SEAL: A BWWM BAD BOY NAVY SEAL ROMANCE
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Authors: Mia Caldwell
© 2015 Mia Caldwell
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of
the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The
characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the
age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Kindle Edition
This book is dedicated to Avery.
You’ll always be my man in uniform…
-Mia
TABLE
OF CONTENTS
One night, no
regrets, no strings attached.
I thought
I’d never see him again.
I was
wrong.
I’m so fucked.
CHAPTER ONE
DEVLIN
The limousine stopped abruptly, right in the middle span of
the sweepingly curved Coronado Bay Bridge. I looked up, briefly, but managed to
retain the rhythmic piston-thrusting of my cock into my fuckbuddy Sandy. She
was really digging on the sensation of my P.A. piercing against her wildly wet
pussy walls and She
definitely
wasn’t
paying attention to the traffic delay………
“Don’t stop Dev! Oh fuck, don’t
stop!”
My favorite words…
…..
Her gyrating hips looked like they were about to unhinge from
the rest of her body, swiveling frantically while she screamed out in ecstasy. As
I lifted and tilted her ass in the air with my hands, she let out a coyote-like
howl, digging her long violet fingernails into my back, right between my shoulder
blades, and slicing into my Navy SEAL tattoo,
again
. The sharp pain caused me to unload my entire wad into her and
I came hard..........really fuckin’ hard.
Three final stabs, and I was done.
I had hoped to fuck her longer, but it wasn’t the first time
a girl did that to me. The circular barbell in the head of my dick had a way of
sending them into a fucking frenzy. I made sure I always left them more than
satisfied.
I might not be a gentleman, but I always allow the lady to
come first.
By the time I looked up again, we were already cruising
through the streets of downtown San Diego. “Better get your clothes on quick
babe, we’re almost there.”
“Oh shit! Okay! How’s my
hair?”
“Good enough.”
The limo driver stopped the car in the parking lot of Seaport
Village, got out, and opened the door for Sandy. She was disheveled and
breathless. The driver was used to seeing my “dates” leave that way.
Sandy waited tables at one of the restaurants on the
waterfront. I didn’t know which one and I didn’t care. Fuck, I didn’t even care
if I knew a chick’s name most nights. Sandy was fun and all, but I knew better
than to expect anything but a booty call from her.
“This is the last time,” She said, reaching over to squeeze
my thigh.
“Never say never,” I replied, smiling.
The driver offered a hand to Sandy as she exited the rear of
the car. She barely acknowledged him before scurrying off with her shoes in
hand.
It was the last time. I knew that. Sandy was thinking about
working things out with her ex husband, and I’m no goddamned home wrecker. I
watched her disappear around a corner and shook my head. We had some good
times…
She kept my mind off the pain.
“Where to now, Mr. Danes?”
“Home, please...”
It was only 9 A.M. but I needed a
drink. My fucking knee was throbbing. I poured some whiskey over ice and
promptly knocked it back. Then I poured myself another, propped my leg up onto
the leather seat and reclined back for the rest of the ride, up Pacific Coast
Highway, to the hilly seaside community of La Jolla.
My little fucking slice of heaven.
CHAPTER ONE
CALI
By the time I shifted my little black Fiat into fifth gear, I
got stuck at yet another red light on F Street. Traffic in the downtown area
was always thick, despite the many transit options. I tried not to let all the
idiot drivers get to me as I sang along to the Beach Boys’ “Little Deuce Coupe”
on the radio. My momma had instilled a love of 60’s music into me while I was
still in the womb.
Despite my upbeat attitude and the cheery song, the city got
the best of me…
More street construction?
I felt like a rat in a maze.
Goddammit! Which way should I go now?
At least I was lucky. I was going to a job I loved. Not just
a job, either.
It was my own
physical therapy business, located inside a popular gym.
Bayside Fitness offered the perfect facility for my therapy/rehab
services: A large office space, and private therapy rooms for my company,
PacificMed
, plus a 30,000 square-foot gym, swimming pool,
and exercise classes for my clients. Everything an injured soul might need to
get their body back in perfect working order.
And there was no shortage of
perfect
bodies around this place. The mild year-round San Diego weather
was ideal for showing off a sexy physique. And being summer, maintaining
beautiful beach bodies was the goal du jour. Bayside Fitness was an awesome
health club but it was also a meat market.
I snagged an impossibly small parking spot outside the sports
complex, got out, and headed toward my office. The ease of parking my little
Fifi
, (My car’s nickname) more than made up for her lack of
horsepower.
As I was unlocking my office door, one of my least favorite
clients sauntered by me and headed into the cardio room. I was glad my back was
to him, because my conscious attempt at not rolling my eyes failed miserably.
“
Hellooo
,
Gorgeousssss
.”
“Good-morning, Travis.”
What an asshole.
But as his physical therapist, I had
to overlook that. He thought he was quite the smooth-talking, ladies’ man, but
in reality he was just a jerk with an inflated ego and a pair of way-too-tight
gym shorts. He strutted around like a silly rooster, with his chest puffed up
and his chin stuck way out like he had a corn cob up his ass.
My work wardrobe consisted solely of loose-fitting
sportswear, but it didn’t help around here. I was hit on relentlessly. Outside
of Travis my clients usually left me alone, but the rest of the male gym
patrons were a different story. They felt compelled to flirt with me while I worked
rehabilitation out in the weight-training areas.
Of course, they weren’t subtle about what they really wanted.
Their eyes were usually glued to my tits or my ass, no matter how baggy my
clothes were. One steroidal freak actually started addressing me as
“Cali-fornication”.
He was more amused at his clever play on my name than I was.
A couple of times I’d been tempted to complain to the club
owners, but
Kesha
, my business partner,
always
talked me out of it. She insisted
that the annoying attention bestowed upon me by dickheads was, ultimately, good
for our bottom line.
Kesha
was my loyal friend from way back in
middle school, and now she was an extraordinary physical therapist. She’d
always been brilliant, and truth be told, that scared quite a few men away. She
made it clear I was the bait for her hook…
I’d always been the one the boys flocked to. Maybe it was my
big golden hazel eyes or my beautifully mocha skin… Maybe it was just because
I’d bloomed a little earlier than the other girls.
Whatever caused it… My caterpillar became a butterfly, but
Kesha’s
was still stuck in its cocoon. Working in a fitness
center didn’t seem to have any effect on her ability to socialize without me. At
the end of the day, I was the one who had to endure the idiotic advances
leveled by all the “
Travises
” at the gym, and
Kesha
was happy to swoop in on anyone I rejected.
DEVLIN
Two weeks had passed since Sandy stepped out of my limo and
things hadn’t gotten any better…
The intense pain in my knee started to subside with the
second scotch of the day. I figured one more pull directly off the bottle ought
to do it. Carl never failed to keep the limo bar fully stocked.
Today was another visit with the doctors and yet another
asshole with a PHD telling me I was either going to take my physical training
serious or end up in a wheelchair.
The smooth
ride
up PCH to my
neighborhood was a favorite of mine and I felt relaxed... But, as usual, my
thoughts kept wandering back to my last SEAL mission and the IED that shattered
my knee cap. The daily pain was a constant reminder.
I spent a lot of time thinking about it and near as I could
tell, the improvised explosive must’ve been hidden somewhere on the tugboat
vessel that had accompanied the tanker. My best guess was that it was probably smuggled
on board while the tanker was being loaded full of oil at the rebel-held Libyan
port.
When my SEAL team took control of the ship in the
international waters off the coast of Cyprus, we were in for quite a surprise.
BOOM!
That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in a
hospital in Athens. My extended stay there was anything but a Greek vacation,
although I
had
been lucky enough to meet
a pair of really fucking hot nurses. I’ll never forget Helena’s warm olive oil
massage…
But I couldn’t fuck away the pain or the regret.
We lost a member of our team that day. Fuckin’ Ray
Carvelle
. I loved him like a brother. He should have been
the one laid up in that hospital room…
The brass said I was a hero. Said I dragged three men out of
the water before passing out from the blood loss. I didn’t feel like a fucking
hero. I was here with shrapnel in my leg and Ray
Carvelle
was buried at sea in the fucking Mediterranean.
He was the hero. I was just another broken soldier.
A few months ago, I was flown back the states and I’d been
staying in my father’s beachfront home in La Jolla ever since. I underwent knee
replacement surgery at the Naval Medical Center and there was nothing left to
do but heal.
I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do anything. I
just wanted to forget.
I hadn’t gotten the most out of my first round of physical
therapy. Not even close. All of my doctors
strongly
suggested I get serious about my rehabilitation and resume PT.
They were right. My knee hurt worse than ever.
I was done fucking around feeling sorry for myself.
I set up some more appointments. I figured that would give me
something to do besides my regular daily debauchery. It was time to stop trying
to forget.
It was time to remember.
The limousine crept slowly up the winding driveway, giving me
plenty of time to drink in the sapphire blue ocean vista of my congressman dad’s
residence. He’d jumped at the chance to have me back home, but I knew what he
really wanted. Pictures with his son, the motherfucking wounded war hero.
I was nothing but a pawn for his little political dealings.
Always had been. It’s why I ran off and joined the navy in the first place. I
didn’t need his money
or
his
politics.
After the hell I’d been through though… It was nice to be
back. The view was fuckin’ magnificent and I never grew tired of seeing it. The
car pulled into the warehouse-sized garage and the door closed behind us on
cue. Carl opened the car door for me and offered me a hand. I refused to take
it and struggled to get out on my own. My bum leg had fallen asleep.
“Is my father home yet, Carl?”
“Not till tonight, Sir.”
I limped into the house and headed straight for the bathroom
medicine cabinet, gulping down a couple of Vicodin without water. I kept my
pain pills at home, because I knew that if I carried them on me, the bottle of
one hundred wouldn’t last.
I sprawled out on my back, sinking into the white suede
sectional sofa and gazed out at the sparkling Pacific through the
floor-to-ceiling living room windows. My dick ached from Sandy’s pussy pulling
on my cock ring so aggressively. I was still getting used to the feeling since
it was relatively new. It was worth it though. All the chicks seemed to get off
on it in a big way.
Yesterday’s beach party over on “the strand” had stretched on
into the evening hours and turned into another depraved all-nighter.
Since I had absolutely no sleep under my belt and the effects
of the Vicodin were kicking in, I decided a nap would be in order before heading
out for my PT appointment. I wanted to, at least,
appear
to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed…… and sober.
I was determined to turn over a new leaf with regards to my
rehab. The last therapist came to the house for my sessions and I didn’t find
him to be very motivating. This time I would try doing my therapy in a gym. Maybe
it would be different. Besides… If the therapy didn’t work, there was bound to
be some more eager little pussies wanting a ride on my Prince Albert. That was
always good for taking away the pain… At least for a little while…