Page 2 of Stealthy Seduction (SEAL Team Blackout Charlie #5)

Christ, that enticing plunge of Izzy’s bikini top was driving him to distraction.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with a shirt on?” Steele blurted.

The room went dead silent.

Izzy leaned forward, giving him—and everyone else—a better view of her cleavage. “I don’t know, Steele. Would you be more comfortable if I had a shirt on?”

“You know what this game needs?” May broke the tension. “More snacks.” She took off to the kitchen and returned with bowls overflowing with peanuts and pretzels.

The moment passed, but the throb in Steele’s cock didn’t. He lost another hand, and every last chip he’d won ended up in front of Chase.

“I still say Alyssa’s feeding you information about our cards,” he muttered.

Con tossed down his hand. “I’m out. And I’m turning in for the night.” As he stood, he reached for Sophie, who was never far away from their leader.

Lucky for Steele’s wallet, the game broke up. The ladies drifted off with their men, and a couple of the single guys headed to the home theater to watch sports.

Steele stepped out of the dining room and caught sight of Izzy in the kitchen cleaning up.

He stopped. “You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest.”

Her gaze settled on his. Warm amber. Like the sunset over the desert.

She didn’t speak.

He stared at her for a long heartbeat. Before he knew his own intentions, he crossed the room and took her hand.

Her lips popped open in surprise.

“You haven’t seen my room yet.”

Her eyelids drooped over those smoldering eyes and then her stare fixed on his face. “Maybe you could give me a tour.”

* * * * *

Steele’s rough fingers closed around Izzy’s, warm and solid. The dark glitter in his eyes sent her heart racing and heat trickling into her veins.

Neither of them moved a muscle, but his gaze traveled over her face, her hair…down to her breasts.

And she couldn’t help but drink in the span of his broad shoulders just made for a woman to cling to, the sharp angles of his jaw…or the hunger in his eyes.

They were the color of steel, just like his name. Silver, gray, unyielding flint—the kind of eyes that had seen too much war and didn’t flinch when the world burned.

During the poker game, she had cataloged him the way she did a story, making mental notes on the man. Shit-talking Southern drawl, hands steady on the cards, mouth unsmiling even as his teammates laughed around him.

Hudson Steele was a fortress of a man. Solid. Impenetrable. The type you wrote about in clipped sentences, because no amount of adjectives could describe his mere presence.

And yet…when those eyes cut to her again, the air in her lungs stuttered. Heat flickered low in her belly, chasing out the cold that had lived inside her since Syria.

She told herself being alone with him was just research. After all, she was curious about the SEAL team based in a huge, rambling mansion nobody was allowed to visit without wearing a black hood.

But her pen would never put to paper the truth about how her breath hitched when Hudson leaned close—because the story she was telling herself about the man was far too dangerous to print.

She inched closer.

In one quick jerk, he latched on to her waist and yanked her flush against his chiseled body. She brought a palm up to rest on his chest, a gasp lingering on her lips.

“Hudson…”

“If you don’t want this, I’ll stop.” His tone was grit and Southern charm rolled into one enticing temptation.

Her breath came out in short puffs as her gaze fixed on his hard mouth surrounded by short brown facial hair sprinkled with threads of blond.

Her toes curled into the marble floor. “I want this,” she whispered.

The words barely rolled off her tongue before his mouth crashed over hers. The kiss was brutal from the start—claiming, punishing and laced with the kind of hunger that didn’t ask permission.

He backed her against the counter and pinned her, hard muscles pressing into every curve until she had nowhere to run.

As if she even wanted to.

His hands were everywhere—skimming her hips, sliding up her ribs, dragging her closer. The edge of the counter dug into her spine, but the sting only fueled the fire.

His kiss deepened, tongue tangling with hers, all dominance and heat. She moaned into his mouth, and that single sound broke something in him.

He drew away, chest heaving, eyes glinting in a way that made her thighs clench and her pussy flood with want.

When she arched into him, he groaned low in his chest, gripping her thighs and hauling her up onto the counter like she weighed nothing. The cool marble hit her skin, a shocking contrast to the molten burn between them.

Empty margarita glasses rattled, but all she could think about was getting Hudson where she’d wanted him since the minute she first set eyes on him months ago.

Hudson wedged himself between her knees, dragging her closer. She locked her legs around his hips, pulling him into her. The towel she wore around her waist loosened and dropped, one less barrier between them.

He crowded in and settled the bulge of his arousal flush against the spandex bikini covering her pussy.

“Jesus, Izzy…” His drawl rumbled through her, rough and ragged. “You’re drivin’ me outta my damn mind.”

Her only answer was a moan as his hand slid under her bikini top, palming her breast with possessive heat. She gasped into his mouth, the spark turning to wildfire as his thumb stroked her nipple until she was trembling.

Everywhere he touched, he left her unraveling—her body no longer her own but his to command. She’d never been manhandled like this, never wanted to be. But Steele’s hands weren’t careless—they were desperate. And that desperation matched her own.

He yanked her bikini straps down, baring her. She should’ve cared, should’ve thought about where they were, but all she could focus on was the blaze in his eyes when he looked at her, like she was the only thing he’d ever needed.

His mouth left hers only to trail fire down her throat, across her collarbone, until he closed over her nipple with a growl. Her head fell back against the cabinet, breath coming in quick gasps.

“Hudson…” Her voice cracked, half plea, half warning.

“Not stoppin’, honey. Not when you’re this wet for me.” That drawl again. And his hand slipping between her thighs, dragging her bikini bottoms aside and plunging his fingers into her slick heat.

She cried out, clutching at his broad shoulders as he worked her, each stroke rougher, deeper, urging her higher until she was rocking against his hand shamelessly.

“Please,” she whispered.

He lifted his head, gaze searing. “Please what? You want me to stop?”

“Never.”

The word was barely out before he lifted her off the counter, her legs clamping around his waist. He took two steps toward the doorway, toward the room he promised to give her a tour of, but halted in his tracks.

He pinned her against the wall, devouring her mouth as he ground against her, the thick press of his erection making her dizzy with need.

A low growl rumbled through his chest. He fisted her hair, angling her head back as his lips trailed pure white-hot fire down her neck. With a ragged exhale, she clutched at his shoulders, uncaring that her nails bit into his muscle. He groaned against her throat, the sound guttural, animalistic.

The need between them spiked—too wild to contain. Their mouths clashed again, hot and messy, her hands roaming down the hard plane of his chest. His palm slid under her ass, hitching her half up into his arms, trying to bring her toward the stairs.

But she wasn’t ready to move, not when every nerve ending screamed for him right here. She caught his jaw in both hands and kissed him like she’d die if she stopped. Their bodies pressed tight, their breath ragged.

He broke the kiss just long enough to rasp against her lips, voice low and shredded with need, “Stairs. Now.”

Somehow, they staggered toward the staircase, his lips never leaving hers, her fingers tangled in his hair. Each step was a battle between restraint and raw hunger, and his control felt like it was hanging by a thread.

By the time he kicked his bedroom door shut, she was already stripping his shirt off, her nails raking down his chest. He tossed her on the bed and followed, braced over her, his eyes dark with possession.

“You sure about this, Izzy?” His voice was a gravelly warning, but his hand was already tugging her bottoms down, his chest rising and falling with the force of his need.

“Yes.” She held his gaze, panting. “God, yes.”

He pushed off her, all testosterone and athletic prowess. She watched through hooded eyes as he crossed the dim room, his tall frame outlined by the moonlight streaming through one window.

He rummaged around for a moment. When he returned, he had a condom pinched between two fingers.

Her stomach plunged with desire, and liquid heat pooled in her core. She rocketed upward, locking her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle. Dragging him down on top of her, she let out a heated cry as his bare skin scorched hers.

In a flurry, he stripped her bikini top off, navigating the strings with far more skill than she ever could. She tore into his fly, fingers shaking as she popped the button and worked down the zipper.

The metal teeth barely harnessed the throbbing length of his erection. Curling her fingers into the elastic of his underwear, she tugged until her fingertips grazed the solid heat of him.

“Christ, honey.” He took her mouth again, obliterating any thought of taking this slow.

He kicked off his clothes. When he hovered over her, fingers teasing the strings holding up her bikini bottoms, his throat worked as if that body part was just as tight as others.

“Do it,” she whispered.

In one smooth glide, he yanked her bottoms off and flung them over the side of the bed. Before she could register the next move, his fingers were buried inside her again. Thick. Stretching. Fucking her with an insistent possessiveness that her body needed more than air.