Wicked Secrets (Men of Discovery Island 3)

Tag ran his fingers over her thighs. She had no idea how a rescue swimmer acquired such deliciously rough, callused fingertips, but she approved. Wholeheartedly.

“You sure about this?” He tipped his head back, so he could see her face. On his knees was a good look for him. Although she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was anything but in charge, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. His fingers pushed gently, firmly on her inner thigh.

“You going to make me wait all night?”

“Not a chance.” His laugh ended with a groan. “Open for me.”

Now there was a command she could get behind. She widened her stance, the wall pressing into her back and bare butt. Her new position should have been awkward, but instead it was intensely erotic, as if he couldn’t wait long enough to take her to bed. As if he was every bit as impatient as she was.

He ran a finger over her center, where she was wet and slick. Oh. She bit her lower lip. So good. She wanted, needed, another bright, hot jolt of pleasure. Threading her fingers through his short, dark hair, she urged him closer.

“Do it again. Don’t stop.”

He rubbed a thumb over her clit. Yes. Touch me just like that.

“We need to talk about this need you have for giving orders.” She felt each word against her core, and she was going to kill him if he didn’t stop talking and start doing. He touched her again, though, his thumb circling her until she dissolved in sensation, her breath coming in small, sharp huffs as the pleasure built.

He covered her with his mouth, his tongue replacing his thumb. His hands cupped her butt, supporting her as he pulled one leg over his shoulder.

“Hold on,” he demanded.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the order—although she was fairly certain she’d regret her compliance later, much later—but she’d already lost control of the situation and it felt so good. And it was Tag after all. She grabbed his shoulders, doing as he’d demanded, because there was no holding back the tremors building deep inside her. He had to feel each spasm, her body clenching as she fought her way toward the orgasm she needed so badly.

She was still coming, the tiny after-spasms shaking her body, when he dropped her leg and went away. Then he was back, sliding on a condom before he lifted her butt and drove deep inside her. Oh, yeah. Fresh pleasure rocketed through her as he pinned her back against the wall.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

He pulled out, pushed in again, thrusting deeper with each new, hard stroke. She quivered with each sweet invasion, but it wasn’t enough, not quite.

“There. No. Higher.” She covered his fingers with hers, moving him to exactly the right spot for her. Some things never changed. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding on to him. Breathing him in with each hard, sure stroke.

“Tag—”

“Right here with you,” he growled against her throat. He moved faster, lifting her. Finding the perfect angle to drive her crazy. She rocked her hips against him, taking him deeper. His fingers pressed and twisted, finding the spot she liked so much, and she couldn’t hold on any longer.

Dimly, she heard the boxer start barking up a storm as she came apart completely in Tag’s arms. Mr. Bentley hollered something back, and none of it mattered. She dug her nails into Tag’s beautiful, bare shoulders, his hands holding her up as he thrust and thrust again. The roof could come down or the door burst wide open. She didn’t care.

“Jesus,” he bit out. “You’re—”

She didn’t need to know how he would finish his sentence. She laid two fingers over his exquisite mouth.

“Take me to bed.”

And, because his lips quirked up and they were still joined intimately, she added one more word, just to make him happy. “Please.”

5

LIKE THE PAST 180 nights since she’d come home—or, more accurately, made it stateside—Mia jerked awake. Her head refused to let her body sleep uninterrupted because bad shit could be coming through the door. Or the window, the roof, or even the wall. She’d seen what a mortar round could do to plaster and rebar. Adrenaline hit her hard, her heart thumping erratically as she jackknifed upright. Breathe. In. Out. Count. Her fingers clenched the pillowcase. One. She was in bed. With Tag.

See? No enemy hostiles here. Everyone was friendly.

Breathe out. Two. His bedding smelled good, like Tide and dryer sheets. Had he picked the stuff out himself or had he just grabbed the first box he saw at the store? Three. At some point during the night, the sheet had tangled around her bare legs. The room was silent except for the soft in and out of the man breathing next to her. Breathing was good. Her brain skipped over that intel, not wanting to deal with the memories of other companions who hadn’t been breathing.