to have the strength to pull himself out, even if the rope miraculously lassoed the cooler.
“Tie me. I…light.” He made crawling motions, and the man understood.
The rope harness crisscrossed from each armpit to the opposite shoulder in a figure eight, and after his first attempts he had a rhythm that distributed his weight between his two hands, knee and stump as he scrambled. Dragging a hundred feet of rope wasn’t as heavy as a fire hose and wasn’t nearly as heavy as the gear he used to wear. Last year he could have added this rope to his load and still run two miles under fire.
This wasn’t last year.
He should have covered the distance by now, squishy shifting ice slowing him or not. He should be with that kid, who was failing faster than Rey could move. Talk, that was what rescuers did when someone needed help to stay conscious and motivation to save themselves. “Hey. Kid.”
The dam in his mind blocked other reassurances. He had to find something to help this kid hang on while he inched forward.
“Ooo-ooo-ooo,” he sang. “Staying alive. Ooo-ooo-ooo.” Water had sloshed through enough ice cracks that his path was apuddle. Maybe only snow glued these chunks together, but he was getting close. “Kid!”
“Y-y-y-yes.” The voice was thin, and Rey saw less of the body on the cooler, as if the weight of his wet snow suit was slowing sinking him, or his arms were conceding.
“Help you.”
He couldn’t reach the teen from here, and there was no fucking way after this long in the water that the boy was going to be able to kick himself closer.
