Claiming Her SEAL(10)

Her torso brushed against his as she dragged oxygen into her lungs, then  receded as she exhaled. He held his own breath until she did it again.  And that wasn't going to work. He needed air. She'd already made him  dizzy enough with the way she'd whimpered his name.

"Better?" he asked hoarsely, though how it could be was beyond him.

She nodded, peering up at him with those baby blues, and in the  moonlight they'd darkened. Or maybe that was due to the heavy, thick  blanket of awareness that had descended the moment he'd drawn her  against his side.

She felt it too. There was no point in pretending he didn't notice the  way her nipples had peaked under her bikini top. The hard tips poked  out, begging for his mouth, and if they didn't get this show on the  road, her breasts would get their wish.

"Walk with me," he said instead of voicing some kind of line designed to get his screaming body some relief.

In tandem, they waded out into the surf, and his chest tightened when he  realized she wasn't even hesitating. She followed him without a peep,  letting him guide her, and he had a feeling that as long as he didn't  let go, she'd stay right where she was.

"You're doing great," he murmured as the water level rose. Ankles.  Calves. Knees. His knees, anyway. The water was up to midthigh on her.  "Keep going. Nothing behind you but the shore."

She gave him the side-eye, never taking her gaze off the waves as they  rolled toward them relentlessly. "You know I couldn't have done this  without you, right?"         

     



 

So much gratefulness colored her voice that it raised a lump in his  throat. Yeah, he got that this was important to her. Why else would he  be torturing himself so thoroughly?

All at once, she squealed and jumped. Right into his embrace. The soft  valleys of her body aligned with his, and sweet, blessed mother of God,  her stomach cradled his erection, setting it on fire with friction.

His arms closed around her involuntarily, and holy hell, it was exactly where he wanted her. "What's wrong?"

"I …  stepped on something." Her heaving torso shoved into his and there  was no denying that her pulse was elevated, but his brain was having a  hard time sorting out the sensation of her peaked nipples teasing his  bare skin well enough to respond.

"Crab," he finally croaked. "It won't hurt you."

But I might.

His neck muscles ached with the strain it took to not lean forward and  dive into a hot, wet kiss. That wasn't the part that would hurt. The  hurt came later, when she'd want to connect intimately through their  hearts and minds as they simultaneously connected via the flesh. She'd  want to share hopes and dreams and learn who he was at his core. Because  a woman like Emma didn't offer up her body to someone she didn't care  to know.

"Can we go deeper?" she rasped, her voice scraping the low end of the  register, but whether it was from fear of the ocean or arousal at his  touch, he couldn't tell.

Maybe both, and he wanted to find out in the worst way. Again, the paradox …  it was killing him.

"Absolutely."

His own voice rumbled in his chest as their gazes locked, and neither of  them bothered to pretend they were still talking about the water. Or  solely the water. This push-pull of attraction so closely mirrored the  tide it made a perfect sort of sense that when he finally gave in to the  lure of Emma, it would happen while they were both surrounded by the  sea.

The roar of the surf held its own kind of seduction, and he didn't need a  lame line after all to communicate what was on his mind. She lifted her  lips at the same moment his descended and when they met, she hurled him  headlong into a metaphorical undertow so fast he could hardly maintain  his balance.

Hungrily, she kissed him, openmouthed, and it was just as hot and wet as  he'd envisioned. A groan ripped through his chest as he hauled her  closer, binding her flesh against his hard body, grinding his erection  into her soft stomach, seeking relief for the fire she'd started  earlier.

Then she licked her way into his mouth, her sweet tongue tasting him  enthusiastically, and it was like pouring lighter fluid on embers.

His body erupted in a lava-like thick wave of heat. More. He shifted her  in his arms and granted her wish, driving deeper into her mouth, and  letting her drag him deeper into the quandary that was this insane  reaction he had to her.

But then she slid one palm inside his shorts to cup his rear and her  little finger wandered toward the front, where the ache could only be  salved one way-by stripping that tiny bikini from her luscious body and  having his way with her.

"Dex." Her voice shattered into nothingness as she sighed his name  against his lips. "Look. I'm in the water and it's not so bad because  you're here. And you're kissing me. Tell me that's not so bad either."

Her point wasn't lost on him, even while under the influence of an  Emma-induced haze of lust. She'd done something scary, something she  hadn't want to do but he'd made it easier for her. Totally against his  will, but far be it from him to mention it.

She was asking for validation that whatever had caused him to warn her  away had somehow magically become better, simply because she was here.  How did he tell her it was worse? So much worse.

And he had just enough presence of mind to realize that if he took  advantage of her hero worship in order to get her naked, he'd be exactly  the dickhead he'd warned her he was. So he couldn't do it. Because he  couldn't stand for the one person who saw him as something else to be  given a reason to change her mind.

It was the worst paradox of all.





Before Emma could fully register what was happening, Dex had dropped his arms and stepped away.

Her skin prickled as a chilly wave crashed against her thighs. Without  Dex's heat, the water had turned bleak and cold. And frightening. The  moonlight didn't penetrate the surface but instead cast the water with  an opaque sheen that hid all sorts of dangers underneath.

Dex was not one of them. She'd believe in his self-purported bad boy status when pigs flew.

"Where are you going?" she asked point blank.

This song and dance was getting old. She wanted him. He wanted her-and  if he tried to lie about that fact when it was blatantly obvious what  had been digging into her abdomen for the better part of five minutes,  she'd deck him.         

     



 

"You're in the water," he muttered. "What more do you want from me?"

Everything. The hard length that had evidenced his desire. His mouth on  hers again. His smile, his gallantry, the sweet way he encouraged her to  move forward no matter what lay behind.

But she'd start with the truth.

Advancing on him, she stuck a finger in the dead center of his chest.  "So, I've had just about enough of this, Dex. I'm really bad at reading  minds, so just tell me what's so big and scary about you that you think I  can't handle it?"

She couldn't handle a lot about her life back in Boston. This trip was a  chance to fix that and this hardheaded man was not ruining her redo.

He glanced down at her finger and back up again, sardonic amusement  twisting his mouth into a smile he probably meant to appear cruel. But  she could see vulnerability flitting through his depths. Way deep down  where he'd probably forgotten it existed. That, or he thought the  darkness covered it.

"Sure you want to go sticking your nose into things you can't begin to understand?" he asked her softly.

His voice had taken on an edge that skated down her spine, unleashing a  shiver. It should have frightened her, especially given her track record  with men who seemed fine but turned out to be monsters on the inside.  But she could never be scared of Dex, no matter how many ways he tried  to make her think she should be.

No man who went to such lengths to keep a woman safe could ever harm  her. If anything, she'd put money on him taking a bullet for her before  she'd bet on him hurting her. Even now, when she'd made her interest in  taking things to the next level extremely hard to misinterpret, he'd  backed off. To save her. It was nearly poetic.

"Yes, actually." She eyed him. The stubborn set of his jaw just piqued  her ire all the more. "You think you've cornered the market on dealing  with crappy stuff that should be in the past but won't stay there? Well,  you haven't. You've never asked why I'm afraid of the water. Aren't you  curious? Or did you just assume it's a cute little issue that a city  girl developed by virtue of not growing up around water?"

His mouth tightened. "That's your business, not mine."

She checked the small silent scream of frustration. "That's so wrong.  You're standing knee-deep in the ocean at midnight because a woman you  met a handful of days ago asked you to. You have a right to know things  about me. I want to know things about you. That's how it works."

"I didn't offer to go in the water with you so I could grill you about your past. Take a lesson."