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“Yes honey, yes…”
His orgasm seemed to go on forever. When he was done he had barely enough energy to raise his head. He kissed me, tenderly, and then rolled to one side. I felt another big hand tilting my chin backward, and then Marcus was kissing me too — upside down, no less — his tongue probing mine as our mouths continued dancing, hungrily.
Just as quickly as everything had started they were back on their feet, pulling their boxers on. The whole room reeked of sex. I lay there sprawled across the blankets, totally drenched, a quivering mess from the waist down. My ruined panties were still stretched to one side, hopelessly past the point of no return…
They looked at me, then at each other, as if they’d committed some secret crime. Randall was the first to grin.
“Next time,” he chided, reaching down to roll me onto my stomach. “You guys wake me up first.”
He slapped my ass — hard — on one rounded cheek. After the initial surprised jump, I settled back to enjoy the pleasant naughtiness of the upcoming sting.
The SEAL laughed and left the room. Marcus followed him a few seconds later, but not before clapping my other cheek like a barbarian, in one giant hand.
“This is mine now,” he said, giving it a ruthless squeeze. He leaned low, and I felt my heart skip two beats as his beard brushed my naked shoulder.
“Whenever I want it…”
Twenty-Nine
ANDREA
We were in a courtyard within a courtyard, behind the ruins of some long-abandoned warehouse. Somewhere at the ass end of the city limits. Someplace only trouble might go.
“The M4’s are fitted with M320 grenade launchers,” Marcus was saying. He pointed to the two identical rifles laid out carefully across the drab green mat. “Each of those belts is loaded with a dozen 40mm high explosive rounds. A few smoke rounds too.”
I sat on the truck’s bumper, one leg up, my back to the morning sun. Watching as Holden and Randall handled the weapons, hefting their weight. They looked like they felt familiar. That was good.
“The M107’s for when we need it,” said Marcus, patting a longer, sleeker-looking weapon. “For when we’re close enough.”
“And you’ll take that shot?” asked Holden. There was no challenge in the question at all.
“Oh yeah.”
The three of them picked through the rest of their armament. Holden turned at one point and handed me one of the pistols.
“You cool with this?”
“The M9?” I shrugged. “Only shot the Beretta a few times, but I’ll manage.” I tucked the weapon securely behind me, then pulled my shirt over it. “I was Glock girl, mostly.”
“Daddy’s little princess,” grinned Randall.
I managed a bittersweet smirk. My father hadn’t taken me to the range as much as I would’ve liked, but he did it more often as I got older. I was still holding onto those memories as best I could, but they were fading. It was hard to think about any of them slipping away forever.
Indigo had taken up most of my father’s time during my childhood. And then, through Xander Kyrkos, it had taken him, as well.
Piece by piece, Marcus and Holden began stuffing things back into the duffel bags from the storage locker. The rest consisted mostly of ammunition and tactical gear. I saw three different sights, a spotter’s scope, night-vision binoculars… along with several pieces of Kevlar body armor and vests Marcus had shown off first. It was all top-of-the-line, cutting edge stuff. Everything was military grade.
“Whoa… whoa… hang on—”
Randall stopped Marcus mid-zip. He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a slender but deadly-looking combat shotgun.
“You didn’t tell me about this,” he said, turning it over in his hands.
“The Benelli’s mine,” said Marcus.
“Might be better if it were his,” Holden said, nodding toward Randall.
“And why’s that?”
