Page 36 of All The Way Under

Saylor stands there, arms crossed across her Navy SEAL sweatshirt, face ashen.

“You’re late,” she says, bottom lip trembling.

I bite back a smile. “Your clock is wrong,” I reply.

“You told me no hero stuff.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I didn’t do anything heroic.”

“You guys killed them all.”

I look away, feeling awkward that the woman I love knows the nitty-gritty about my job. This isn’t a part of myself I readily share with anyone. Not even Nolan. It’s already over, so there’s no sense dwelling now.

“They had it coming,” I reply

Will she think differently of me now that she’s seen this up close?

Saylor crosses the distance and punches me in the shoulder.

Hard. Then she hugs me like I’m made of glass, and she’s forgotten how to breathe.

I allow it, in full gear, covered in sweat, smelling of flashbang smoke, diesel fuel, and death.

I let her hold on as long as she needs. I inhale her hair, and it calms me like a salve.

This is why I do what I do now. Everything is for her.

Mark jogs past us, coming from one of our vans, holding two lobster rolls. “Hey! They had warm butter tonight!”

“Give me one,” I say, my chin resting on Saylor’s head.

“Already ate it,” he replies, shaking his head.

“Then give me the one in your hand.”

He grins, running to Reyes, who has beers in his hands. “Come and take it, grandpa.”

I look down at Saylor, pride beaming. “Your system worked. Like clockwork. On the ride back, all I could think about was how proud I am that this is your brainchild, and it works better than anything I’ve ever used.”

She tilts her head, eyes wet. “I knew it would work. It had to. Your life was on the line. I won’t fail with that. I might mess up in every other area, but I’ll never mess up with that.”

It baffles me that she somehow has low self-confidence.

“Didn’t mean I wasn’t scared,” I say, letting a bit of vulnerability slip. If she can show vulnerability, so can I.

She exhales. “Me too. So damn terrified.”

I pull her close again, content to just be. “But we’re here.”

“All the way under,” she whispers.

I shake my head, then growl. “All the way home. That’s where I’m taking you right now.”

I’m in full uniform, as is Mark, standing in an opulent hallway outside of a fucking ballroom of sorts—I think.

We’re inside Roger and Bianca’s house. We agreed to attend this party because it’s also a fundraiser for Bronwyn’s art gala, and well, the Wyndham’s PR firm said it might lessen some of the fucking interest around us if we did something public together. Take some photos. Let people see us together.

It also shows whoever is trying to get to Roger that we’re a united front, and we aren’t scared. Bring. It. On.

This isn’t a large party by any means, but enough people are here tonight that it’s the biggest risk we’ve taken since we’ve been back from Portugal.

Security has a guest list at their gate, and only certain folks are allowed in.

Metal detectors are being used, and the room is covered with security.

I’ve never seen so many suits in my life.

“I feel like a fucking show pony,” Mark says, grabbing at the collar of his uniform. I help him fix it. Perfection is the only option in uniform. “I can’t drink. Can’t smoke. Can’t cuss. This is going to be awful.”

Catherine glares at him. “You’re upset? I bought a dress at Macy’s because that’s what high class means to me,” she hisses from next to Nolan. “These people are dressed like celebrities, Brody. What were you thinking, bringing us to this?”

“You look beautiful, Cat. You don’t need a thousand-dollar dress to look like my dream girl,” Nolan replies, clutching her arm to his side.

“No one cares what you’re wearing. I promise you.

Look at those two.” He nods his head at us, fussing with our uniforms before we enter.

“All eyes are going to be on them.” He smiles widely and shakes his head.

“We’re here because Saylor invited us. She doesn’t care what we have on. You know that. We’re her friends.”

I stand shock still at his admission because it feels nice. Saylor has been accepted, but I can’t deny the whiplash we feel from chilling at the lake house, drinking beer, to this house , and whatever awaits us behind these gilded golden doors.

“He’s right. And I don’t say that often,” I say to Catherine. To Mark, I say, “Go in and mingle. Saylor just texted. She’ll be down in a second. We need to split up tonight. Remember what I told you. Regardless of what they say, they mean well, okay?”

He’s met Bianca, so he has some idea what we’re up against, but a horde of them together is going to be jarring.

“They’re making a donation to our command.”

“Do we need donations? We are the highest funded unit in the entire military,” Mark says, sweat forming on his forehead.

It’s always uncomfortable to be on display like this. Before I met Saylor, I’d eat my arm off before willingly participating in something like this. When she explained it in more detail, it’s hard to deny it’s not useful.

When I don’t reply, he pastes a fake smile on his face, turns on his heel, and enters the room. What a goddamn hero.

Nolan and Catherine are speaking to each other in hushed tones.

“He’s right, Catherine. You look beautiful,” I say, tasting the compliment as it feels foreign.

Nolan smiles in appreciation.

“The food is fucking delicious. Go eat, get some stories, find the tea lady, and talk about your work. You are both accomplished, successful people. Don’t let this house fuck with your mind. We all put our damn pants on the same way, one leg at a time.”

Catherine exhales loudly. “Thanks,” she says, inhaling deeply. “I’ve never been to something like this.” Then she swallows hard, links her arm into Nolan’s, and says, “For Saylor. We’ll do this for her.”

They enter the room next, the door clicking closed behind them. There’s a low roar of conversation and light classical music. I was here when they were setting up, but I haven’t seen any of the guests, or even Saylor, since I changed into my uniform.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Saylor

Wardrobe malfunction. Request for assistance. Use the elevator behind the kitchen.

I don’t reply. I jog down the hallway, then another, finding the kitchen.

“Elevator?” I ask Angie as she bustles in with a tray of empty champagne flutes. She nods to the corner where there is another hallway.

I see the elevator. It’s gilded and wooden, not silver like the ones in basic hotels. I hit the up button and wait. It dings open, and she’s there.

I lose my breath, and my brain scrambles. I couldn’t tell you the difference between up and down. She’s wearing a long cobalt blue gown that’s covered in crystals. Her hair is in loose curls hanging over her shoulders.

“Fuck,” I say, forgetting to enter. She has to hit the open button again.

“I didn’t think I’d have to text you,” she says. Her gaze dances down my body, then back up. “This is better than I imagined.”

The doors close behind us, and she raises one brow.

“I lied about the malfunction. I wanted you. Like this.” Saylor bites her bottom lip.

“Here?”

I must look shocked because she raises one brow.

“What? We can’t ruffle the SEAL before a performance?”

“Forgive the shock. I’ve never been in full uniform while being propositioned by the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

I take a step forward, then another. She’s pinned against the back of the elevator. I toss my cover on the ground.

Saylor kisses me, and the premeditation is everywhere. I pull away from her mouth.

“You did plan this. You didn’t even put on lipstick,” I say. “How bad did you want this, then? How long have you been thinking about this?”

Her blue eyes melt into mine as she reaches behind her body to unzip the dress. It falls to the floor in a pool around her feet. Nothing but skin and the body I cherish.

“I’ve been thinking about it since I last saw you.”

I take off my jacket and set it gently on top of my cover. Saylor leans over and presses a button on the panel. It lights up red.

“No one can come in. Or out.”

“We’ll see about that,” I reply, casting a cocky grin.

I collapse to my knees in front of her, eyes wide as I stare up in awe.

She slides her legs over my shoulders, and I pull her ass forward to taste her pussy.

She’s so wet for me as she works herself against my tongue.

The way her face remains soft with ecstasy, yet her pace harried with intent, is mesmerizing.

I lose track of time after she comes and slowly steps down, ordering me to stand.

One hand holds the elevator door to steady my body as Saylor unzips my pants, then swallows my cock.

Watching her work propels me closer to the brink, and she knows, because then she slows her pace, popping off to savor my balls.

She licks a trail up and down the underside of my rod until I shiver, then she slides it back down her throat.

The pace picks up when she uses her hand to guide her mouth up and down.

When I don’t think I can hold back any longer, she looks up at me, all whale-eyed, fucking perfection, and says, “Fuck me,” around my cock.

I lick my lips, nodding furiously. “Get up and turn around.”

Saylor knows exactly where I’m going because she splays her hands on the closed door and spreads her legs.

The invitation couldn’t be warmer and inviting.

I plunge into her, grabbing both of her hips to steady the fuck.

Her blonde hair bounces with each thrust, and one side of the elevator has a mirror, so I watch, and even though I know it’s my reflection, I still feel jealous of the lucky bastard.

Who gets to fuck a woman like this? Who gets to call a woman like this theirs? Couldn’t be me.

The mere sight of my cock pounding into her firm tan ass in my hands is enough. She’s in nothing but gold high heels, and fuck if they’re high.

“Where do you want me to come?”