Bound & SEAL'D: A Bad Boy Navy SEAL Romance (3 page)

W
hat do
I expect from a gal like her? To throw her arms around me and tell me she loves me?
Hell no
. I expect a challenge, a real rough ride. And when she finally does say yes, I'll show her the night of her life.

My hand’s around her waist, confidence surging through my bones, and I'm waiting on her next move.

“I didn't say I wanted you to leave us alone,” she whispers, voice cracking. She swallows hard and I can't help but think about what else she’ll swallow before the night is over, if I have my way.

“You weren't exactly friendly either,” I say, keeping my eyes on her. Fuck, I don't want to look away. Her tits are perfect, like they're practically calling my name. I imagine tearing her shirt off with my teeth, falling to my knees and wrapping my warm mouth around her soaking wet pussy. I want to eat her like my life fucking depends on it. I need this so bad, and she has no idea what I'm willing to do to get it.

To my knees…
That's when it hits me. There’s a reason why I don't go out anymore. There's a reason why I haven't had pussy in months. My fucking leg. The one that was taken from me. If she saw the prosthetic, she would think I was a freak. Everyone already did. No one cared about what I did over there. If anything, they held me in contempt. I was starting to think I should head back to the woods and drink alone.

“It's not my job to be friendly. I came here to get a drink with my sister, not to get hit on by a pair of adulterous men.” She practically spits the words at my face and pushes my hand off her waist. Next thing I know, she shoves me with her palm.

“Whoa, there,” I say with a slight smile because the way she shoves me actually turns me on. I can feel my cock twitch and I'm feeling primal, like some kind of wild animal. It takes everything out of me not to have her right then and there.

“Like I said, you want us to leave, just say the word. But a fine woman like you deserves to be spoken to,” I say, looking down at the edges of that denim skirt she's wearing. It's calling me. No,
begging
me to run my fingers across her soft skin.

“I shouldn't need to tell you I want you to leave,” she says, her eyes on fire. The skin on her neck and collarbone is tight and all I want to do is run my lips gently across it. I had a feeling it would calm her down.

“Lena, stop. We’re all just having a little fun here. No need to get all melodramatic,” the sister says, leaning against the pool table, legs slightly open. She looks like she's ready for anything tonight and normally I would dive right in. But I'm not interested in an easy win. I'm interested in the girl that's willing to fight against me.

Not that I’m forceful. On the contrary, if she just tells me to go away, I will. But she's not doing it. She wants me to stay right where I am. So I stay to win it, as she continues to run circles on me.
Women…

“No, it’s fine. I get the hint,” I say, stepping back. “She wants us to leave. It’s cool.” I drink down the last remnants of my beer, smile, and turn around to leave.

Wait for it…

“Wait…” I hear her voice squeak. A smile breaks out onto my face because I knew she would ask us to stay. We were just too damn good to pass up. And then she asks that all too familiar question, the one I never want to answer ever again. “Did you ever kill anyone?”

“Lena! Not cool,” her sister whispers to her. I stop dead in my tracks and turn around.

“What? He signed up for it, right? He can answer a simple question,” she says, slurring the words. Maybe she’s drunk or maybe she’s just itching to piss a guy like me off. Either way, I’m not having it.

“Look, little lady. This was a long time ago, okay? What do you do for a living?” I ask her.

“Come on, man. Let’s just go.” Bowen tugs on my shirt, but when I don’t move, he just shakes his head and leaves the bar. “I’m out of here.” He’s got better things to do than hang around a loose cannon like me.

“Little lady? Is this really happening right now? Look, you came up to
us
. All I did was ask a simple question,” she says. A simple question. Right.
Dig, dig, dig.
This girl is trouble.

“She’s a reporter,” her sister chimes in, looking like she’s about to run after Bowen. She’s about as hungry for cock as I am for pussy and because of that, I feel like I have some common connection with the woman. I smile.

“A reporter, huh?” I ask Lena. I take a look over at the bar and think about getting another drink. Ultimately, I shrug it off. I figure the night isn’t going to play out so hot, and I might as well get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s events.

“An investigative journalist,” she corrects me.

“Sounds like the same thing to me,” I say. I can’t get my eyes off her body. Even if she does piss me off to no end, I have half a mind to rip her clothes off right now. I’m feeling all sorts of savage right now, which means I probably should get going.

“It isn’t. Hence the words
investigative
and
journalist,
” she huffs. I love watching her get riled up. Her chest moves up and down with each new breath and her tits press against the lining of her shirt. I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a bra and her nipples are as hard as rocks. This girl clearly needs a rough man in her life.

“Well, sweet cheeks. I’m not about to give you the story of your career. In fact, you can shove your investigation up your fine, tight ass. It looks like you probably need it too. I doubt you’ve had a good lay in years.” I turn around and start walking again.

“Fuck off!” she screams. I can’t help but laugh as I push the doors open. Cat’s out of the bag, I guess. Time to go home.

Outside, Bowen is smoking a cigarette and leaning against the wall. He takes one look at me and bursts out laughing. “I had a feeling I’d be seeing you in a couple minutes. You know, you’re probably the worst pick up artist in all of history.”

I laugh and fall against the brick wall next to him. I run my hand through my short hair. “Yeah, well you’re not exactly the best wingman either.”

He nods and takes another drag. “It’s never going to be the same. Is it?” he asks, staring off into the distance. A train chugs against the rails next to us and I have to speak louder to be heard.

“What do you mean? Is it ever?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I guess not. Back there, it just seemed like we had it made,” he sighs. That’s when I know he’s drunk and his wife was going to have a field day with me tomorrow. I look at my watch and it’s 10:30 PM.
Shit.
It’s a bit later than I expected.

“Bowen, we had insurgents’s rifles pointed at us at all times. Remember the tea shop we used to patrol? Remember when someone planted an IED right out front? Three innocent civilians, blown to bits. We didn’t have it made. We got sent to hell for no reason and now we’re back home. That’s the reality,” I say. I’m not the guy to have this conversation with. I know what the Navy did to me and my brothers. It fucked a lot of us up. I was just lucky to have a clear conscience. Others experienced far worse than I did.

“I suppose you’re right, man. I just thought when we came back it’d be a little different is all.” He sighs and throws his cigarette into the street. A car rolls by and the passenger in the front salutes us when he sees our tags. I simply nod.

“There you go. A fan. You happy now?” I laugh. He shrugs. “Bowen, you have everything you could have ever wanted. A loving wife – and that’s a woman who waited patiently four fucking years for you to get back home in one piece. You have your children, that incredible house, a good enough job… You’ve got it made, brother.”

I can’t handle this sappy war-hero shit and he knows it so he changes the subject. “Anyway, I guess it’s time I go home. Need a ride?” he asks.

“Nah. I’m good. I’ll catch you tomorrow or something.” I say, giving him a strong hug. “Be safe. Don’t let your wife cut off your nuts.”

That makes him laugh, of course. “You too, man. Those women are wild in there. Don’t let them follow you home or something. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stumble home through a path into the woods. When I first moved out here, this place kind of scared the shit out of me. At night, you can’t see a thing. If you’re not careful, you can wander into the trees and find yourself lost until the morning. There were more than a handful of nights where I drunkenly stumbled into what seemed like the oblivion.

But now, that’s why I loved this place. The security of darkness. There’s the illusion of being away from humanity, even if there was a Walmart a mile away. Finally, I saw the dim light of my porch, that homey feeling that only cedar, low lighting, and the sound of old time country music can bring. I turned my radio off and sighed loudly.

That woman earlier. I can’t get her out of my mind. How come I had never seen her around before? For living in a small town, she definitely stands out. And those clothes she was wearing. Fuck…

I feel my cock press against the zipper of my pants. So I didn’t get the girl tonight. Big deal. I wasn’t going to let that stop me from having a good night. I sit down on my rocking chair and pull my pants down, over my prosthetic leg. I pop it off and set it aside. I laugh at how absurd I am right now. My cock is completely hard and I have to take off my fake leg so I can fucking cum. I’m a real American hero alright.

My cock falls out into my palm. I spit down on the rigid flesh and run my hand across it, spreading the saliva over the tightening skin. I close my eyes and think of that frigid woman.

Lena. She’s bending over that pool table and I’m walking up behind her, slow as can be. When she feels me near her, she turns her head slightly and closes her eyes, ready for me. “Hello, stranger,” she beckons.

I reach my hand out low and run it up her leg, her thigh, until I stop short, right before her pussy. It’s warm and she’s completely wet.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” I ask her. She simply moans, mouth wide open. Her tongue is glistening. I rest my hand on her warmth and feel her desire for me.

I push her legs open to the side and rip her panties down to her ankles. I push her forward and I’m quickly inside her, her skirt over her perfect marble-skinned ass. Now I’m riding her. I’m riding her until I pick her up and fall against the wall.

I’m looking into those sapphire-blue eyes and she’s staring right back at me with all that malice she bears. I’m pumping, I’m thrusting, and I’m letting it all go. Her tits are pressed against my mouth and I’m lightly sucking on her hard nipples, holding around her neck, making sure she knows who’s the boss.

“I’m going to give you the story of a lifetime…” I moan.

“Give it to me. Shoot your fucking load inside me!” Her screams echo off the bar walls.

Pretty soon I’m shining my cock at full speed and I’m ready to blow. I circle my grip around the base of my dick and I feel a sudden rush of pleasure roll over me in waves. It’s coming. I’m cumming. My taint grows taught with anticipation and my balls tighten up. My whole body moves in spasms and something finally clicks, better than any drug around.

“Oh, fuck!” I cry out in ecstatic pleasure. Thick streams of my cum shoot out onto my stomach and chest.

One, two, three, four… And I’m riding her, shooting it inside her, filling her up completely, until it spills out and drips around my balls. She falls to her knees and laps it up like a kitten. I shake, feeling as if I died and went to heaven.

“My hero…” she whispers, kissing my navel.

“God damn!” I tense up and fall back in the chair. My whole front body covered in my cum.

I open my eyes and wipe myself up with a towel. I make my way to my shower, lean against the wall, and unscrew my fucking leg. It’s a whole ordeal I have to go through on a daily basis and tonight it’s harder than ever. By the time I’m done showering, I’m exhausted. I clutch against the shower door, but end up slipping and falling out of the shower. I don’t even try to pick myself up. I just fall asleep on the floor, right then and there.

Oh, what a life. I have to find that woman again, if it’s the last thing I do.

“
Y
ou’re
out of your damn mind,” I say, as I get ready for the Memorial Day Festival. “I don’t get with guys like that. He’s probably a closet serial killer or something.” I’m looking at myself in the mirror and totally hating the way I look. I rip off my dress and dig through my closet for something that makes me look less like a disgusting troll.

“A serial killer? So what. Sounds pretty kinky to me,” Julie says, laying on the bed.

“Like I said. You’re out of your damn mind.” I laugh, arching my butt in the mirror. “God, I can’t find anything that works today.”

“You need to lighten up. You know that, right?” she asks me, and I know she’s right, but I’m incapable of doing it.

I sigh loudly and go back to digging in my closet. Clothes are littered around me and I can’t find anything that looks good. “Ugh. I just don’t think I’m ready to find someone new. Not after what happened with Elijah. Men are completely disgusting. I just want to grow up to be an old spinster and own a thousand cats or something.”

She sits up on the bed and gives me this annoyed look. She says “Okay, now I’m thinking
you’re
out of your damn mind. Fuck Elijah. He’s a boring loser who likes to feel powerful because he’s an editor for the local paper. I mean, come on. He’s nothing. What you need is—” I hold up my hand and cut her off.

“I know. What I need is a big, fat meaty cock. I get it.”

“Well, you do,” she says, lying back down. “At least, I do. Those guys last night were hot as hell. Who cares what they did for a living? Did you really have to go in bitch mode and ask about the war? Who does that even?”

I roll my eyes and throw yet another dress on the floor. “I thought maybe he had a story for me.”

“Since when are you an opportunist?” she asks. She’s right. It’s not like me to go prodding like that. But I want to live out my dreams and become a
muckraker
, as they say in the business. A
real
journalist. Someone who stirs up the pot.

“Oh, I don’t know. Does this look good to you?” I press the red dress against the curves of my body and give a weird smile.

“Fabulous, darling.” She smiles.

“Fuck it. It’s what I’m wearing. I don't care if it makes my ass look fat,” I say, pursing my lips at the mirror.

“Fat asses are in, sis. You look hot. Like Nicki Minaj,” she says, jumping out of the bed. “Let's go already.”

“Alright, I'm ready. I'm just not looking forward to seeing Elijah today.” My stomach tightens at the thought of running into him. He is, after all, still my editor. Being with Julie wasn't making it any easier for me either.

“It'll be fine. Just ignore him. That always makes men go insane. They just
have
to have an audience at all times. Especially Elijah.”

“Do me a favor and don't talk about him like you know him. I was with the asshole for six months. I know what he's like.” I walk out the door and get into my car. My window is taped up from when I went…
crazy
.

After trying to start my engine over three times, it finally kicked into gear. “Thank God,” my sister whispers and I can't help but laugh when I give her a dirty look.

We get to the festival in less than ten minutes and it’s pretty clear tonight is going to banal and boring. “Remind me why we’re here again?” Julie asks.

“Because little Elijah put me on assignment today. Instead of writing about something important and ground breaking, he's making me do a write-up on the festivities of the night.” I make an annoyed noise and show my press badge at the front gate.

Suddenly, I feel a cold hand press against my shoulder and squeeze. “What did I do?” The tenor-pitched voice asked me.

“Elijah.” I nod and move away from his grasp, wiping my dress clean from his touch.

“Lena Skye. I have to admit, I'm surprised you even showed up tonight.” His face looks like a cross between a squirrel’s ass and a ferret’s vagina. He’s literally the last person I want to see here, but at least we were getting everything out of the way early.

I roll my eyes. “Surprised? It's my job, Elijah. I show up, write a story, and go home. Stop acting so coy, it's annoying.”

Julie smiles and wraps her arms around me. “Hey, Elijah,” she says.

He ignores her and I'm not even sure he remembers who she is. “Right. Your job. We’ll talk about all that later.”

My blood pressure rises.
Should I slap him or spit on him?
I decide to take a deep breath instead. “Excuse me?”

He gives an exaggerated laugh. “Do you really even have to ask why? First you kick me out on the side of the highway. Then, you threaten me with violence.”

I burst out in laughter. Julie, who's usually good at restraining herself in these types of situations also starts laughing and it's easy to see that we struck a nerve in Elijah. He leans forward and whispers, almost at a hiss “You left me
naked
on the side of the highway! Do you know how many people yelled profanity at me?”

“Look,” I try to cool down from laughing hysterically at him, “I came here to do my job. Now, if you'll let me, that would be
fan
-
fucking-tastic
.”

But he won't let us go. Instead, he grabs my arms and pulls me closer to him. “Ow! Hey, what the fuck?” I frown.

His face contorts with anger and embarrassment. “I will not let you humiliate me again. Do you hear me? You better watch your ass because if you don't I’ll—”

“You'll do what? Hit her?” A handsome, deep voice mutters. The kind of voice that grounds you, with a slight southern drawl that slithers off the tip of each sentence. Matthew McConaughey had nothing on that voice.

I turn around to see the man from the bar the other night. He's standing close to Elijah, practically touching, his chest up against him. He's so fucking tall that Elijah actually has to look up at him and he's damn near shivering with fear.

“My military hero,” I whisper, with a slight smile on my face.

He gives me a wink and says “I never got to introduce myself. The name’s Colt.”
Like the gun.
“Like the liquor.”

“Lena,” I say, nearly choking on my words. He's in his full Navy garb and I suddenly feel something inside me change.

“Nice to meet you again. Is this guy bothering you?” he asks me.

“It's nothing I can't handle,” I say. It's the truth. I’m tough enough. I don’t need a man to protect me.

“I believe it,” he laughs. “You going to leave the woman alone now,
tough guy
?” It's not long before all Colt’s Navy buddies are surrounding Elijah. He's choking with fear. I love every second of this. Julie, now sitting on one of the benches, is somehow talking to one of the Navy guys. Her hand is wrapped gently around his bicep as he flexes for her.

The color from Elijah’s face has disappeared completely. “Excuse me,” he says, trying to move out of the situation entirely. No matter where he moves, a man is standing to block him.

“Now apologize,” Colt says, smiling brightly.

Elijah turns around and looks at me, taking deep and hurried breaths. “Yeah, um. I'm sorry. Okay? You happy?” But Colt is standing there, shaking his head.

“Come on. You can do better than that,” he says. “Apologize.”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything,” Elijah says, fear in his eyes. Colt steps aside, stroking his chin. He allows him to leave and one of his Navy buddies pushes him out of the circle. They all laugh.

“Get, boy!” one of them yells at him. As he's walking away, I see him look at me. He's got that glint in his eye that tells me this isn't over. I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Colt just looks me up and down and says “I liked your outfit better last night.”

“Are you kidding me?” I screech, feeling the blood rush to my face.

“I'm just a fan of the denim, baby,” he laughs.

“That's my editor!” I say. I'm holding back from yelling at him. It takes all my energy not to leave the festival. Around us, the sounds of children screaming waft with the clicks of the fair roller coaster.

“Wait, I'm confused. Shouldn't you be thanking me? He looked like he was about to hit you,” Colt says. His friends are sitting next to Julie now, passing around a flask. It ends up in her hands and she takes a swig.

“
Thank
you? You think you deserve
thanks
? I didn't ask you to step in,” I say. “And my sister has a condition. Please don't let your ogre friends give her any booze.” There's fire in my voice and I'm shaking. I just want to leave, to get away from men altogether.

He ignores the last part completely and laughs. “I didn't expect any thanks. I know you enjoy getting trampled on. But if you're ever in need, I'll be there. Even if you do tell me to fuck off,” he laughs, walking forward until he’s practically touching me.

That's when I realize how tall he actually is.
Fuck.
He's really handsome, despite his stupid shaved head and military get up. Er, I mean Navy.
Shit.
I find myself staring at his wide chest, at the ripples in his shirt that press against his perfectly cut abs, and I'm practically drooling. All of a sudden I'm a young girl again and I feel my pelvis start to tingle. The feeling travels between my legs and I have to physically move back to stop myself from ogling the guy.

“Thanks, I guess,” I stutter, feeling my cheeks turn a rosy hue. I'm flustered and embarrassed, and all I want to do now is touch his chest.
Oh Jesus, who am I?

“There it is! Finally, a thank you. You're welcome, doll,” he says. I see him eyeing the pattern on my dress. He's mesmerized and I'm slightly terrified to even guess what he's thinking about doing, only because I'm scared we’re thinking the exact same thing.

“
Doll?
Who are you and what time period did you come from?” I spit out. Any feeling I had between my legs has now dried up and disappeared. Well, I was right about one thing. Navy men
are
misogynists.

“I should be asking you the same thing, wearing that dress.” He says back.

“You know you're really good at ruining things, right?” The words just spill out of my mouth.

“Oh, I'm the best in the business when it comes to that.” He laughs and reaches into his back pocket. “Drink?” He offers me a flask and I grab it eagerly.

“Thanks. Guess I could use a drink or five,” I laugh.

“Yeah. You look kind of stressed. What're you doing at a white-trash event like this anyway?” he asks me. I take a swig and taste whisky. I feel it burn the back of my throat as it goes down. The alcohol is like a sudden eye opener for me. I realize that we’re sharing a moment and I sort of feel sick to my stomach, but it's a good kind of sick to my stomach.

I don't know whether to run away or keep talking, so I take another swig. I choke out the words, “Work. Remember? I'm a reporter.”

“I thought you were an investigative journalist,” he mocks me. I hand him the flask and shove him slightly. “Again with the pushing? You're a violent one, aren't you?” He laughs and puts his hand over mine, currently pressed against his chest. My skin prickles and there's that feeling between my legs again.
Shit!
The alcohol wasn't helping the situation either.

I pull my hand away from his body and take a step back. “I
am
an investigative journalist, thank you very much,” I say, sounding a little too defensive. “But today I'm a regular old reporter, writing on the Memorial Day festivities.”

“Well, I'm sorry to say that there's not much to report on tonight. Although, the fattest pig in the world is right around that corner.” He laughs and I see his eyes travel down to my thighs. He quickly looks away and makes eye contact with me again.

“The fattest pig in the world? Sounds great. I'll blow the case wide open.” I smile back and look at Julie. She’s left me to take a ride on the coaster with the rest of the guys, including that married man from last night.

“I bet you will.” He bites his lip. I can see him looking at my lips, although I doubt he’s trying to be secretive about it.

“I didn't mean I'll blow it... Er, I mean,
nevermind
.” I look away feeling even more embarrassed. He hands me the flask again.

“I'm just messing with you.” He reaches out and touches my shoulder. I look at his hand awkwardly and he pulls away from me. “So, want to walk with me?” he asks.

I look in the distance and see Julie getting on the roller coaster. She looks down at me and gives me a cheesy wave and then a thumbs-up. All of the Navy boys are drinking out of their flasks, screaming profanities, and acting wild. In small towns like ours, they can get away with anything.

“Sure,” I acquiesce. “What's the worst that can happen?”

He extends his arm out for me and I actually laugh at the gesture. “You really
are
from the 1950’s aren't you?”

“So much for being a gentleman,” he sighs.

We walk toward the lights, the smell of beer and deep-fried treats swirl around us. Carnies yell into the crowd of people, selling false hopes and cheap prizes. And still, I have nothing of importance to write about.

“Hey, you!” a man in overalls with a missing set of front teeth yells. I look up. “Yes! Why don't you have your boyfriend buy you a round of BB’s?” He’s wielding a BB gun and holding a cigarette in his right hand. “It's Memorial Day. Nothing better than honoring the troops than by shooting some guns, right?”

I look at Colt and he just shrugs. “Well, let's see what you got.” He smiles, handing the man a crisp five dollar bill.

“You sure you want to see this? I'm a pretty good aim.” I grab the gun from the carnie and hold it against my shoulder.

“I'd
love
to see you shoot a gun,” he says in a condescending tone.

I'm excited because my uncle used to take me shooting once a week. For not being a gun owner or supporter of guns, I’m actually a really good shot. I put my cheek against the metal and aim. “Oh boy! Here she goes! She's in it to win it.” The carnie worker yells into his megaphone. A crowd has gathered to see my shot.

I bend over and aim at the target. My dress is hiked up to the brim and I can just feel his gaze burning into my ass. “Why don't you take a picture. It'll last longer,” I say. And then I shoot at least 100 BB’s, right in the center of the target. The bell rings, the carnie screams “Yes! She did it! We have a winner!” and I grab a giant purple banana to take home.