Wet For Her Warriors (Book 5 of the WILD -- Warriors Intense in Love & Domination -- Boys of Special Forces) (15 page)

She arched her
brows when he pulled his fist back from Kellan and drove it against the fridge.
“You want to go for two?”

“You suck!”

“Better stop
while you’re ahead, ace,” Kellan murmured.

Leo curled his upper
lip. “Figures you’d take her side.”

Kellan grimaced
and shook his head. “There’s no ‘sides’ here, man. Your sister cares enough about
you to throw out some discipline. Be grateful.”

Lani folded her
arms. “Amen.”

She’d no sooner
gotten out the quip than the man sucked away all her composure once more,
pivoting to face her again, crossing his arms, too. His bigger, harder,
beautifully tapered arms. “That doesn’t
let you off the hook, Miss
Kail.”

She felt her jaw
open then shut. Then again. Who
was
this man? The one she’d gotten to
know over the last four days had intensity sewn into his DNA by the angels, but
it had always been accessorized by charm and sensuality. This person who loomed
over her now was the unadorned Kellan Rush, stripped to a steely core, unflappable.
This was a glimpse—maybe a little more—at the soldier with the call-sign Slash.
Just
Slash. The guy who got the job done with one stab…or one bullet.

Who was making
her pussy throb for him like it never had before.

“I—” she
stammered. “I—”

“Haven’t given
your brother a chance to explain?” He nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like a damn
good answer.”

Hell.
And…
wow
.

“Okay,” she
finally spat. “Yes, sir.”

She felt better
then, at least enough to dare a glance at him. She was glad she did. Though he
was still all hard-jawed GI Joe, his eyes remained full of silky gray affection.
His stance was still bad-ass commander, but he gave her a nod of complete respect.

She was stunned
to feel her lips returning that smile. Damn his luscious hide.

Her brother’s
snigger was a spike ball in the middle of the moment. “Yes, sir?” Leo cracked.
“Oh-em-gee. Sistah-girl lies down and whimpers for Slash-gasm. Mark this day on
the calendar.”

Kellan backhanded
Leo’s shoulder. “You really want to push your game at this point, kid?”

“No, sir.”

“Then muffle
it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And now spill
it.”

Leo shuffled and
slumped against the wall. “Not much to spill.”

One look at her
brother told Lani it was the truth. She also discerned why. There was a
specific kind of defeat etched into his face—at least the side that hadn’t been
turned into a touchscreen of bruises. “It was Parker Smythe, wasn’t it?”

Leo attempted
another grimace. “He’s such a tampon. Just because I finally kicked his ass in
a match, he fabricated some loser excuse about how I purposely spilled water on
his gym bag, and escalated shit from there. I tried to laugh it off, but he
gave me lip about how the bag cost a grand, and how I intented to ruin it,
and—” He shook his head and twisted his lips. “If he spent a thousand dollars
on the thing, why was it on the floor and not in his fucking locker?”

Lani slapped his
shoulder. “
Language
.”

“What-ever,” Leo
rebutted.

Kellan snorted.
“Maybe it was like his man-purse or something.”

“And his lip
gloss was stored inside.”

“You couldn’t
help it if he got bitchy about the whole thing.”

“Right?”

Lani rekindled
her battle stance at the soldier. “Okay, what the hell?”

Kellan returned
her scrutiny with equal conviction. “He didn’t start the scuffle, okay?”

“Scuffle?” she
snapped. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

He pinched the
bridge of his nose. “Compared to the conflicts I’ve seen in my time,
starshine—yeah, that’s what I’m calling it. And from where I stand, Leo’s shown
some behavior you can be proud of. You Kails are a proud bunch. He served the
family name well by refusing to let a dickwad roll him over, and paid the price
with his face.”

“No shit,” Leo
muttered.

“Language!”

Kellan shot her
a look of forced patience. After a long moment, his eyes flicked over to Leo.
“You want some ice for that wreckage, man?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“And a beer?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“No!” Lani went
at Kellan’s shoulder with her fist this time. It felt like punching a brick
wall. “You are
really
not helping!”

 Leo’s laugh
warmed the top of her head. “Don’t believe her, Slash-gasm. You’re helping a
lot.” There was a meaningful pause as her brother locked gazes with her
soldier. “For the record, I’m glad you’re here…you
and
T-Bomb.”

As Kellan
flashed a warm smile at Leo, a surge of emotions slammed Lani—and built up in
the heat behind her eyes. She stared hard at Leo, forcing herself to see him as
Kellan did: not as the kid he once was, but the man he was growing to be. It
wasn’t the first time today that she’d arrived at this awareness, either.
Tait’s words of this afternoon had started opening the cracks on those thoughts.

How had these
two men brought so many changes in just a few days?

And how the hell
was she going to wave good-bye to them in a week…making sure that list didn’t
include
her
?

She couldn’t
think about that right now. She refused to think about it.

Instead,
embracing the perfect joy of
now
, she wrapped her arms around Kellan’s waist
and squeezed hard. “For the record,” she whispered, “I’m glad, too.”

For the first
time in over a year, Tait voluntarily rose with the sun. He added to that
stunner by jamming into his running shoes, then setting off down the road with
loud guitars in his ears—and mental clarity as his goal.

He planned for a
very long run.

The events of
yesterday, and all the sensations they’d brought, collided on top of each other
with every step he took. The cartwheels in his gut when he first saw Lani in
the house. The rockets in his soul when he’d kissed her. The lurch in his cock
when he’d been out for a night walk and came across Kell and her, instead. Then
the surreal dream of watching Kell fuck her…and knowing she was aware of his
own presence through every second of it. That maybe she was wetter because of
it. That her pussy squeezed Kellan harder…

The memory of it
forced him to seek a cold shower when he’d gotten back to the house, but even
the freezing jets hadn’t helped. He’d played the scene over again in his mind,
including every gasp she’d made and scream she’d released, and pumped himself
to completion once more. Finally exhausted enough to sleep, he’d fallen into
bed still clad in his shower towel, and didn’t wake up until the sunrise
filtered through the blinds.

It was the first
time, in nearly two hundred nights, that a vision of Luna hadn’t pulled him to
consciousness in a pool of his tears and sweat.

The realization
made him run faster. His lungs started to burn, and his legs declared him an
A-Class motherfucker. Wasn’t any worse than what he’d been calling himself
since swigging his vitamins on an empty stomach and welcoming the wave of
please-induce-me-to-vomit-now that followed. And oh yeah, there was that other
temptation, too—the one that pulled him toward the bar, taunting that a drunken
coma was the best place for a guy like him. A guy who’d easily scooted aside
memories of the love of his life after simply watching his buddy screw someone
else. Who had to watch happiness from the bushes, unable to figure it out for
himself anymore.

He pounded
harder into the run, switching to his screaming punk rock track. His body
flooded with sweat. He sucked in the ocean wind, enduring the lightheadedness
of his anaerobic zone.

When he got back
to Franzen’s place in a heaving mess, the guilt only ripped harder at him. After
tearing the ear buds out, he beat feet for the shower once more. This time, he
cranked the water to a scalding temperature. With one hand, he braced the
tiles. With the other, he palmed his balls.

In his mind, he
summoned Luna.

Hi, beautiful…

She was giving
him sass in that Los Angeles bar again, in those painted-on red jeans hugging
every inch of her supple hips. Then he was bending her over the chopping block
in the bar’s back room, commanding her to take the pants off, telling her how
he was going to hurt her, fuck her, pleasure her.

He groaned and
gripped the base of his cock.

She was standing
with him in the condo they’d turned into a safe house during the mission, all
of LA sprawled beneath them, kissing him and begging him to take her. Then she
was beneath him, sucking his penis harder with every twist he gave her nipples,
rubbing herself to a climax as he thrust deeper into her mouth.

He started
stroking himself. Brutally. Pre-cum surged and disappeared, washed away by the
hot streams beating on him.

In his mind, Luna
came hard. Screamed from her hot explosion, over and over again…

Suddenly, the
cries took on a huskier edge. A deep urgency, swirling with a night breeze that
smelled like paradise. There were words, too; pleadings in a musical island
accent.
Kellan. Oh, gods, please!

He gritted his
teeth and beat the wall, fighting the invasion of it. Of her. Satin hair fanned
on the ground. Arms spread out, making her look like a bronze forest goddess.

“No.
No
.”

Round, perfect
breasts. Pink, moist clit. Legs spread, ready to be taken.

Stop. Stop!

He pumped
harder. Faster. Fire roared up his shaft. Cum built in his balls.

Surrendered
nudity. Open and willing.

He needs to see
me fuck you, starshine. To bury myself to the balls in you. Like this…

He fell to his
knees as his ass clenched, his sacs drew tight, and the orgasm blasted through
his body. He forced his eyes open even as the shockwaves kept up, blinking
against the water to watch the thick milk from his body swirl down the drain.

Wasted seed.
Useless sewer sludge. Like so many other attempts to make his life count for
something. To prove Dad wrong.

Damn it! Can’t
you kids keep this place clean for one day?

Damn it! Can’t
you kids stay quiet for just one hour?

Damn it! Can’t you
kids do anything right?

It’s no fucking
wonder your mother left.

Though he’d just
poured himself out—literally—in the last fifteen minutes, a frantic energy whorled
in his gut, up his throat, through his head. He wasn’t freaked by the assault.
He knew this shit well. It was his old friend self-hatred, come for a visit in
his soul for the day.

He pushed his
forehead against the knob to turn the water off, closing his eyes for another moment.
The fury swelled up once more, burning and disgusting, finally exploding from
him in a long, terrible roar. In the thick silence after it, there was a distinct
click
. He’d shaken the shower door open. As the glass panel slid out
with a slow creak, he let out a bitter laugh then a grateful snort. Without the
distraction, he would’ve likely sent a fist into the wall. Retiling Franz’s
shower would’ve been an interesting way of staying busy for the next week.

He stumbled out
of the stall and into the bedroom, managing to find a clean pair of shorts and
a T-shirt that didn’t smell like half-baked ass. Then he walked out to the
living room.

Where his gaze
zeroed in on the bar.

Where a full
bottle of Grey Goose beckoned, a beacon of flawless liquid therapy.

“Yessss.”

He pretended he
didn’t see the clock on the microwave, revealing it had just turned ten a.m.,
as he U-turned into the kitchen to grab a glass. If he was going to be a
roasted lush for the day, he’d do it with some manners this time, in the
privacy of the lanai. No doing the soused-hobo-on-the beach thing. Correction:
Lani’s beach.
Not cool to share the dirty laundry with the neighbors,
man—even if you
did
share orgasms with them last night
. He had
boundaries, after all. He just had to remember where he put them.

In the meantime,
he’d get tanked the civilized way, with a glass in his hand and a cushion under
his ass. Then he’d pass out more normally, too: silent, angry, and alone. Like
father, like son, right?

A rumble chewed
its way up his throat. “No,” he spat. He
wasn’t
like Dad, at least not
in the most critical way. He hadn’t totally fucked up the self-worth of a
couple of kids before drinking his life into the toilet.

After securing a
glass, he swiped up the vodka, headed out to the lanai, and found a comfortable
chair that allowed him to prop his feet on the rail. After the short rain shower
that blew through last night, the sun had risen on another postcard-perfect day
in paradise. Before opening the vodka, he paused to enjoy the tropical
panorama. No better time than now, since he wasn’t going to be conscious by the
time sunset fell.

Yeah…about that…

A funny thing
happened on the way to the great Grey Goose wasteland.

It started after
he poured his first drink. He was three gulps in on the hooch, still grappling
for a mental off ramp from Memory Lane with Dad, when a different vision replaced
the bastard in his imagination.

His stare
drifted over to the lanai railing. Where once more, Lani appeared.

She was fuzzy at
the edges, but just as breathtaking. Just like yesterday, she sat with legs
straddling the rail, turquoise-polished toes peeking from beneath her sundress.
The breeze sifted through the dark ribbons of her hair, and the sun glinted off
the silver swirls in her eyes.

Suddenly, his
mental skirmish in the shower felt like a lame training exercise.

“Leave me
alone,” he growled.

She just lifted
a serene smile and swung her feet in leisure.
Don’t think so.

“Damn it.” With
shaking hands, he dumped more vodka into the glass. Chugged the whole thing. Familiar
lethargy sank into his blood. He let his head fall back. The buzz couldn’t come
fast enough. And after that, the blessed numbness…

After soaking
for several minutes in the vodka bath, he pried open his eyes again. The
horizon swam a little. It was nowhere near how blasted he wanted to be, but a good
start. He’d finally be alone. Once he got to this point, his mind was too busy
racing for the Shitfaced Speedway finish line to bother with memories.

He jerked in his
chair as Lani’s laugh tinkled on the air again.

He glared to his
right. There she was, still smiling at him. Still tilting her head with that
inquisitiveness that was too damn cute for her own good. And certainly not for
his.

“Fuck. Me.”

The
hallucination folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.
Are you serious?

“Yes,” he
snarled. “Go the
hell
away.”

So everything you
spouted at me yesterday is just bullshit? All that crap about giving up the
‘dome’ on my pain, believing I can have life’s whole meal, taking off the masks
even though it’s scary…all that’s okay for me but not you? I’m supposed to try
a change, but you aren’t?

Guess that makes
you a hypocrite
and
a lush
.

He grimaced and
bared his teeth as the lanai converted to a torture room. Somewhere in his
soul, he’d tap into the right combination of rage and pain and profanity to
hurl back at her. Why was it such a problem to find it all, when it crawled
right under the surface of his skin through every fucking day? He tore through
the muck of his senses, but the booze had dropped a fog on everything, making
it impossible to see or touch anything.

A roar tore from
his gut and ravaged his throat.

He seized the
bottle and flung it into the dunes.

A second later,
he pitched the glass in its wake.

The silence,
perforated only by the
shoosh
of the waves and the music of the lanai
wind chimes, was worse than her spiritual laughter. “Feel better?” he finally
sneered at her. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

He knew the
drill on this scene now. With the booze gone, he’d have to face the pain. Walk
himself through the same shitty, stinking emotional labyrinth he’d progressed a
thousand times with the shrinks back at base. Couldn’t someone just pull up his
file and read it this time?
Mother left the family when subject was ten
years old. Raised primarily by father, who died of alcohol poisoning when
subject was seventeen. Subject has unresolved issues of guilt, accountability,
and—

“Generally being
fucked up.”

Hey. That was
pretty funny. He snickered while rolling his head back again. The sun washed
across his face, imparting a little physical warmth while the ice floes of his
psyche kept ramming each other. He let his eyes drift shut. Fate decided to
smile, sending the sandman to tempt his mind back into the rescue of sleep. As
his mind crossed from consciousness to slumber, he felt himself smile as distant
voices echoed in his head.

Why do you let
him hurt you, Mama? I don’t understand.

I don’t expect
you to, Tait. Sometimes…loving people just hurts.

Do you love him,
Mama?

Yeah, Tait. I
love him a lot.

Well, I don’t
care what you say. It shouldn’t have to hurt. He’s not ever gonna do that to
you again. I’m gonna protect you.

Ohhh…my big T
man. You’ll always be my hero.

I love you,
Mama.

And I love you
too, Tait. No matter what happens, remember that…

“Hey,
Rumple-shit-skin. What the hell else do I need to do here?”

The crack, which
he vaguely attributed to Kell, was punctuated by an icy stab in his thigh. Then
his neck. “Mmmfff? Whaaa?”

“Whoa,” his
friend sneered. “It lives.”

Two more ice
pelts, this time direct hits on his crotch. He jerked upright to observe his
friend sitting about six feet away, a bowl of ice cubes on the small table next
to him. Revision: only half the bowl was full. The rest of the cubes were
strewn on the deck around Tait.

He lowered his
feet, which knocked the pair of cubes down from his zipper. “Having fun,
asshole?”

Kellan smirked.
“It was either this or dump tabasco down your maw. You were sawing logs hard
enough to give me real easy access.”