Mountain Man SEAL Page 4

  I need him squeezing and mangling that flesh in tandem with his slaps.

  I am out of control.

  The more I writhe, the faster the slaps rain down. Blaze must assume I’m trying to wriggle out of his hold rather than encouraging him to intensify it. He could take me now. He could spread me apart and slide his length into me.

  I have no doubt that it’s enormous, having sneaked a peek over my shoulder at the bulge almost ripping his khakis.

  His need for me is as gigantic as mine for him. I’m so wet his girth would slip right in, filling me and stretching me to deep satisfaction. I give another arch of encouragement and a welp of pleasure pain escapes my lips.

  Blaze’s hand comes down with a final resounding slap. Then it rests there, covering my heated cheek. His knuckles graze dangerously close to my crevasse. The heat from my livid skin percolates into his palm.

  We’re both panting with heavy desire.

  Please. I want to beg him but I won’t, even though my hunger for him is filling me to the max. Please.

  His hoarse breathing slows a little. His arm shifts and slides across my belly. Both hands move to my hips, presumably to get me into the right position. But then they slide down the outside of my thighs, sending more sparkles of lust up into my core.

  I need his length inside me more than I need to inhale.

  “Whitney.” I whimper. I attempt to get him to come closer by giving him what he first wanted from me - my name.

  But he appears to have suddenly lost all interest. He hooks his fingers into my underwear and drags them back up my legs. He’s man enough to settle them into position, not all bunched up, before following up with the leggings.

  “There now.” He grunts. “That should give you an indication of who’s boss in this house.”

  “What?”

  My disappointment, mixed up with pent up desire, outrage, and the heat emanating from my butt cheeks is more than I can control.

  “That’s it?”

  Blaze’s gaze flies to mine with a questioning look. He seems confused about where we are in this little game of cat and mouse. I’m enraged.

  “What were you expecting.” Then a smile spreads wide across his mouth and my knees almost buckle from how gorgeous he becomes. I’m even more madly frustrated.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I shout.

  “Outside to the left and down the hill some.”

  “Are you kidding me? There’s no indoor plumbing?”

  “No bath either.”

  As I storm out of the house, I make my frustration felt by stamping on the wood floor as loud as possible. Blaze responds to my childishness with a husky chuckle.

  I hate him.

  6

  Blaze

  Whitney.

  Kind of an unusual name but it’s cute and it suits her somehow. Her dark red hair grows more fiery when her temper rises and she rocks a dusting of freckles across the rosebud complexion. I like it.

  And I like her. Even more than I figured on liking her when I first saw her.

  It took every ounce of self control I possess not to toe her feet wide apart and slide my full length into her heat. I could feel how much she wanted me to do it. Or could I?

  I felt our chemistry the moment I set eyes on her in the street but bringing her here didn’t quite work out as I envisaged. I was not going to overstep and go too fast. I can tell she’s nowhere near content with her surroundings.

  Or me.

  Have I staked a claim on her with the spanking? I can’t be sure but one thing I am sure of is that my iron is still rock hard in my pants and enraged at not being unleashed. Blood rushes through my veins, pressing too violently into each artery.

  I want her that bad. It’s incendiary.

  Wait, how long have I been sitting here reliving the last five minutes? Her splendid heart-shaped butt, tipped up to receive my spanking with a special kind of keenness has put me into a dream state. I’m kicked back, imagining her little pants and whimpers as I claimed her. As I made her all mine and had her screaming my name.

  I got lost in my fantasies and she’s been gone way too long.

  Where is she?

  I dash out onto the porch where Tank is sitting with his bottle of beer in one hand.

  “Have you seen Whitney?” I ask him.

  He inhales a long draft from the bottle before replying.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The girl of course, who else?”

  “She came out of the privy a while back. Headed down the trail.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I yell.

  “I thought you had it all under control.” He says with a smug grin.

  I take off running, down the track toward the outhouse.

  She can’t have gotten too far. It’s only been fifteen minutes or so - I think.

  Time is a strange beast up here on the mountain. You lose track of it so that sometimes it’s running off without you and others it’s boring as waiting to go out on night patrol. But she doesn’t have the advantage I have, of knowing the terrain like her own palm - the same one that just took possession of her.

  I won’t give her up that easily.

  The door to the outhouse is wide open. I check it out, following training even though I know she’s not in there. Then I scan the area, sure she’s not hiding or anywhere around. The land falls away in back and I notice a slide in the mud track. It looks like she headed down that way and slipped, leaving a telltale sign of her movements for anyone trained in tracking.

  I hope to hell that she didn’t go off track and end up in the cess pit. Or hurt herself thanks to those unsuitable shoes.

  I dash full throttle down the hill and still I can’t see any sign of her.

  Picking up speed, my heart racing at equal tempo, I run this way and that, zigzagging through the trees to cover terrain. Then I take another steep run downhill, toward the stream. I gather enough momentum as I descend to come hurtling out of the woods into the clearing and almost run headlong into Whitney sitting on a rock.

  She’s sobbing.

  Baby girl, what have I done?

  The sight of her so unhappy almost rips my chest wide open like a mortar attack.

  But when she looks up, startled by my abrupt arrival, she brushes the tears from her cheeks with an aggressive slap. Her luscious lip sets into a firm downward crescent. It looks like she’s biting down to halt the flow of sadness. Or to prevent me from observing it.

  I literally cannot bear it.

  I walk across to her, one hand outstretched as you do to a wild animal. I drop to my knees in front of her.

  “What is it, Baby?”

  I take her hand in both mine and she doesn’t pull away. A single rogue tear rolls down her soft cheek and I thumb it gently away before reclaiming her hand.

  “Tell me please.” I beg. “Are you hurt?”

  “What are you going to do with me?” She croaks.

  “I’m going to take care of you and support you and make you happy.” I assure her.

  “So I’m to be a prisoner in this hell for the rest of my life?”

  “That wasn’t what I said. I want you to be my woman. We’re going to be a team.”

  “You mean I’m going to be your maid. In a dump where there’s no water.”

  “Sweetheart, there’s water right there.” I indicate the stream rushing alongside us, the reason I chose to construct the cabin in this location.

  “How the hell do I wash my hair in that? Where do I take a bath? I can’t even wash my hands.”

  “Is that the only thing bothering you? The facilities?” I grin at her but she’s having none of it.

  “I want to go home. Back to my life.”

  “But you’re mine now.” My hands on her were a claiming of sorts. Can’t she see that?

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “You’ll get to know me. We’ll be good together.”

  “I don’t think so. And I’m not a possession, l
east of all yours. I hate you.”

  Those words are like a knife in my gut but I hold back from a response because I guess all this must be a big adjustment for Whitney.

  “Let me go. Please. I’ll do anything you want if you just let me go.”

  “I can’t do that.” I don’t want to do that. Whitney is mine. She belongs to me. I won’t force her but in time I know she’ll agree with me.

  Her shoulders slump in defeat but I refuse to surrender. She’ll come around. I’ll make her come around. And I won’t claim her completely until she does.

  Only when she begs me will I make her mine entirely.

  Dusk starts to filter through the tree canopy so I assist Whitney to her feet and lead her by the hand back up the steep track. Close to the top, where it’s muddy, she skids as her shoes have no grip.

  “I’ve got you.” I scoop her up into my arms and carry her post-wedding style, the rest of the way back to the house - or ‘shack’ as she calls it.

  She’s so tired, or her emotions are so spent, she doesn’t resist me. Her arms go around my neck and her head rests on my shoulder. For the first time since I came home from deployment, I feel like I’m home.

  As we go inside the house I fire a warning glare at Tank, still in the same position on the porch. He’d better not make some smart remark. He better not try to move in on me and Whitney. I heard about him and one of our unit when they were on leave in Kandahar. Yeah, less said about that the better.

  He gets the hint and remains sitting there, gazing straight out into the darkness. Once inside the house, I set Whitney down on the couch then put giant pans on the stove to boil. I’ll cook up some pasta and add some salted meat I hunted last season. First I go to the still and pour a shot of liquor that I feed to Whitney to enliven her.

  The booze has the reverse effect from what I intended. She falls fast asleep, presumably because of the overwhelm of the day’s events. I let her rest while Tank and I eat. We’re even more silent throughout the meal than usual. Both lost in thought, or trying not to think.

  Once he’s back out on the porch and dozing a little, I wake Whitney and offer her some food.

  “I’m not hungry.” She moans, turning her face away.

  “You have to eat something.”

  “I can’t. I feel sick to my stomach. I feel seriously grungy.”

  “I have a surprise for you.” I say.

  I’ll do almost anything to make her feel at home. No not almost - anything. Whatever it takes.

  She doesn’t look remotely interested in what I’m offering. When I reach out my hand to pull her up off the sofa and lead her to see what I have in store, she ignores me. It’s as though she’s sinking into a depression. This isn’t going the way I pictured it at all. Not at all.

  Once again I pick her up in my arms. At the last minute I decide not to toss her over my shoulder again. The domination seemed to incense her last time.

  I carry her bridal style in both arms, outside, down the steps and around in back of the house. I walk a couple minutes with her arms around my neck, the side of her breast mashed against my hard pectoral. We come through a clearing to where there’s a waterfall into a small lagoon.

  But that isn’t why we’re here. I have something she’ll like even more, I hope. But this setting at the water’s edge is nice. She barely looks up, her head hangs down like she’s lost the will to continue.

  I set her down. And make sure the oil lamps I’ve placed around are well stoked.

  “Let’s get your clothes off.” I pull her tee shirt up and that brings her back to the present.

  “Don’t touch me.” She squeaks.

  “You wanted to bathe and you’re going to.” I snap, irritated that she doesn’t appreciate the effort I went to.

  I drag the tee up, forcing her arms overhead to get it off her. She crosses her arms over her chest.

  Apparently she’s forgotten how she edged her legs open for me a few short hours back. Now she’s all innocence and modesty personified.

  Once again I tug the leggings down her thighs and get on my knees to work them down over her feet. She kicks out at me with the raised foot and gives an almighty shove that sends me back on my butt.

  “I said don’t touch me.” She backs away, those eyes firing a battalion of mortar shells in my direction.

  “Watch out.” I say - too late.

  She backs into the surprise I had all laid out. Her knees make contact and buckle. Her face registers huge shock just before she tumbles backward with a huge splash into an old tin tub that I filled with the water I boiled on the stove.

  She surfaces, spluttering and coughing but unharmed. I’m sitting on my backside laughing my head off.

  “You think it’s funny, hillbilly?” She yelps.

  “You would too if you could see yourself.” I say through gasps. “And you’re welcome.”

  It dawns on her that she’s in actual hot water and her face softens.

  “You did this for me? Boiled water and everything?”

  “I did - while Madame took a lazy nap, I made dinner and cooked her up a bath too. ‘Bout time that old tin tub saw some action.”

  “You’ll go to any lengths to get my clothes off, it seems.” But I can see she’s softening.

  “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.” I counter. “In fact I’d swear you wanted them all off.”

  “Pig.” She mutters.

  But her cheeks are flaring with a lovely red rose bloom on her milky skin. Without her tee shirt, all I can think of is how her skin looks like the most expensive cream. Not the kind you eject from an aerosol can.

  Now she lies back, resting her head on the side of the bath and luxuriating in the still warm water. I wish I had bubbles or fragrance for her but I don’t. This is an all- man cabin and for the first time ever I regret that.

  Her eyes are closed but every now and then, they flicker open to give a side glance in my direction. Maybe she needs to satisfy herself that I’m not making a move to take advantage of her.

  Wow, some people have a hard time letting go.

  She wriggles out of her underwear. Even hidden under the water, the move makes my dick spring to attention. It’s in agony now, having been thwarted a couple of times today.

  Her eyes again flick over to me, checking me out and I can’t read what she wants. Or what she’s thinking. She seems scared of me. And also repressing urgent need.

  I get up and see her flinch. That does it. I can’t bear her rejection. I stride toward the house, leaving her there.

  “Hey, where are you going?” She calls.

  I ignore her. Let her wonder about how she’s going to make it back to the shack in the dark.

  But once inside, all I can think of is that Whitney isn’t here with me. Is she okay out there? I forgot to leave a towel for her. I grab one, not the fluffy kind girls like, a small military type that barely wraps your pelvis. I head back out to the clearing, certain I see relief cross her features when she sees me returning.

  I hold out the towel wide as it can stretch, indicating it’s safe for her to get up from the water and wrap herself, without me getting a peek. The sight of her couldn’t possibly make my steel any more engorged than it already is, so the towel comes in handy for covering that as well.

  I envelop her in the material and help her step out. When she’s dry, I hold up the cleanest tee shirt I own. She takes it and puts it on while she rinses out her clothes in the bathwater.

  As we walk back to the house together, she looks up at the blanket of stars above us. She’s trembling a little, whether from the cooled night air or for what’s coming next, I don’t know. I’m a little shaky myself.

  I put an arm around her and pull her into my side to share my warmth and I’m grateful that she puts up no fight. In fact, she settles against me taking cover under my wing.

  “So -“ I ask, because it’s been on my mind constantly like a song that won’t stop playing. “Who is Jarke?”

 
7

  Whitney

  I know what’s going to happen when we get back inside the house. It’s the reason Blaze plucked me off the street to bring me here - he wants a fake wife and he’s going to want me to perform , um, ‘wifely duties’.

  I ought to be telling myself triple ugh so why am I pulsating with anticipation? Put it down to the starry night sky.

  His arm around me is nice and warm and makes me feel safe for the first time in a long time. But that doesn’t mean I can go any further with him than I’ve already subjected myself to.

  Okay, I can go a little further and lean into his side, feeling his hard muscle ridges crush into the tender flesh at the side of my breast. Needless to say my nipples go on full alert, ready and eager for more. But they’re going to be disappointed because it is not going to happen.

  Not tonight. Not ever.

  My body may be crying out to feel Blaze’s huge bulk weighing down on me. I yearn for his huge hands, both rough and tender, all over me. But I’m under orders to remain solo for the year. And anyway if I did surrender, I know he’d never let me go. And that’s my one true goal. To get out of this hillbilly hellhole.

  “Did you hear me?” He asks in a rough tone so I wonder if he can possibly be possessive. “Who is Jarke?”

  The sound of the name on Blaze’s lips sounds all wrong. You couldn’t find two different men if you searched to the ends of the planet.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” I say.

  “I want to know everything about you is all.”

  “No one. Just my ex. Sort of ex. Back in Boston.” Where he pushes drugs to students.

  “No one. Sort of.” Blaze repeats. “Sounds like it was serious.”

  “It was but not in that way.”

  “Does he know it’s over.”

  “Yes of course.” Not really.

  “So you won’t be pining after him. And your life back East?”

  “Why so many questions about my ex?” I say, trying to deflect the inquisition.