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Coop approached her and wiped her tears away before leaning over to kiss her. “Don’t cry, Anabella. Please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so sorry. I don’t even have any explanation.”
“You don’t need one. All I need to know is you’ll never walk away from me again.”
“I won’t. I promise. I never want us to be apart again. I get that your job might take you away, but I just want to know you’ll come home to me, and for you to know I’ll be waiting for you.”
He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, and pulled her close as she turned her face up to his. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered as he lowered his head, his lips brushing over hers before settling in.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her body into his. Fire and arousal surged through her system as he traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. His hand fisted her mane of blonde hair, and he tugged her head back. She gasped and her lips parted as his tongue thrust into her mouth, tangling and dancing with hers. His free hand moved down her back to cup her ass and ensure she was close enough to feel his cock throbbing between them.
He broke the kiss, and she groaned in need and frustration.
“Just one other thing. Pick a new safeword. I never want to hear the word crocodile come out of your mouth again.”
“I think I can handle that. I love you, Coop.”
“I love you, too, and I said it first.” He swung her up in his arms to the disappointment of the rest of the group. “Stuff it. Anabella is new to this, and we’ll settle what needs to be settled between us in private. We may or may not be down later.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she settled her head on his shoulder and Cooper McCullough carried her up the stairs and into their very own happily ever after.
EPILOGUE
Club Southside
Chicago, Illinois
The role of a sniper had been described to her as a highly trained operative specializing in shooting targets from incredibly long distances. That was the easy part. They also had to become incredibly adept in stealth, camouflage, infiltration, reconnaissance, and observation. A Navy SEAL sniper, she reminded herself, was considered to be the most elite of all the US Armed Forces snipers and among the most challenging specialties on any SEAL team. Very few qualified for the training request; even fewer completed the program.
Not only was Miley Stuart one of the very few females to become a Navy SEAL, but she was the only one to ever become a sniper. One of the most feared positions on a battlefield or in a covert team. She wondered what those who had trained her or tried to deny her would think of her now—stark naked, lying on a demonstration table on the main floor of the dungeon. Of all her former comrades, she probably trusted Seth Newcomb the most. They’d been friends long before they’d ever scened together, although it had been Cooper McCullough who had introduced her to D/s.
“The reason we bring both Doms and subs into these classes is that the management here wants to ensure that a Dom knows what the hell he’s doing and that a sub knows what to expect and can call out if he or she thinks their partner is about to get them hurt.”
Seth began to pull at the wad of flash cotton. He teased it apart again and again until it looked more like a spider web than any kind of filament or fiber.
“The first thing someone attempting fire play must have is a second who will monitor and can step in if something goes wrong. As with any kind of extreme play, the safety of your partner is of utmost importance. The second thing is to ensure the flash cotton has been pulled apart so that there are no lumps or bunched up pieces. If you can’t see through it, you haven’t done it right and can burn the person you’re about to set fire to. You ready, Miley?” he asked in a casual voice.
Miley knew the voice was deceptive. Many people considered Seth to be the lightweight of the team and a grand jokester. Although he did love a good prank, he was the one she would choose to have at her back in a bad situation. He was also especially adept at extreme play like fire, and no one she trusted more.
“I’m ready, Sir.”
Seth groaned and rolled his eyes. Miley refused to call anyone Master, saying she would only use it for a man who had earned the title with her. He laid the filmy material over her left breast. She knew he was going to light the damn thing, and essentially set her, on fire. She would never have agreed if she hadn’t lost a bet. She could have opted out, but a bet was a bet, and she trusted Seth.
But did she trust him to light her up? Depended on which part of her body you asked. Her pussy, clit and nipples were all plumped up and turned on—ready to play. But the primitive part of her brain was screaming at her that she was about to be burned at the stake without a stake.
“Frightened?” he asked pleasantly. “Fire play is the ultimate mind fuck and can leave both the parties incredibly aroused.
The asshole was enjoying himself.
“Light me up,” she challenged.
Seth held up a violet wand and then touched it to the cotton. The edges of the material caught fire and then traveled with ruthless efficiency across her breast, leaving nothing more than a heated trail in its wake. The actual fire had been brief but dramatic and wildly arousing.
“Told you,” he smirked. He really could be an asshole.
He was just placing another piece when Kingston Coltraine, their boss, stuck his head in. “I hate to break this up, but Miley, I need you dressed and upstairs in the conference room ASAP.”
“What’s up?” she said, already sliding off the table.
“Unknown. But Fitzwallace wants to conference and specifically asked for you.”
* * *
