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“Holy fuck,” I hiss and run a hand through my hair. She’s getting to me. Reaching places I’ve never allowed before. I can’t stop thinking about pulling that long skirt up and finding out what she’s wearing underneath. She has to be wearing something, right? I don’t know, though. I didn’t notice any subtle lingerie lines.
“Jesus.” It boggles my brain that she can be so tiny and so voluptuous at the same time. My thoughts are overheating, as well as my body, so I hop in the shower and spin the dial as cold as I can tolerate. When I was a SEAL, all we did was swim in the freezing ocean, so cold I can handle.
What I can’t handle is seeing Sailor in that dress again.
I drop my hand, wrap my fingers around my massive erection and tug hard. Images of her looking so tempting, soft and pink, fill my head while I jerk off, desperately needing to relieve the sexual frustration that’s been building for what feels like forever.
Spending the night with Sailor is the only thing that can truly alleviate this torment, though. I want to explore that luscious little body of hers more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want to touch her soft skin, kiss her sweet lips and bury myself in her wet pussy. All the way to the hilt.
With a long groan, I come hard and fast. But even after the release, I’m still not satisfied. I flip the water off, lean my forehead against the tiles and sigh.God grant me the serenity…
I mentally say the prayer, but it’s not doing much to help the rampant desire that has slowly taken over and left me craving the pert, pink confection with the pistol in her purse keeping watch down the hall.
It takes me less than 15 minutes to shower, get dressed and return to Sailor who is still posted outside of DeLazzer’s room. I tug at the tie around my neck, hating its confining feel, and Sailor eyes me then brushes my hands away.
“Hold still,” she admonishes in a soft voice.
Even in her sky-high heels, she still has to go up on her toes to reach my tie. After carefully straightening it, she brushes her hands across the lapels of my jacket, down my sleeves and then takes a step back.
“I hate suits,” I grumble.
“Well, you shouldn’t. You look very handsome in one.” The words out of her mouth seem to take her by surprise.
Me, too, to be honest. I look down at her and wonder where the compliment came from?
“I mean, you almost look like a gentleman,” she quickly amends with a little smile.
“Thanks a lot,” I mutter, but my mouth edges up.
The door opens and Dr. DeLazzer appears.
“Are you ready, sir?” I ask.
He nods. “Please, just call me Enzo. Or Dr. DeLazzer.”
We escort Dr. DeLazzer down to the waiting SUV at the curb outside and I check the plates. They match up to the information the company provided and our driver is Enrique. I open the front passenger door and lean in.
“Enrique?”
“That’s right.” He hands me his credentials and I look them over before signaling to Sailor that everything checks out. The ride over to the convention center is quick and once we’re inside the banquet hall, DeLazzer is immediately greeted by a swarm of colleagues. Sailor and I both slide in tiny ear comms and separate to opposite sides of the room where we can keep an eye on the space and our client. We work smoothly together and follow our usual routine; we know it like the back of our hand.
I examine every single person, on the lookout for anyone who looks suspicious because they either appear like they’re trying too hard to blend in or because they clearly stand out. I glance around at what people are wearing and if it’s possible they could be concealing a weapon. I’m looking for someone who looks twitchy or up to something. Or someone who looks far too comfortable.
Not everyone can detect trouble like I can. It jumps out at me like a flashing red beacon. Probably because I always used to get into so much back when I was growing up in Dorchester.
But right now, no one looks dodgy or shady at all. Just all boring scientist types exclaiming over one find or another and using words that sound like a foreign language to me. I was never overly-scholarly and joined the Navy right after high school. Books and studying weren’t my thing. I’m more of a man of action and like to handle things physically, not mentally.
Imagine my surprise when I found out I needed math as a SEAL.
Training was more than being fit and mentally tough. Algebra and chemistry were my nightmare and I feared them more than when they tied me up and threw me into the deep end of the pool. I had to buckle down and study or risk failing out because of goddamn math equations.
But when it comes to dive physics and demolition calculations, you better know what the hell you’re doing. There’s no room for error. And there definitely aren’t any second chances.
So I worked hard, found a math buddy and applied myself for the first time in my life when it came to book learning. And it stuck. Even more than I thought it would. I always doubted myself when it came to academics, wrote myself off as a dumb brute. It’s one of the reasons I’ve worked so hard to suppress my Boston accent. But Second Phase showed me that I’m smarter than I ever gave myself credit for. And it felt damn good.
Once I confirm with Sailor that my current area is secure, I get comfortable in the nearest corner and let my gaze wander over to her. She’s near DeLazzer, and I watch her politely decline a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray while she surreptitiously scans her area of the room and keeps an eye on our client.
Sailor is all grace and so lady-like, while I’m rough around the edges. Compared to her, I’m an uncultivated savage. Her keen aqua gaze zeroes in on a man I noticed about five minutes ago and she quickly assesses him now that he’s on her side of the room. She’s so damn quick and doesn’t miss a thing. Way smarter than me, that’s for sure. I’m just a bum who grew up on the streets in a bad neighborhood.
