Chapter 15 #2
He gaped at her for a second as if questioning whether she was barmy or not. She probably was, especially since she was actually considering finding herself another man for bedsport, just to see if what she had experienced with Zachary was the usual way things went betwixt men and women.
“How do you feel about orgasms?” she blurted out.
He choked on his mead.
Then he smiled, a slow lazy exercise that drew the dimple out nicely. “Did you say orgasms?”
“Yea, that is what I said. Dost have an ear wax problem?”
“No problem at all, sugar.”
“So, how do you feel about orgasms?”
“Mine or yours?”
She pondered that question. “Both. But I must have multiple ones or it would not be worth the effort. Would it?”
“Baby, you and I are gonna get along just great. Let’s dance.”
“Oh, nay. I could not do that.”
People were flailing their arms and shaking their hips in a ludicrous manner to loud music that spoke of twisting and shouting
“I’m not much for fast dancing, either. Oh, here comes a slow one.” Without a pause, the musicians started into a slower melody, with the one singer announcing “Let’s Get It On.”
Dill-land pulled her into his embrace and out onto the dancing arena.
He immediately began swaying them back and forth in a shocking manner.
Her breasts were pressed into his chest, and she could feel the ridge of his manpart against the joining of her braies.
Oddly, she felt nothing at all. Not the trill of pleasure that surged through her body at just a look from Zachary.
Not the ruching of her nipples at the brush of his shert.
Not the wet pooling betwixt her thighs that she associated with foresport from Zachary.
And this close dancing was definitely foresport, in her opinion.
She was doomed, Britta realized with a sigh. Zachary had ruined her for other men.
Dill-land was humming in her ear...in an attempt to make her grow lustsome, she supposed. All she wanted to do was laugh. His humming was unmelodic.
Smiling, she looked over Dill-land’s shoulder. Then looked again.
Zachary was sitting at a far table with his comrades-in-arms. And, most important, at his side was a black-haired woman staring at Zachary as if she’d just had multiple orgasms.
The loathsome lout! The randy jackass! The womanizing fornicator!
And he was staring back at her, with equal dismay, glaring at Dill-land’s back.
She saw him start to rise, but Cage and Sly took hold of his arms and shoved him back in his seat.
They were talking earnestly to him. The black-haired wench was looking back and forth betwixt Britta and Zachary with a questioning frown.
Britta did the only thing a right-thinking woman could, in the circumstances. She nuzzled her face into Dill-land’s neck and kissed his ear.
Dill-land growled his appreciation. And began to hum some more.
She hoped she didn’t hurl the contents of her still-empty stomach.
The froggie turned a lovely shade of green...uh, red...
Zach heard a loud buzzing in his ears, and he literally saw red. The feeling was not unlike the berserk rage that sometimes overcame SEALs and other special forces operators before a battle.
Luckily, or not so luckily, Cage and Slick had moved Linda’s chair aside, and they stood on both sides of him, forcing him to stay put.
“Doan even think it, cher,” Cage warned.
“Buddy, you’re already in deep shit. Do you wanna land in the brig, end your career, lose your pretty looks?” That last was said by Slick with a grin.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the frickin’ brig, the frickin’ SEALs, or my frickin’ face. That dickhead has his hands on my girl.”
“Your girl?” Linda squealed. “You have a girl?”
“He means that in a collective sense, as in Britta is in WEALS, as in Britta is our girl, to all of us SEALs,” Geek explained...with a straight face, yet.
Zach snorted his opinion of that bullshit, but Linda seemed satisfied with the explanation.
Calm down, boy.” Cage patted his shoulder. “Looks lak she’s the one got her tongue in his ear and his nuts in hand...so ta speak.”
“Yeah, but the dude has his hands on her ass,” Sly pointed out. “And it looks to me like, yep, he’s making Mr. Happy...well, happy, rubbing against her belly like that.”
The roaring in Zach’s head got louder.
He studied Britta for a long moment. She’d cut her hair.
Dammit! But it was nice. Kind of wavy blonde down to her shoulders, framing her face.
Feminine. She wore regular straight-legged blue jeans, silvery high heeled sandals—Lordy, Lordy!
Britta in high heels!—and a floaty type of blue and silver, long-sleeved blouse that appeared transparent in spots.
Pink lipstick glistened on her mouth, and mascara lengthened her eyelashes.
What bothered him most was that Britta no longer stuck out with her waist-long braids and scrubbed maiden skin. She was changing.
Linda broke into his thoughts. “She should be careful with Dylan Overdorf. He’s got hands like an octopus, and he doesn’t take no for an answer.
I heard he keeps a record of all the women he’s slept with, and a rating beside each name.
He even makes notations of kinky stuff he convinces his partners to do. ”
That did it. Zach stood, knocking out of Cage and Slick’s hands. “Back off,” he warned the two of them. Then he headed for the dance floor.
Britta saw him coming. He noticed her body go stiff and her eyes widen with surprise. I’ll give you a surprise all right.
“Britta,” he said, forcibly lifting her hand off Overdorf’s shoulder and hauling her out of his arms.
“Unhand me, knave.”
Surprised at first, Overdorf let her go, then tried to pull her back. “Whoa, who the hell are you?”
“Your worst enemy. Let go of Britta.”
Overdorf glanced at Britta and cocked an eyebrow. “Darlin’?”
“Darlin’? Listen, cowboy, fun’s over. Time for Cinderella to go home.”
“And you would be Prince Charming, right? I don’t think so. I know who you are. One of those Navy SEALs who thinks his shit don’t stink.”
People were stopping their dancing and staring at them. All his buddies were behind him, urging him to come back. Somewhere in his testosterone-broiled brain he knew he was making a fool of himself.
The band launched into a new song. Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now?” For a blip of an insane second, he thought about asking Britta how she liked him now.
“Come on, cupcake, let’s get out of here. Start on one of those orgasms.” Overdorf was addressing Britta, whose face had the good sense to turn pink.
Zach saw red again. His eyes cut to Britta, telling her silently that she’d betrayed him. She was only supposed to have orgasms with him. At least, that’s what his male pride told him and a little part of his heart that felt wounded.
“What is the cause of your ill-humor, lout?” Britta inquired sweetly.
“You,” he snarled.
“Me? You jest. I just got here.”
He inhaled and exhaled to tamp his temper down. “Come with me, Britta. Please.”
“Why should she, froggie?” Overdorf sneered. SEALs were sometimes referred to as frogmen, an appellation from World War II days.
“Because she’s my fiancé.” He hoped God didn’t strike him dead for the lie.
“Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say so?” Overdorf gave Britta an accusing look, as if she’d led him on, which she probably had.
How could she discuss orgasms with anyone but me?
Before anyone had a chance for second thoughts, he put a hand around her waist and practically frog-walked her to their table.
An apt thing for a frogman to do, he joked with himself, a sure sign of his mental state.
He stopped just before they got to the table, where seven people, including Linda, were watching him expectantly, wondering what he would do next. Hell, he wondered what he would do next.
Turning her to face him, he pulled her close, leaned forward and gave her what he intended to be a kiss of conciliation, to make up for his rude behavior.
Instead, he aligned their bodies from knees to chests, easy to do when Britta matched his height in her high heels which, incidentally, gave him all kinds of ideas, most dealing with bare skin.
It quickly morphed into an intimate kiss of wild, hungry, public-be-damned exaltation.
He was like a oversexed hound dog marking his territory.
He heard clapping before and behind him and hoots of encouragement.
Britta stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
He had.
When they finally sat down at the table, there were six sets of laughing eyes gawking at them, and a not-so-laughing pair from Linda.
Britta nodded to each of them in turn, knowing most of them already, except Linda whom she shot a glower. Then she asked him, “What is a fee-aunt-say?”