Chapter Eight
Church hadn’t slept.
Not really.
He’d stretched out on the couch with every intention of closing his eyes, but the moment the room went dark, his body went on high alert in a way that had nothing to do with security.
It was her.
Being ten feet away. Knowing she was in his bed.
Ever since he invited her to stay with him, each night was the same. He drifted off in short bursts. Ten minutes here, half an hour there. Every time he woke without knowing why until he realized the hard-on he’d gone to sleep with was even harder.
He stared at the closed bedroom door, his mind dragging him straight back to the same place.
Zee.
The way her hair fell over her shoulder. The soft lilt of her voice. The look in her eyes when she told him she wasn’t used to being believed.
And worse—
That damn tank top she wore to bed. His mind replayed the way the strap slipped down her shoulder on a loop that left him grinding his teeth, and his cock hard enough to pound nails.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared at the dark ceiling.
He was too old for this. Too damn experienced to be caught off guard by a woman.
His body didn’t seem to care.
The bedroom door clicked open. Every muscle in his body went rigid. The soft sound of bare feet crossed the floor.
Church didn’t move or even breathe too deeply. He could feel Zee moving through the space by the way the air seemed to stir.
Then she cracked open the mini fridge, and he saw her in the low light. She wasn’t wearing the tank top tonight.
God help him, it was so much worse.
She stood there in a short nightgown, the soft fabric brushing mid-thigh. His gaze shot to her shoulders, only to see that the straps were firmly in place this time, not slipping. Not tormenting the hell out of him.
She bent slightly to reach inside the fridge for a bottle of water.
Church’s grip tightened on the edge of the couch.
Jesus.
The curve of her body, the line of her back, the way the fabric stretched tight around her hips—
He dragged a breath through his teeth and looked away. But too late—the damage was already done.
He’d already been hard, but now he was like steel, his cock surging with a mind of its own, and the only thing keeping him on the sofa was sheer discipline.
He bet that his first division commander never knew his training would teach a man the kind of control it took to resist a gorgeous woman standing feet away in a nightie.
Zee straightened and turned.
Their gazes met.
Church didn’t close his eyes or fake sleep.
He pushed himself upright slowly, dragging a hand down his face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was rough.
She twisted off the bottle cap. “Not really,” she echoed the words he’d thought minutes before.
She drifted over and sat beside him, close enough that the heat of her skin blasted through his sweats.
“I can’t shut my brain off.” Her soft voice sent sparks through him.
He turned his head toward her. “Want me to help?”
He meant it one way. Or maybe he didn’t.
The moonlight stroked across her features, turning her skin to glass and highlighting the bow of her full upper lip.
His chest tightened, and his cock pushed at his sweats.
Zee didn’t answer with words. Her hand came up and she cupped his jaw, the touch gentle and sure.
The contact hit him harder than anything had in a long time.
Her thumb brushed along his cheek, then she leaned in.
And kissed him.
He froze for a half a heartbeat, then something in him snapped.
He locked a hand on her nape, and the other on her waist, hauling her halfway into his lap. She moved the rest of the way on her own, straddling his hips and cradling his face in both hands as their mouths collided.
Christ, she felt like heaven and tasted like need. Though their bodies reacted strongly, their initial kiss was a slow press of their lips, the scantest pressure as if they were testing the reality of it.
She pulled back a little, eyes gleaming.
“Zee.”
She crushed her lips to his again, wiggling closer, fitting their bodies together in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Through the thin barrier of her panties and his boxers and sweats, their body heat blazed.
He slipped his hand up her waist, dragging the little nightie with it, pulling her closer as he kissed her.
The second he deepened the kiss, he knew he was in trouble. Real trouble.
Because this wasn’t just attraction. This wasn’t just tension finally releasing.
This was want—the kind that went deeper than he had any right to claim.
He couldn’t stop his hands from tightening on her side and memorizing the softness of her through the flimsy fabric. She slid her fingers into his hair, holding him close as the kiss deepened—smoldering restraint giving way to a heat that blurred everything else.
A voice landed in his head.
Matt’s.
The name hit him like a punch, and for a split second, everything inside him recoiled.
What the hell are you doing?
This was Matt’s wife. A SEAL under his command. His friend.
The one man he’d lost.
Guilt surged up, sharp. He should pull back, should stop this before it went any further.
But Zee wasn’t having any of that. Her breath caught against his mouth, overriding the guilt just as fast.
In its place came another worry—she was so much younger than him.
“Grant.” His name came out in a ragged whisper.
He sucked in a harsh breath. She wasn’t just Matt’s widow. She was Zee.
“Christ, honey.” He slammed his mouth over hers again, tilting her face up to his and drinking from her long and deep. Passion swelled with each flip of their tongues and the tiny noises bursting from her drove him to the brink.
He broke the kiss long enough to drag in a breath, resting his forehead on hers. “This isn’t—” he started, voice rough.
She kissed him again before he could finish.
Dark need had his cock pounding and Zee pushed closer, trapping his stiff length between their bodies.
“God, Grant. You’re big.”
Fuck. The last thing he ever expected to hear her say, but if he was going to die tonight, those would be the last words swirling through his mind.
Hand splayed on her lower back, he brought her even closer. Her sharp gasp stole his mind, and he went for her throat, pressing hot kisses up and down the sumptuous column and sucking lightly on her adorable earlobe.
She dug her fingers into his bare shoulders. “Oh god! Your mouth…feels…so…good!”
He realized that the last man to touch her was probably Matt, and Church hadn’t had any women in just as long.
She rocked in his lap. When he lifted his head, her eyes were hooded with want, her lips swollen from his kisses.
He flipped her onto her back, and she issued a burst of laughter that sounded like music from an angel. Cock pounding, he forced himself to slow, to give her what she was due.
Lying on her back, staring up at him with the look of a woman who wanted to be loved well and hard and often, she opened her arms to him. “Come here.”
He couldn’t resist if he tried.
He lowered himself over her, bracing his weight on one arm and slipping the other beneath her to pull her against him.
She arched upward, mouth wild on his, hands exploring his shoulders, back, ass.
They shared a groan. The feel of her under his palms, the way she leaned into him, the sexy sounds she made—
It unraveled him.
He caught the hem of her nightgown and tugged it upward. She let out another sound—part hiss, part moan—and shifted her body to allow him to pull it up and off.
Fuck.
The sight of her beautiful body kissed by moonlight made his heart flex. She was too thin, that wasn’t a question, but the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist and flare of her hips stole the last of his breath.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasped.
She cupped his jaw, searching his eyes. “Show me.”
No words could have held such power over him as those two. His eyes drifted shut and when he opened them again, he held her gaze prisoner and did exactly that.
He trailed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, glistening from their kisses, and down over the small point of her chin. He continued to trace a line down her throat to the pulse that beat wildly for him at the base.
Then he explored the line between her breasts. When he curled his hand around one breast, she arched and let out a gasp.
Her nipple pebbled before he ever strummed his thumb across the tip. When he clamped it between his finger and thumb, she stopped breathing.
He took it in his mouth and sucked…and she cried his name. “Grant!”
Her bare leg locked around his hip, and she rolled her body into his stiff cock again, threatening his sanity. Somehow, he took it slow, teasing her hard bud with his lips and tongue, learning what made her feel good.
Learning Zee.
He dragged his mouth across her chest to give the other breast the same attention and found that nipple was more sensitive than the other. The right pressure made her thump her heel into his back and the intoxicating sweetness of her reaction broke him.
Lifting his head, he stared into her eyes, chest heaving.
Then in one smooth glide, he slipped between her thighs. She held her breath, watching him pull off her panties. He dropped them on the floor and smoothed his hands over her thighs.
She parted for him, her pussy slick with desire. “Grant…”
“Christ, honey. You’re soaking for me.” Watching her face, he eased a finger inside her tight heat. She cried out, hips lifting, her inner walls contracting around his digit.
He yanked it free and buried his tongue in its place.
She made a strangled noise, hands plastered on the back of his head. “Oh! God!” She ground into his lips and tongue, taking what she needed. What she didn’t know was that he’d been dying to give her everything she needed…and more.
Every rational thought about their age difference, their history or the consequences of what they were doing were driven away by the mind-shattering taste of her.
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