The SEAL's Secret Heirs

“Don’t ruin this for me.” She mock-pouted and promptly crossed his wrists, one over the other, and held on with one hand as she wiggled the fingers of her free hand in a cheery wave. “I always dreamed of being a rodeo star. This is my chance.”

He had to laugh, which downright ached. All over. “That’s what’s on your mind right now? Rodeo?”

“Oh, yeah.” She leaned against his abs, holding on with her thighs as she fished around in the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom, which she held up triumphantly. “I’m going for a ten in the bucking bronco event.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he quipped, and then raised a brow at the condom. “Go ahead. I’m waiting.”

In the end, she had to let go of his arms to rip open the foil package. But he obediently held his wrists above his head as she had so sweetly asked. Then there was no more talking as she eased over him, taking him gently in her hands to pleasure him as she rolled on the condom.

He groaned as need broke over him in a wave, and then she slowly guided him into her damp heat. He slid all the way in as she pushed downward and it was unbelievable. They joined and it was better than it had been last night. Deeper. More amazing, because there were no more secrets between them.

She knew about his injury and hadn’t run screaming for her report to revise it. She hadn’t been repulsed by his weaknesses. Instead, she’d somehow twisted it around so they could make love without hurting his leg. It was sweet and wonderful.

And then she got busy on her promise to turn him into a bucking bronco, sliding up and down, rolling her hips and generally driving him mad with want. He obliged her by letting his body go with the sensation, meeting her thrusts and driving them both higher until she came with a little cry and he followed her.

Clutching her to his chest, he breathed in tandem with her, still joined and not anxious to change that. He held her hot body to his because he didn’t think he could let go.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured into her hair, and she turned her head to lay her cheek on his shoulder, a pleased smile on her face.

“I wouldn’t say no to thank-you flowers.”

He made a mental note to send her a hundred roses the moment his bones returned and he could actually move. “Where’d you get that sexy little hip roll from?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never done it before. It just felt right.”

All at once, his good mood vanished as he wondered what moves she had done before with other men that she hadn’t opted to try out on him. Like Liam. Was he better in bed than his brother? Worse? About the same? And yeah, he recognized that the burn in his gut was pure jealousy.

Totally unable to help himself, he smiled without humor and rolled her off him casually, as if it were no big deal, but he didn’t really want her close to him right then. “It was great. Perfect. Like you’d practiced it a lot.”

What an ass he was being. But the thought of Grace with another man, some guy’s mitts on her, touching her, put him over the edge. Especially since one of those Neanderthals had been his brother.

She quirked a brow. “Really? You’re not just humoring me?”

The pleased note in her voice didn’t improve his mood. What, it was a compliment to be well-practiced in bed?

“Oh, no,” he said silkily. “You’ve got the moves, sweetheart. The men must line up into the next county to get in on that.”

Not only was he jealous, he was acting as if he’d been a choirboy for the past ten years when there was nothing further from the truth. He’d been the king of one-night stands because that was all he could do. It wasn’t what he’d wanted or what he’d envisioned for himself, but the reason he wasn’t able to move on and find someone to settle down with was sitting in his bed smiling at him as if this was all a big joke.

But as always, he wasn’t going to say what was really on his mind. That was how you got hurt, by exposing your unguarded soft places.

And then she laughed. “Oh, yeah. They line up, all right. As long as we’re having confession time, I have one of my own.”

He needed a drink first. A row of shots would be preferable. But it was—he scowled at the clock—barely 6:00 a.m., and the babies were going to wake up any second, demanding their breakfast. “We don’t have to do this, Grace.”

“No, I want to,” she insisted. “You told me about your leg, which was clearly hard for you. I think this is just as important for you to know. I’m not practiced. At all. It’s kind of funny you’d say that actually, since you’re the last man I slept with.”