Page 28 of The Forgotten SEAL (The Real SEAL #1)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Carina
The pit in my stomach melted away the second we pulled into our quaint little driveway and entered our home. “I’m going to take a shower. Wash my face,” I say, waving the book in the air like an explanation.
Smith smiles. It’s almost the smile from a man who feels sympathy, but it’s not.
He teeters on that line very gracefully.
I give him mad credit for that. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy.
Especially from the man I love. With a nod, Smith says he’s going to his room to return a few phone calls and asks that I come get him as soon as I’m finished.
Nerves hit me in spades. I shower slowly and shave every square inch of my body.
I wash my hair twice and let my face mask soak in longer than I usually do.
It’s not because I’m nervous, it’s because I’m trying to forget what this afternoon made me feel.
I don’t want to confuse emotions. I want to compartmentalize my time spent in the house of horrors.
The shed. The pit in my stomach rears as do images of Greg on top of me grunting, his alcohol-laced breath wafting in my face as he drilled me into the wooden floor, his eyes screwed shut and his shirt rubbing against my cheek.
He never took his shirt off. Not even once.
I lean over and vomit into the drain. My stomach is empty, so it’s just bile and bad memories.
I wash my face one more time and exit the warm shower.
There are two sinks, so I make my way to mine and take my time brushing my teeth and blow-drying my hair while I go through Smith’s products.
He keeps them in his Dopp kit on the counter because he’s always leaving.
I smell his cologne and open the top of his shaving cream and smell that, too.
It makes my mouth water. Yes. Smith. That’s what I need to focus on now.
The rest of today is gone…buried with Greg.
“Pull your shit together,” I say. Smith makes me feel good about myself.
He makes me strive to leave the weak, hurt girl in the past. It’s not one particular thing he does, it’s merely what happens when he’s himself.
I know what’s going to happen when I leave this room and find him.
I want it to happen. I need to be in the right frame of mind.
I want this to be something to be remembered.
Something more fantastic than fiction. It can be that just by the fact that it’s us.
Smith and Carina. A fact that is frightening as much as it is amazing.
Dabbing my finger on my lips, I gloss on some clear balm. I hear the low, manly timbre of Smith’s voice, so I know he’s still on a phone call.
Hanging up my towel behind the door, I cross the hallway naked into my room.
“Time to get dressed,” I whisper. My closet is a rainbow explosion of colors.
Most of the time I wear black, but recently I’ve been taken with brighter, more daring colors.
Folded in the back on a shelf, I find what I’ve been saving for just the right time.
“This is it, guys,” I say to the lace bra and panty set.
I purchased it at the high-end boutique one day while Jasmine was next door at the market.
It’s teal and more risqué than anything I’ve ever worn.
A man like Smith is accustomed to sexy pieces like this, I’m sure.
Blue is his favorite color, and I know he likes lingerie.
He didn’t come out and say those exact words, but through a story in the beginning of the interview process, he mentioned it.
It had to do with a video chat session and his ex-fiancée while he was deployed.
Delaying our intimacy has been a challenge, and since we moved in together, it’s always at the forefront of my mind.
At first, I thought something was wrong with me.
What type of man delays sexual gratification?
From a woman practically throwing herself at him?
The answer was a resounding no man I’ve had previous experience with . And that’s a good thing.
I slip the delicate lace into place, put on my silk robe, and then sneak past the office door and into the living room.
I have several candles hidden in drawers and cabinets I’ve been planning to light when the moment was right.
If this isn’t the moment, then I’m not sure about anything else.
Our time together is dwindling. He’s leaving.
Also, I can’t face Megan tomorrow being the woman Smith refuses to have sex with.
I’m standing my ground. This is happening. We live together.
We’re in crazy love.
I’m lighting the last small candle and sliding it into place on the ledge in front of the bay window when Smith finds me. “You were supposed to come and get me,” he says. I watch his neck work to swallow as his eyes take in my appearance.
I smile. “I was busy. I wasn’t ready to come and get you,” I say.
Smith leans against the open doorframe, crossing one bare foot over the other.
“Well, I wanted to be the one to introduce the romance. I’m a little offended you didn’t let me help.
” He bites his bottom lip in a smile. Butterflies invade my insides.
It’s the opposite reaction of what happened in the shower.
It heals the raw, jagged place where I keep bad memories.
“Perhaps you can introduce something else?” I edge.
He taps his chin. “Would it be a true introduction if you’ve already met him?” he says.
His joke makes me smile. Pressing my lips into a firm line, I send my gaze to the side wall for a couple seconds. When I look back at him, I nod. Smith laughs, the low tone more erotic than any other laugh I’ve ever heard in my life .
The coffee table is in the center of the room. I bend my leg and push it backward and out of our way. It makes a scratching noise as it goes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, standing straight.
Through the dim glow of the candlelight, I see the contrast of every rippling muscle on his stomach.
Absent-mindedly I lick my lips. “After today,” he continues when I don’t speak.
My eyes find his face, and his amused smile morphs into concern.
“It has to be perfect.” He crosses to me in a few large strides.
Taking my face in his hands, he says, “It’s the first time. More importantly, I want it to be my last first. Our last first.”
Smith is so close I can taste his breaths and smell his skin.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. Placing a kiss on his chest, right over his heart, I tilt my head up to look at his face.
“I want this. You mean everything to me. I’m okay when you’re with me.
” With his soulful eyes wandering over every inch of my face, I gather what confidence I need and drop the silk robe.
The light fabric flutters to the ground around my feet.
”Do you like?” I ask, backing away slowly so his view is unobstructed.
His chest rises and falls at a more hurried pace, and he doesn’t have to answer me.
With one hand bent behind his head, he reaches down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. “I want you badly,” he says. “You look amazing. Beautiful.”
“Right here?” I ask. Turning in a slow circle so he can appreciate the shards of lace from every angle, I move my feet slowly and let my body sway seductively. “This is where you want me first, right?”
While my back was turned, Smith stealthily closed the space between us. My back against his front, he leans down, moves my hair out of the way, and kisses my neck. “You have no idea what this means to me,” he whispers in my ear.
“Show me,” I reply. Pressing my bottom back and against him, I feel his erection.
“Show me now because this means everything to me, and I want it so badly I’m not sure I can take another second of not having it.
” I spin to face him and let my hands find the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs.
In a quick movement, I pull them and follow them down to the floor until I’m kneeling in front of him.
Peeking up, I see his look of awe and utter lust as I take him into my mouth slowly.
I let my tongue wind around the tip briefly before I slide him into my mouth as far as my gag reflex will allow.
Smith moans, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
I stroke his thick shaft and lick his balls until I find just the right tempo.
His legs are shaking, and wetness floods my core in response.
“That feels too good, Care. Enough. Enough,” Smith says, trying to still my head with his hands. “Slow,” he chides, stepping out of his tangled pants.
“I’m too worked up to slow down now,” I pant.
Standing, I wrap my hands around his waist as he pushes me back to the center of the room.
He kisses my cheek, my forehead, and then my lips.
The wet sounds of our mouths and our breaths are the only sounds to be heard.
Smith slips his pointer fingers under my bra straps by my collarbone and eases them down until my breasts spring free.
He licks his lips. “We shouldn’t slow down then,” he says.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Taking one breast into his mouth, he pauses before going to the other.
“So goddamn beautiful. I can’t help myself, Care.
I want to devour you. Keep you here forever.
” I stroke his hair and close my eyes, oblivious to anything except what’s right here and now.