Second Chance SEAL(141)

“Morning,” I grunted in return.

She half smiled at me. “Looks like a very good morning.”

I glanced down at myself and realized my cock was half hard. “Guess so.”

She crawled forward slightly, smiling at me. “Interested in another round?” she asked. “This time I can swallow your dick. You can do whatever you want to me.”

I looked at the girl, and for a second I was almost tempted.

But that wasn’t my fucking style. One night was all these girls ever got. I didn’t want to encourage them to try to stick around any longer, because I wasn’t interested in a relationship.

“No, thanks,” I said.

She did that fake pouty face. “Are you sure?”

“Fucking sure,” I said. “Get dressed. I’m calling you a cab.”

She gave me a shocked look. “Are you kidding me?”

I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and slipped them over my body. “Not at all. You have ten minutes.” I grabbed a white T-shirt and left her in my room.

“Asshole!” she called after me.

I grinned to myself. The girl had no clue what she was messing with. I couldn’t risk getting some idiot girl attached to me, not when the work I did was so important.

I put some coffee on and called the local taxi. I used them so much that I didn’t even have to give them my address anymore. They were used to my normal morning pickup routine, or at least when I was in town anyway.

I rarely remembered the girls I slept with. I couldn’t even remember this one’s name. Cindy maybe? It didn’t matter, though.

But one stuck in my mind and kept coming back to me all during those hard nights in Pakistan. Just before we went for our final deployment, the upper brass gave my team a week’s vacation in this fancy-ass hotel, which we spent basically drinking our faces off and fucking whatever we could find.

And on my last night there, I saw her. Long brunette hair, bright green eyes, and a body that made my cock hard the second I caught sight of her. She seemed shy and innocent, or at least until I got her in bed.

That pussy was incredible. The way she moved, the way she said my name, everything about her drove me fucking wild. We fucked until I was drenched in sweat and came deep inside that beautiful cunt. And then later on, I couldn’t help but get another taste.

I never got her last name. It wasn’t like I was going to look her up or anything like that, but for some reason I couldn’t shake her at all. Tara was one of those girls who came around once in a lifetime, and at least I’d gotten a taste of her before I was shipped out to hell.

I sipped my coffee and the time slipped by. Soon enough, I heard the taxi pull up outside and honk once. I went over to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

“Your ride is here,” I said. The girl was sitting at the end of my bed, looking at her phone, fully dressed.

“Okay, dickhead.” She stood up and walked straight out my door, not sparing me a second glance.

“Have a good one, sweetheart,” I called out my window as she climbed into the cab. She flipped me off and then slammed the door shut.

I grinned to myself and watched her pull away. I was about to head back inside and make some fucking food when I caught sight of a strange envelope tucked under the welcome mat.

My apartment was half a bungalow, and I was lucky enough to have my own entrance. It was set back from the street and surrounded with plants, shit I was pretty sure my landlord took care of, since I clearly wasn’t doing it.

I went out my door and down the steps. I bent over and grabbed the envelope.

On the front was written Captain Emory Rush.

I frowned. Who knew about my job in this area? As far as I knew, nobody knew I was a SEAL. If anyone asked, I told them that I was a traveling salesman, and that was that.

But this had clearly been hand delivered. Whoever put it there knew who I really was and where I lived.

I had a bad feeling as I climbed back up to my apartment. I sat down at the table and tore the envelope open.

There was one glossy photograph inside, black and white, a bit grainy, but I instantly recognized the person.

It was Tara, the girl from the resort in India. She was sitting on a picnic blanket with three other people, two older and another about her age. And she was holding an infant.

My heart skipped a fucking beat. The baby looked young, maybe seven months at most. I screwed up my face and tried to remember if she’d said she had a kid, or if one of her friends was pregnant, or something like that, but we didn’t talk about ourselves much that night.

I flipped the photograph over.

“Fuck,” I said out loud.

Written in Urdu, the language Pakistani people spoke, the language The Network spoke, was a simple message.