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“Don’t worry, babe,” he murmured against her lips. “I’m all in.” He wasn’t done, not by a long shot. He was beginning to wonder if he ever would be.
He silenced the answer to that question with another aggressive, soul-searing kiss and maneuvered them both out of the stall. Thank God the bed wasn’t too far away. After quickly shucking his soaked underwear, he pushed her down to the mattress.
Nudging her legs wide apart, he settled between her sleek thighs and slid up and over her wet body. She splayed her palms on his chest, glided them up to his shoulders and around his neck as she arched her beautiful breasts against his chest and curled her calves around the back of his thighs, urging him into her. He drove his hips, his dick entering her in one endless stroke, and growled deep in his throat as she took every hard, solid inch of him. Until he was forever lost in her.
The pleasure of being inside Jack was so intense, so surreal, that he shuddered and tried to absorb the moment, how agonizingly perfect, how incredibly right, she felt beneath him. Hot, slick, tight. Bracketing his forearms by her shoulders, he framed her face in his hands, grazed her plump bottom lip with his thumb, and watched as her gaze darkened with need.
Then she closed her eyes, whispered his name, and rolled her hips sinuously against his, beckoning him to finish what she started.
He wanted this to last. Wanted to linger and savor and watch her as she came again. His dick wouldn’t cooperate and refused to take it slow. Because he was compelled by his over-aroused body, he withdrew and surged back into her, again and again, long hard strokes that increased in power and strength and depth.
She met him thrust for thrust, moving in perfect rhythm with him as he pumped into her. She slid her hands down the slope of his back, her fingers digging into muscle as she tried to drag him closer, deeper, with every fluid stroke. She bit his shoulder and writhed against him in wild, reckless abandon.
Their mating was raw and primitive, a culmination of her need to store better memories and his fascination with her. It didn’t take long for the heat coiling low in his belly to spiral down to his hard, aching dick. As if in sync with his body's impending release, her lashes fluttered back open, and she met his gaze, moaning helplessly as she started to convulse around him.
Her orgasm triggered his own, and he followed her right over the edge with a rough, guttural groan. His climax was scorching hot, an unbridled surrender of body and soul that left him shaken and stretched across her limp, sated form, his face pressed against her damp neck as he struggled to come back to his senses.
And when he did, it was with the realization that if this one night was all he had with her, it would be enough. It had to be.
7
Somewhere on Troncal/Route1, just outside of Caracas, Venezuela
As a SEAL, Shark always had a well-thought-through and -practiced plan for action. He kept an open mind and remained one step ahead of potential problems. But with that tenet, when encountering a problem, he had to be willing to reassess the situation and decide whether to continue as planned or take a new course of action.
Well, everything they had done so far had goatfuck written all over it. Easy and their hostage, the crazy woman with the fucking Choos/shoes, whatever, were in the wind, Cole was dead and that struck Shark so hard, he had to push all that emotion down into his deal-with-it-later box, exfil was fucked, and the team was in hiding. He felt like the Team’s Oprah Winfrey: You get a goatfuck and you get a goatfuck and you get a goatfuck.
But everything from planning the dive and diving the plan could go south, and any team member who wasn’t flexible held up progress. Shark knew what the problem was, what the mission was, and that was sacred. So, the ability to adapt and keep this out-of-control train on the tracks was to flip the script. In the SEALs, they recognized a prescribed distance around a target as a hostile area. Well, he was well within the wire and definitely downrange.
Shark stood in the rain after the troop truck he’d been riding in stopped for gas and a pee break. Yeah, after rappelling off that balcony, he found himself faced with a large number of men forming into a posse to chase after Crazy Choos and Easy, who, according to Tex, were on the run to a rendezvous near Lake Maracaibo.
What better way to keep tabs on the enemy than become the enemy?
He grinned like an outlaw.
Except for his initial radio chat directly after he hit the ground back at El Helicoide, he had no time between his split-second decision and now to check in with LT.
“Shark to Tex,” Shark said into his staticky comm. He’d tucked the radio beneath the guard’s uniform. He suspected they would soon be out of range.
“It’s about goddamn time,” Tex growled.
“You secure, LT?” Shark asked.
“Like bugs in a rug. The CIA provided us with a safe house.” Shark could hear the residual of the pain and sorrow from Cole’s death in Tex’s voice. He couldn’t imagine how Dagger was handling it. News of his death would ripple through their small, tight-knit community. Brian’s wife, Quinn, an architect with twin boys, would need all their support, as would Dagger. “We’re getting the logistics together to get Easy and Miss Devers out. Your status?”
“Embedded with the enemy. They’re trying to find Easy and the hostage.”
The silence on the line was deafening. Finally, Tex said, “You’re what?”
“I figured it was the best way to keep tabs on him. They don’t suspect me. I’m just part of the posse.”
“Your Spanish is flawless.”
“I’ve got this, LT. When they find Easy, I’ll be there to help. If they don’t, I’ll slip away to the rendezvous point. Win/win.” The static got worse. “I’m going to go out of range soon, but I will try to get word to you if I can.”
“Watch your six. We can’t afford to lose any more of our people,” Tex said, a reminder of Ramos’s brutality.
“Copy that. Shark out.” Shark was steps away from Ramos and he itched to put a bullet between his eyes, but his patience would pay off. He was a dead man walking and would find out what SEAL justice was all about. The call came down the line as rain fell softly, the wind pushing leaves. “Load up.” He removed the radio, and tucked it into his pack, thinking that with the cash still on him, he could get himself a cell phone. He’d have to look for a place along the way.
