SEAL My Grout - Kate Aster

SEAL My Grout A Novelette

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Kate Aster

Copyright 2016, Kate Aster All Rights Reserved This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any similarity to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. Cover design: The Killion Group, Inc.

Sunday 8:00 a.m. Sixteen hours... after

~ EMMA ~

This is wrong on so many levels. In the harsh light of morning with beams of warmth streaming through the back seat car windows, I feel his hands sliding up my belly until they fill with the flesh of my breasts making me suck in a breath. The roar of traffic from the nearby highway rumbles through the thick, low fog in the empty parking lot where we skidded to a stop, desperate and needy, just a moment ago. I duck lower from the glass. “We’re not doing anything illegal here,” he assures me. The deep timbre of his voice has the same effect on me as a tube of lip balm shared by a gaggle of germy nine-year-olds—soothing, but a little frightening at the same time. “You’ve never heard of public indecency, then?” I ask. 3

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“Believe me when I say that your body is fifty levels better than just decent.” I think I whimper a thanks... I’m not sure, because my mind halfway blanks out at the feel of the rough, callused hands that have disappeared beneath my shirt. He nudges the t-shirt away and lowers his mouth to a breast. Even with his big, broad body above me, there’s just enough room in this seat for me to not feel like a sardine as his tongue makes tiny circles around my nipple. First one breast. Then, as the chill of the air strikes my moist skin making goosebumps cascade over me, he moves to the other pink nub, nipping this time, a sinful pressure that makes my core sizzle with liquid heat. With the sound of cars whizzing past us, my mind should resist him. Yet my body is doing anything but—readying itself for that long, hard shaft of his to bring me complete satisfaction... again. My eyes glaze over as he lowers his lips to my belly, his unshaven face deliciously scraping my skin. When his tongue dips briefly into my navel, my body quivers, legs spreading instinctively as though sending a message of, “Hurry up, dammit,” as his breath tickles its way down a path to where I need the pressure the most. From behind the haze of lust, I hear something fall softly to the floor from the second row of seats in my SUV, which is crammed tight with the flotsam and jetsam of my real life, the one I’ve been escaping for sixteen precious, unencumbered hours. And right now, I feel a bit like a commercial for an SUV. Yes, if you’re going to get one, it really is imperative you spring for that optional third row seating just in case an opportunity like this comes your way. “I could get high off the scent of you,” he confesses when he finally reaches the promised land, flicking his tongue at the center of my desire. I whimper at the feel of his light touch through my panties before he nudges them aside.

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“And the taste,” he adds, and I can feel the smile on his lips as he toys with me, the murmur of heated words catapulting me up a spiral as their vibration makes my core draw tight, poised to explode. As my head rolls to the side, I catch a whiff of the new car smell that still permeates my practical SUV—a vehicle bought for a very different life than I’m leading right now, with this man’s hands maneuvering my body into positions that are beyond wicked. Only a stone’s throw away from the life I’m escaping, I find myself glorying in the sin of my first one-night-stand, even as the rays of the morning sun remind me that it’s lasted longer than most. I’m not quite ready to return to the reality that awaits me, so I’ll savor this feeling as he slides his thick cock into my heat and fills me completely, making me cry out unabashedly and not even care if the world outside my SUV can hear.

Saturday 4:00 p.m. Sixteen hours... before

~ EMMA ~

“Excuse me. I have a question about grout sealer.” The words rush from my mouth as I lift my finger to the man, waving it frantically. This guy, with his yellow smock and sticker-adorned name tag, might be my last hope and I’m fully ready to flash my bare breasts at him to catch his attention if that’s what it takes. Well, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. “Sorry, ma’am. I work in appliances. I’ll send someone to help you.” “But—” He darts away before I can even finish my sentence, much less expose myself. But that’s what the last guy said to me ten minutes ago.

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Frowning, I stalk back to the vast array of sealers, their names setting my mind spinning again. I don’t know a damn thing about grout sealer. Or grout. Or tile. Or any of the other multitude of problems I’ve inherited from my house’s previous owner. But I’ll admit readily that I’ve had a little help with my fixer-upper up until this point, when I’ve found myself oh-so-alone swimming in a sea of the unknown trying to finish the last step in my bathroom renovation. This last step—sealing grout—should be the easiest step. At least, that’s what he said. But he’s not here now, is he? I feel a single eyebrow rise unconsciously on my brow as I stare at about fifty different choices of grout sealer, feeling mildly overwhelmed. No, he’s definitely not here now. “Do you need some help?” The hairs on the back of my neck prickle upward at the sound of the voice’s deep tenor. I can tell before I even turn around that the man speaking to me doesn’t work here. No, there’s too much authority in his tone, and a sensuality simmering along the air waves as his words flow toward me like warm honey. I want to lap each one of them up, especially that four-letter one that has me poised to launch myself at him in gratitude. Help? Oh, yes, I could use a touch of that. And then when I turn around and see his face, launching myself at him seems even more feasible. Have mercy. It’s his eyes that strike me first, the heat of his gaze making me feel like peeling my clothes off right now. His eyes are a mesmerizing blue speckled with something darker—nearly black as night—the color of rough ocean waters just before a storm. A square jaw showcases lips that are perfectly shaped, like a model’s in an aftershave ad. Their softness

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doesn’t escape me, an apparent suppleness that is somehow incongruent to his sexy five-o’clock shadow. I wonder how that glorious stubble would feel exfoliating my skin as he goes down on me. And isn’t it gauche to be thinking about oral sex in the middle of a home improvement store? My hungry stare exposes me as the worst female chauvinist possible, yet I still find myself ready to explode into orgasmic shame right here in aisle 19. Do you need some help? I’m not sure if he repeated himself or if his words are still reverberating through my hormone-soaked brain. I can think of at least fifty things I need his help with right now, and not one of them has to do with my grout. But I swallow, and grind out a one-word reply. “Yes.” “You’re trying to pick out a sealer?” “Yes.” Good girl, Emma. One word replies are safest when, if I dared to expand my vocabulary right now, I might invite him into the back seat of my SUV. “Ever sealed grout before?” “No.” “Well, it’s not too hard. You have about five or six different types of sealers. What’s it for?” I can feel the neurons firing in my brain as I try to formulate an answer. “B-bathroom,” I stutter. “Guest or master?” “Master.” “Master.” He repeats it in a way that gets me thinking I’d love to play mistress to his master any day. He gives a sharp nod and stretches his arm outward toward a can of sealer. His muscles flex as he does and my girl parts respond in kind.

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“You’ve got your spray kind like this. But I don’t recommend it unless you’re a pro. You’ll get a lot of overspray if you’re not good at applying it.” He glances down at me. He’s about 6’3” and towers over me, which is pretty lucky because if his face was any closer to me, I might have to crane my neck to find out what those lips taste like. “What kind do you recommend?” I grit out the words, forcing them from my mouth when all my body seems to want to do is purr in his presence. “Personally, I like the kind that penetrates...” He pauses, reaching for the container, then lets his eyes slide over to me, making my insides quiver. “Penetrates?” I repeat breathlessly. “Mm-yeah.” Hesitating slightly as he answers me, he reaches for my hand and rests the container in my grip. My breath catches at the feel of his skin against mine. “It actually gets deep into the grout. Fuses with it. Becomes a part of it. It’s...” He pauses, his smile perking up on one side. “...pretty powerful stuff.” Mother of God. I think my panties are soaking through. Clean up on aisle 19. “Are there any other kinds?” I ask. I swear I can listen to this guy talk grout to me all day. “Sure are. There’s membrane.” “Member?” My eyes dart to his, ready to swear I wasn’t looking at the impressive bulge of his member in his shorts. “Membrane,” he corrects with an amused grin. “But that’s not a good kind for bathrooms.” He reaches for my hand again and lets his fingers linger across my skin for a moment before he takes the sealer out of my grasp. “You know, you might like the kind that comes with an applicator.” He sets the penetrating sealer back on the shelf and I nearly weep. I was growing kind of attached to it. “Applicator?”

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“Yeah. Comes with a little brush and you put it on that way. Takes a lot of work, though.” I sigh, hearing the one word that might break the spell this guy’s cast over me. “I’m not really up to more work.” I could tell him that I spend my days chasing after eighteen preschoolers as an assistant teacher, and the last thing I wanted to add to my life was a fixer-upper. But somehow admitting that I’m just a new grad struggling in a job I hate would shatter the mood. He gives another nod, and his gaze traces downward and then back up my body like a gentle caress. “I could help you out,” he suggests. Again with that help word. Does he know that it makes me horny as the trumpet section in a marching band? A meek smile flashes quickly across my face. “I—that’s really nice, but I can’t afford to pay for help. I’m just doing the work myself.” He laughs, a low, seductive rumble. “I don’t seal grout for a living. I’m in the Navy.” My eyebrows rise, even though I should have guessed it from the short, cropped hair and the Mister Universe muscles. “Really?” “Yeah. I’m a SEAL.” I can’t help the frown that pinches the sides of my mouth. I’ve lived in Virginia Beach long enough to know that there are plenty of SEALs lurking around these parts. With our area being headquarters for several of the Teams, any girl here quickly hones her talent for plucking a SEAL out of a generic crowd of uniforms by the time she reaches college age. But his directness has me creasing my forehead incredulously. SEALs generally don’t announce their day jobs to women at home improvement stores, opting instead for vagueness. “A SEAL?” I ask, skepticism lacing my tone. “Yeah.” I cock my head. “Right.” Now his eyebrows rise. “You don’t believe me?”

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“I’ve found that most SEALs who boast about their job within five minutes of meeting a girl are anything but.” He gives a quick tug at the scoop neck of his t-shirt (giving me a titillating preview of what must lie beneath all that tight cotton) and pulls out his dog tags. I smirk. “Dog tags don’t make you a SEAL.” “You’re a smart woman. I suppose I can’t really prove to you I’m a SEAL unless I introduce you to my CO. But I can prove that I know a thing or two about grout. I’m Jackson, by the way,” he offers, extending his hand. Accepting his handshake, I try to ignore the butterflies that flutter at the feel of his firm grip. “I’m Emma,” I reply. “So, why would you do this for me?” “You need help. And I have a knight-in-shining-armor complex.” I stare back at him. Hormones are a funny thing... they make a person’s brain short circuit, and mine is suddenly drifting back to high school, sitting in geology class watching a documentary about volcanic activity. I remember seeing hot springs out West bubbling up on the television screen. My eyes can almost see it now—that Grand Prismatic Spring of Yellowstone with its striking rainbow washes of color and steam rising from its depths—heat aching to release itself from the core of Mother Earth. That’s how hot I feel inside right now, staring at him. I’m not a fool. I graduated at the top of my class, despite a monumental surprise being thrown my way during my sophomore year, one that would change my life forever. And somehow, despite the many nights I’ve spent alone in my bed wondering how I’ll make it through the next day on just fifteen minutes of sleep, I’ve found the strength to eke out a pretty solid life. One-night-stands were never part of the picture. My life only has room for practicality. And inviting this man into my home is fraught with risk that seems foreign to me, especially when I’ll admit I’m more

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curious about his skills in the bedroom rather than in my bathroom shower with a container of sealer. (Even though I’ll admit the idea of him in the shower is pretty damn appealing in itself.) I have plenty of friends who bring men home over a lot less than an offer to seal some grout. And, knock wood, they’ve all somehow escaped becoming a tragic statistic— one of those sad news stories you get duped into reading online which invariably gets cruel and judgmental comments along the bottom like, “How could she be so stupid?” or “That’s what you get when you invite a total stranger into your home.” My eyes trace along his broad form, lapping up the sight of every muscle and curve that screams for my attention. I feel as shallow as a puddle of ant piss, looking at him this way. Only I can’t stop. “So you’ll do this... and expect nothing in return?” I clarify. “Expecting nothing,” he says so sumptuously that my hoohah practically sings. Then he reaches for my arm, lightly tracing a line of my freckles down to the point where he can feel my pulse quickening, and he practically whispers, “But a guy can hope.”

Sixteen hundred thirty hours - JACKSON -

The evening sun flashes against the clean, steel frame of her SUV. It’s on the newer side. I can tell by the lack of dings, stickers, or decals, and especially from the temporary tags on her bumper. I’ll admit, I’ve followed my share of women home before, but never armed with a twenty-four-ounce container of grout sealer and certainly never as intrigued as I am by this one. She reminds me of those blonde secretaries you see in old movies. The ones who have their hair up in a tight bun and hide behind tortoiseshell framed glasses until then, when you least expect it, they let their hair cascade down to their shoulders and swipe off their glasses revealing sexstarved eyes that can send a guy to his knees. Except this girl isn’t blonde. And she doesn’t have glasses. But she’s got that innocent, girl-next-door exterior encapsulating the aura of a woman who would greatly value the satisfaction of a good lay. And I’m just the man for the job. The house we pull up to is a 1950s Cape Cod with a screened-in porch awkwardly jutting out from the side of the house. It doesn’t look 13

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like the type of home that would attract a woman like her. She seems more like the kind of woman who would fall for one of those new construction condos overlooking the water or maybe a townhouse within walking distance to a handful of good restaurants or bars. I get out of my car first and walk toward hers to open her door for her. I could say it’s because I’m old-fashioned, but the truth is my eyes are looking forward to the sight of her curvy legs sliding out of her car, and I’m not disappointed. I can’t resist the envy I feel for that driver’s seat, liking the idea of the weight of her rounded backside pressed against me for the ten minutes it took to drive to her house. Suggesting that she doesn’t often invite men back to her home, she tosses me an awkward look. “I wasn’t sure if you’d smarten up and ditch me on the highway.” “When I say I’m going to do something, I do it,” I tell her. My eyes linger on her a little longer than they should during the silence that falls between us. Her gaze drifts to my chest, my abs, my... yep... she’s definitely not interested in my home improvement skills. “I’ll bet you do,” she finally says, her words expelling in a sigh. “Um, follow me.” I enjoy the sway of her hips as she walks up the short staircase to the front stoop, and my mouth waters slightly as I take in her curves. Call me crazy, but I prefer a woman who looks like a woman, not one with a figure that resembles an eleven-year-old pre-pubescent boy. And this one has hips that I just want to grab. “It’s, uh...” she begins, her voice quivering as she takes the plastic bag containing the sealer from my grasp, “up here.” Glancing over her shoulder, she floats up the staircase, again drawing my eyes to an ass that’s the true north for the compass inside my cock. Even though her eyes basically broadcast that she wants me, she’s only said she wants me to seal her grout, I remind myself. Not to take her soft, all-woman body out for a test drive.

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I better do a damn impressive job on that grout or I’ll be walking out of here with a life-threatening case of blue balls. I glance at the photos nailed to the wall in the upstairs hall. I see her... and some other people I don’t want to ask her about. I’m no fool. This house doesn’t look like it’s some kind of bachelorette pad. There are too many remotes I notice piled up on her nightstand as she leads me into the bedroom, and I spot a sizable grip strengthener. She doesn’t appear to be a woman who is trying to increase her grip strength to a hundredand-fifty pounds, so I sense a man’s shared her bed not too long ago. Well, he’s a fool to not be here now. So I’m more than happy to pinch-hit if he didn’t appreciate a good thing when he had it. My eyes drift past a couple small picture frames on her dresser, not wanting to see the faces that look back at me—not now, anyway—and rest on a copy of Guns & Ammo magazine. If I was anyone else, I might be high-tailing it out of here. But I’m a SEAL, so I just crack a smile. “Into guns?” Her eyes widen, glancing over at the dresser. “Oh, um, yeah. You know, a girl can’t be too careful these days.” Liar. She doesn’t know a Smith and Wesson from a Sig Sauer, but I’ll forgive a bit of sophistry since I have my own secrets to hide. I take a step closer to her, just close enough that I can feel the heat from her body seeping through my shorts and striking my groin. “No wonder you didn’t have a problem inviting a strange man into your home. You can take care of yourself pretty well.” Her chin rises up a notch and she levels a gaze on me. “I take care of myself plenty.” I nearly laugh at the double entendre that she apparently missed because she’s looking dead serious. If I can seduce the panties off her, she’ll never be able to go back to just taking care of herself. We walk along the foot of her bed and I eye the wide closet with sliding mirrored doors that look circa 1980 with their brass trim.

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My brow rises at the direct, unencumbered reflection of her bed in the huge mirror. “Must have a hell of a sex life.” The joke slips from my mouth, and then I cringe. Not the most appropriate thing to say, but after four years in the SEALs, I have a defective social filter. She glances from the mirror to the bed and blushes. Then, lifting her chin as though pushing past embarrassment, she shrugs. “Just so-so.” I grin. “Just so-so?” “Yeah.” “Room for improvement?” “Plenty.” Her voice teases me, making my cock twitch behind the zipper of my shorts. We stare at each other for a moment, both of our gazes hungry until my phone buzzes. I glance down at the number after I pull it from my pocket, and my heart skips a beat. It shouldn’t. I can’t even count how many times I’ve been shot at or nearly blown up in my life. This call shouldn’t raise my blood pressure. But that’s what fatherhood does to a man. “Everything okay?” I ask when I answer the call. I listen to my mom on the other end—just what I needed to kill a boner I was kind of enjoying. She wants to know if my toddler can stay up till twenty hundred hours tonight so that she can watch the end of the Sleep Tight Tonight Show. “Yeah, absolutely,” I reply evasively, ever-aware of the hot female eyes watching me intently. Even though I suppress an eye roll—Mom’s raised three boys in her life but still feels the need to call or text at least four times every time she babysits—I thank her for her checking, not only because I tend to be overly cautious when it comes to my little girl, but also because free babysitters are hard to come by, especially ones who will take a child overnight.

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“Is everything all right?” My eyes lift to Emma’s as she asks me, and I can’t help noticing the concern in her voice. “Couldn’t be better,” I quickly reply. “You’re sure? Because if you need to—” “No,” I interrupt, reaching out to brush my fingers lightly against her arm. I resist giving her a more thorough explanation. It’s not the time for me to bring up the name of the precious angel who is right now spreading Easy Mac all over a high chair she barely fits into anymore. Daddy doesn’t get many nights off when I’m stateside, so I’ll keep my cards to my chest. “I’m free all night.” All night. I make sure she doesn’t miss the insinuation. And apparently she doesn’t. “Well, hopefully it won’t take that long,” she says with a flustered tone. Casually, I toss my head to the side. “It might. I should probably wait till the first coat dries and then reapply a second one.” She raises an eyebrow. “But the directions on the container say one coat is enough.” A sly smile creeps up the side of my mouth. “When I do things, I do them thoroughly.” I would swear I hear her whimper as she leads me into the bathroom. Walking through the narrow doorway, I smile. “It looks a lot better than I was picturing.” “What were you picturing?” “Oh, you know. Harvest gold or avocado tile and brass fixtures. Maybe a sink with hard water stains.” Her smile winks at me. “You just described what it looked like last year.” “You’ve been at this renovation for a year?” She frowns. “A little over, actually. Fifteen months, I guess. The guy I bought the house with...” Her voice trails.

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“Left you with an incomplete bathroom.” “Among other things.” “Sounds like an asshole.” Her eyes finally meet mine again, and it soothes me somehow. “I think I’d rather not talk about him,” she admits. Join the club. “What about you?” I glance over to her. “What about me?” “I couldn’t help noticing the female voice on the other end of that phone call. Girlfriend?” There’s a tease in her voice I can’t miss. I chuckle, considering my options, and opt for a lie. Not very in touch with my SEAL principles, but I have my reasons. “Ex-girlfriend.” Okay, so it seems slightly fucked up that I referred to that particular caller as my ex-girlfriend. But women have a tendency to wither when they hear the words “my mother” from a guy. And I’m just twenty-seven—young enough to still want to get laid from time to time. Her eyes widen. “Really?” “Yep.” “And she still calls you?” “Desperately wants to get back together.” I cock my head. “I’m quite a catch, you know.” “I’m not sure I believe you.” “Why not?” “Well, you’ve been boasting about your grout sealing skills since I met you twenty minutes ago, but I’ve yet to see you in action.” Her eyes flash with challenge. “I promise you’ll see me in action.” I reach for her, giving her a light squeeze on her upper arm before I slide my grip downward to retrieve the plastic bag with the sealer she holds in her grasp.

5:00 p.m. ~ EMMA ~

I lower the toilet lid and sit. Not the best seat in the house, but I can’t resist the view. “So did you lay this tile yourself ?” he asks me. I nearly giggle at the word lay, and realize my sense of humor has regressed to that of a twelve-year-old in his presence. “Um, no,” I answer. I resist telling him who did it because that’s a conversation I don’t care to have right now. I know he saw the photos on my wall and my dresser, and I appreciate the fact that he didn’t ask questions. I didn’t invite him here to tell him my life story. And considering the female voice I heard on the other end of his phone call, I can tell we are both playing the same game. “It’s hot in here,” he says. “I don’t have the AC on. Want me to turn it on?” “No. I’ll just open the window. The sealer smells pretty foul, anyway. We’ll need some fresh air.”

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Feasting on the sight of the broad muscles in his back flexing beneath his tight shirt as he lifts the window, I catch myself sighing in appreciation. “Mind if I take my shirt off ?” he asks. Mind? Damn, I’d pay him twenty bucks to do it. “Not at all,” I say, trying to look ambivalent as he raises the white cotton above his head. You know those hamburger commercials for fast food chains? The ones where the burgers look hot and sizzling and oozing with tempting toppings peeking out from beneath a soft, melt-in-your-mouth bun? The same ones that tempt you to haul your ass away from the TV on a lonely Saturday night and hit the drive-thru, only to discover that the real thing doesn’t look anything like you thought it would? That’s not the case with this guy. Every square inch of his skin is pure perfection with sexuality seeping out of his pores like a juicy, fat-laden burger I want to devour. “You work out a lot?” I ask more to prove to myself that I’m still capable of speaking than with the intent of getting an answer. With biceps that look like they’re honed from a chunk of marble, it’s pretty obvious he works out plenty. He’s stretching out those thick arms now, easily reaching the top of my shower and wiping the brush-like applicator along the line of my grout. “Every day. A necessity in my line of business.” “So you’re really a SEAL?” I don’t suppress the admiration in my tone, because it can’t hurt to let him know how much I appreciate his sacrifice on behalf of my freedom. I’m just patriotic. Not horny. Yeah, right. “That I am,” he replies. “Do you deploy a lot?” His eyes soften as he looks at me. “Too much.” “Have you been home for long?”

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He tosses his shoulders up slightly finishing one line of the grout. “A few months now.” Pensive, I toy with my next question in my head before letting it slip from my tongue. “Will you be home for much longer?” Alluring eyes slice through to my soul, an image that will fuel my dreams for long after he’s left me. “Long enough to make sure your grout is sealed.” My heart cracks a little as he says it, and as he resumes applying the sealer, I shrug away the negative feeling that’s seeping into my real-life fantasy. So I change the subject, nudging my chin in the direction of the applicator he’s holding. “That stuff will really keep my grout looking new?” “Not entirely. You’ll still have to clean it. But just not as often.” Abruptly, he turns to me, his wide pecs filling my sights. Eyes up, Emma. Eyes up. Yet still they drift downward, lured by the hills and valleys in his chest and washboard abs. Hell, I’m only human. “The grout’s porous. Kind of like a sponge,” he explains. “So it’s going to soak up mildew and soap scum. But the sealer’s impregnating the grout...” A gasp nearly escapes me as my body simmers. How can I nearly have an orgasm as he talks about mildew and soap scum? “...as I apply it, penetrating deep into it. Then it’s gets hard...” He glances over his shoulder, the sparkle in his eyes revealing that he knows exactly what his words are doing to me. “...and nothing can get past it.” He turns back to his work. “It might take all night to do the job right, but you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” I’ll bet I will. “So tell me about yourself, Emma. What’s a girl like you doing in Virginia Beach?” “Just biding my time till I can live where I want.”

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“Where’s that?” I tilt my head thoughtfully. “To be honest, I’m not really sure.” “Just not here?” Leaning back, my mind coasts westward, picturing the mountains jutting up from the earth and canyons slicing through the landscape. “I like it it here. Don’t get me wrong. But I’ve always lived on the coast. It might be nice to live someplace different.” He pauses his work and glances over his shoulder. “You strike me more as an East Coast girl, through-and-through.” I smile. “What gave me away in the short time you’ve known me?” “Just a hunch.” “Well, you’re right. I am. Born and raised. But I’d love to live out West someday.” His brow rises before he turns his back to me again, and my eyes unrepentantly soak in the sight of the muscles of his back. Trapezius. Latissimus Dorsi. And my particular favorites, Teres Major and Minor. I never took any physiology classes in college to learn their names. I’m just a girl with a refined appreciation for muscles, who also has a penchant for looking things up on Wikipedia. I can’t resist imagining digging the pads of my fingers into those hard muscles with him above me, inside me... “I never would have guessed.” His voice snaps me out of my fantasy. Guessed? Guessed what? He turns to me again at my silence, and my eyes land square in the middle of that remarkable V low in his abs that I swear is pointing downward, straight to his cock. “Where out West?” he asks. Oh, yeah. We were talking about the West. “Beats me. Everyone always talks about Colorado or Montana.” I pause, thinking. “Or Arizona might be nice.” “That’s a lot of options. You’ve never been there before, but want to live there?”

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I shrug. “I’ve moved lots of places without having been there before.” “I applaud your sense of adventure.” I bat my eyelashes, unable to resist a flirtatious grin. “You have no idea how adventurous I can get.” I think I hear a slight curse as he drops the applicator to the ground. “Sorry,” he says, bending to pick it up and giving me a terrific view of a very grab-able ass. It’s hiding a bit in the bulky cargo shorts he’s got on, but I can tell it’s there. “So, what else don’t I know about you, Emma?” I ponder a moment, watching him as he finishes off the first wall of tile. There are a millions things I could tell him, of course. But most of the topics teeter on the brink of reality, and it’s a place I don’t want to go right now. I’m enjoying the idea of being someone else tonight. Someone “adventurous.” Someone who would dare pick up a man in a home improvement store at the offer of a little free labor. “I’ve never had sushi,” I comment. “The idea of putting raw meat in my mouth just rubs me wrong.” Turning fully toward me, his grinning mouth opens slightly as if a retort is aching to expel from his mouth. But instead, he presses his lips together a moment and gives his head a slight shake. “I tend to agree. Cavemen discovered fire for a reason.” He turns again, applying the sealer. “But not all sushi is raw. I might try it one day. I’m a SEAL. I’ll try anything.” “Suit yourself. How about you, Jackson? What don’t I know about you?” He looks thoughtful for an instant, and I see secrets behind the glimmer in his eyes. I know enough about SEALs to understand that even if I’d known this man since birth, there would still be plenty he’d seen in his life that he’d never be able to share with me. But there are other things I perceive in his guarded expression—things he could share, but won’t. Not tonight, his eyes tell me.

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And I’m right there with him. “I love bounce houses,” he finally says. My eyes bug out. “I’m sorry—what?” “I love bounce houses. They’re better than trampolines because the big ones have slides and climbing walls.” He looks slightly annoyed. “I sprouted up fast, you know? Everyone says that the girls grow first, but not me. I was a foot taller than the kids in my class by the age of nine. Too big to be let in most of the bounce houses in my town. They had height limits, you know. Really pissed me off.” “I don’t blame you.” I can’t resist a smile. The things you learn about people at the damnedest times. “Maybe you’ll have kids one day and you can live vicariously through them.” “Yeah. I just have to marry a short woman.” A blush warms me as his gaze moves slowly from my head down to my toes and then back up to my eyes again, as though sizing me up... flirtation at its best. As he turns to the next wall of tile, I observe his features in profile, the hard lines of his masculine jaw and almost aristocratic nose. And those lashes—it takes a tube of mascara to make my lashes look that long. Yet his are natural, a soft frame for arresting eyes. “The tile looks great, by the way,” he says. “Looks like a professional job.” My mouth tilts. “Really? I think it’s a little crooked.” I can’t resist the slight dig on the man who installed it. With eyes turning to tiny slits, he smiles at me. “Everyone’s a critic.” I laugh. “It’s looks straighter after a drink.” “Are you offering?” “Would you accept if I was?” “Of course. Got a beer?” I nod in the affirmative and suck in a full breath when I leave the bathroom.

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It’s not the smell of the sealer I’m escaping. I’m suffocating in pheromones in there. Standing in front of the refrigerator for a couple minutes, my body sighs in the cool air that’s like an inexplicable cold front sweeping over Death Valley in the middle of summer. Then I reach for a Sam Adams and a bottle of chardonnay hoping some alcohol might slow down my reaction to the hunk of masculine flesh consuming my shower. Because I know damn well what I want to happen tonight. But I want him to finish my grout first.

Eighteen hundred hours ~ JACKSON ~

There are only a handful of things I’ll never turn down from a woman. Despite what my SEAL brothers might think, sex is not one of them. Beer, however... “Thanks,” I say, gratefully taking the bottle in my hand, its cold condensation against my skin already bringing some measure of satisfaction. I toss back a couple swigs and let its chill soothe me. It’s hotter than hellfire in this bathroom, and while I admire her sensibility in keeping her thermostat switched off in favor of the spring air, there’s not enough circulation in here to keep me cooled down. And it might have something to do with the hot woman who’s resumed her perch on the toilet. So, she wants to move out West? The idea of it somehow arouses me—this East Coaster spreading her legs to ride a horse. I try to picture it, but my brain misfires at the “spreading her legs” part. I watch her fingers wrap themselves around her glass of wine again. She’s already nearly to the bottom of it, and the glazed look in her eyes reveals that she’s a lightweight at best when it comes to alcohol. 26

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“Do you have some paper towels?” I ask. “I need to buff it before the drips dry.” Giving a quick nod, she stands and darts out the doorway. She has little cut-offs on and a t-shirt that’s not too tight, but not too loose either. Its simplicity becomes her; I’ve always been more of a Mary Ann fan rather than a Ginger kind of guy. When she returns, she hands me a roll of paper towels. I glance down at her left hand as I retrieve it, noticing her healthy tan—except for a thin, pale band of skin on the fourth finger of her left hand. I can’t resist flicking my thumb along it. She pulls her hand away from me quickly and the paper towels fall to the ground. “Sorry,” she quickly says, stooping to pick it up. “It’s okay,” I reply, reaching for that left hand again while at the same time taking the roll from her. I let her palm rest in mine a moment, savoring the softness of her skin. No, she definitely doesn’t do a lot of home improvement work herself, not with skin like this. And while I admire a hard worker and find a few calluses on a woman a total turn-on, I can tell from just looking at her that she has an unflappable work ethic and takes what she does damn seriously... Whatever that happens to be. Tucking the roll under my arm, my hand slides away from that fourth finger upward, tracing along her long limb until it reaches her neck. Her eyes flicker shut and I watch her breasts rise, taking in a sharp breath. I tunnel my fingers into her hair, pulling her face a little closer to mine, just close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath against my lips when she gasps, opening her eyes. “What is it you brought me here for, Emma?” Her brow creases, uncertain. “I don’t know.” “Maybe this will help you figure it out,” I say, keeping my voice low, soft rather than intimidating as I bend to brush my lips against hers. The paper towel roll drops to the ground and I wrap my other arm around her, splaying my fingers against her back till she steps toward me,

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pressing her breasts to my chest. My cock hardens completely and I back her toward the wall, anxious to show her what I can offer her tonight. My height’s not the only thing that increased in size unrepentantly as I grew up, and I want to fill her up now and show her just how big a man can get. I feel her angle her hips, grinding against me as my kiss deepens, and my hand grabs her ass to help her savor the pressure of me against her clit. I slide my hand beneath the waist of her shorts, feeling the soft skin of her ass and I’m ready to come undone right now. But I have another job to do here. I let her rub against me some more, and I love watching her climbing upward toward an orgasm just from the pressure of me against her. As much as I’m enjoying tasting her, I pull my mouth away. “Is that what you want, Emma?” Her chin drops slightly, still dry humping me and clearly enjoying it. “Yes,” she gasps. “That’s not what you said a minute ago.” “I—I just don’t do things like this,” she confesses. No shit, Sherlock. I should stop her, but I can blame the sealer fumes for my lack of control. I’m enjoying this too much, watching her get off, fully clothed, like this. Both my hands are on her ass now, pulling her harder, closer, giving her a rhythm she craves. “I could fuck you all night, Emma. Hard. Till you scream so loud the neighbors will call the cops. But I’m here to seal the grout. And when I do things, I do them right.” With that, I force myself to pull away a couple inches from her, grinning widely as she nearly collapses into my arms. I guide her back to the toilet so that she can catch her breath. She’ll be no good to me if she passes out. And after I buff this tile, there’s another job I need to finish. Her skin is flushed as I step back into the shower with my wad... of paper towels. My cock is pressing against my zipper, a constant nuisance,

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and there’s a part of me that’s a little pissed off I didn’t just bend her over the bathroom vanity and bring myself satisfaction. Especially since Emma looks like she’s about ready for a cigarette right now. “So,” her voice quivers, “What does the buffing do?” “It keeps me from fucking you, apparently.” I chuckle, glancing at her, the sight of those round, brown eyes making my insides tighten up. “Actually, it keeps the little drips of sealer from showing. If I let them dry like they are, you’ll be able to see them. And you don’t want that.” “No, I guess I don’t want that.” I let silence prevail for a moment, except for the whisking sound of paper towels against her tile, until I ask, “So, what is it you want?” Her eyes widen. “You mean, what I want from the sealer?” “No. From the guy who’s putting on the sealer.” I toss one wad of paper towels in her trash and gather up another one in my fist. “I wasn’t kidding when I said what I want from you. But I’m not in this for something long-term. My life is complicated enough.” “I know the feeling,” she barely whispers. Her volume amps up a half notch. “I’ve never had a one-night-stand before.” My right eyebrow rises. “Never?” I glance her up and down. She’s young. Probably fresh out of college. Certainly too young to be holed up in a 1950s Cape Cod like she is. So it’s fathomable that she hasn’t reached that point in her life when she’s so jaded that sex becomes nothing more than a very satisfying workout. She raises her eyes to mine. “I take it you have?” I crack a smile. “A few.” She almost makes me ashamed to say it. But I’m a SEAL. Truth be known, it’s pretty easy for a guy to get laid when he’s wearing the Trident. “Not recently,” I quickly add, not just to make her feel better, but because it’s the truth. But I’m clearly a handful of years older than this girl. I grew out of the singles bar scene a while back, and haven’t felt any sense of loss over it. I stoop to wipe down the bottom portion of the shower. “I—I kind of wonder what it’s like sometimes,” she stammers.

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She can’t see the slight smile I’ve got on my face with my back to her. “What a one-night-stand is like? Well, most the time you wake up and look at the person in your bed and wonder what the hell you were thinking.” She’s silent on the other side of the bathroom for a minute, but I can see the gears in her brain spinning. “Would it be like that with me?” she asks. “I’m sorry, what?” “With me. Would you wake up and wonder what the hell you were thinking?” I don’t answer for a moment, finishing off the last of the tile, and then step back to inspect my work. Pretty thorough job, I decide. The first thorough job I plan on doing this evening. Turning to her, my eyes latch onto her hopeful, yet wary gaze on me. “With you, Emma, I’d wake up and wonder how the hell I could leave.” Her soft lips twitch, fighting a smile. “And what would I wake up thinking?” I toss the paper towels into the trash and wash the remnants of sealer from my hands. Then I move to reach for her hand, and ease her up off the toilet. Time to get out of the bathroom. Because as much as I like the idea of doing her against the vanity, I’d like to ease her into things. “You’d be counting the ways I made you come, with my fingers, my cock, my mouth, and that’s just for starters.” I move my hand to her belly, and slide it downward to her warmth, letting my hand knead her between her legs. The feel of the thick material of her shorts blocking my flesh from hers aggravates me, spurring my desire to strip her bare. “Is that what you want, Emma? You want a one-night-stand with me?” “Yes,” she whispers, her head rolling back on her shoulders. Watching her with her lashes fluttering as I massage my hand into her, I lose my control. Okay, maybe I won’t make it into the bedroom. And maybe

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that’s just fine. I reach for the zipper on her cut-offs and slide my fingers inside her panties. She soaking wet and so slick I nearly weep. I tug them down to her ankles. “Open your legs for me,” I demand, my lips tasting the salty skin at the side of her neck, as I slide my hands up her shirt, and lift it over her head. She gasps as I unclasp her bra and her breasts spring from it, as though the damn thing’s been confining her for years. Nipples tightened into tiny buds lure my mouth toward them. I suck her in as she threads her fingers into my short hair, pulling me closer. For a girl who’s never had a one-night-stand, she sure knows how to stake a claim on a man, and when one of her hands slides down my back and disappears beneath the waistband of my shorts, I confirm that notion. My mouth eases downward as she leans against the wall for balance. “Show me where you want my mouth on you, baby.” She’s panting now. “You know where.” “Nuh-uh. Show me.” I take her hand and guide it to her heat. “Show me,” I repeat, kneeling down in front of her as though worshipping her. “Here,” she touches her clit and the sight of her fingers on herself just about is my undoing. “Here?” I ask, flicking my tongue on her alongside her finger. “So you want it light like that?” I tease, knowing damn well a light flick of my tongue isn’t what she’s after. “No. Harder.” “Show me,” I say, liking the blush that speckles her body as her fingers rub against herself again. She presses them harder against her clit, and I ease back to watch, loving the sight of this. “Ah, so like this, then.” I finally give her what she wants, rolling my tongue along her moisture, again and again, then changing direction. She tastes sweet to me, deadly addictive, and I love the brush of her tiny brown curls against my mouth as she chases sensation. She’s not perfectly shaved or coifed, and I like

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that about her, enjoying the idea that she wasn’t expecting to spend her evening pressing her pussy against some guy’s mouth. It makes it more special. I reward her by sliding my finger along her moist slit, from one end to the other. “Show me what you want now,” I tell her, letting my finger titillate her just outside her entry. “In me. Now,” she demands. I was going to make her use her own fingers on her first, but the tease seems beyond cruel when I see her breath quickening. Tasting her again, I slide a finger into her, smiling against her core as she gasps. Then I slide another in, savoring the feel of her channel seizing up around me as she cries out. I’d give my right arm to have my dick inside of her rather than just my fingers. But the night is still young.

6:45 p.m. ~ EMMA ~

After the fireworks show behind my eyes ceases, I feel myself slide downward against the wall until the cool tile greets my butt. Holy crap. “You play a girl’s body like a Stradivarius,” I breathe out the words in a sigh. “You play violin?” he asks, almost as though intrigued by a glimpse into the life I lead when I’m not picking up SEALs in home improvement stores. And to be honest, I’m kind of surprised that he recognizes the name of the famed violin manufacturer considering those dog tags around his neck make me think he’s more familiar with an HK or a Springfield—which make assault weapons, not violins. (Though, according to my mom, a violin in my hands could lay waste to an entire community.) “I do, actually. Took a whole year in fourth grade until the neighborhood passed a noise ordinance against my family and I had to stop.”

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Sitting on the floor next to me, he chuckles. The laugh soothes me, makes me feel more comfortable with him as though I didn’t actually only meet him earlier this evening. Truth is, though, I actually prefer to feel uncomfortable around him, as though every piece of me wants to savor this drastic deviation from my sensible self. I’m liking this fling. So far. As I look his way, his ravenous eyes remind me that I’m the only one on this bathroom floor who’s enjoyed satisfaction. He reaches for me. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Emma?” he whispers, his breath tickling my lips before he kisses me. I moan a reply, feeling the slide of that talented tongue inside my mouth, tasting a hint of myself on him, an erotic essence that ratchets up my desire. I find myself being eased backward on the floor, and I’m thanking God that I recently mopped up in here. There’s not a single dust bunny or tangle of discarded hair in my view as he moves his mouth lower down on me, sucking on my breast. I usually need a little time to recover, but that’s somehow unnecessary with the way his taut muscles feel against my fingertips. This man is ripped and I’m hoping he hasn’t noticed that the only weightlifting I do is hauling two gallons of milk out of my car and into my fridge from time to time. Yet he doesn’t seem to mind; no, he actually seems to enjoy kneading my soft, ample skin as he dips his tongue into my navel. Is he seriously going down on me again? The man is too generous. He bends my legs at the knees, opening me up for his perusal, and brushing his finger along me from my clit to the back of my slit. The heat of his gaze sears me. “Shouldn’t we go in the bedroom?” I ask. “No.” His voice is gravelly, raw with desire. “I want you here, in the bright light where I can see every drip of you.”

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Reaching up to retrieve a towel, he then rolls it up, and squeezes it under my butt, angling me. I feel nervous suddenly—too exposed for my liking. “Please—the bedroom...” My voice quivers as it trails. “No. We can stop right now if you want. But if you want me to make you scream out for me, we’re doing it the way I want, where I want.” He lifts his head away from me, his eyes somehow understanding, yet threatening at the same time. “Do you want me to leave now?” “Stay,” I whimper. No, I beg. And whatever he wants from me, I know I’ll do simply because I’m already addicted to the way he makes me feel—needy, filthy, wanton. Such a damn far cry from who I really am. I may only have this for one night. So I’m going for it. He reaches up to the vanity and fills a cup of water. My breath catches slightly, wondering what he has planned until he pours the cold water across my breasts. His lips curve, witnessing—almost passively—how my already taut nipples harden even more. “You looked like you needed a little cooling off,” he observes. “You look like you might need the same,” I offer, only to watch his head shake slowly from side to side. “I think you’ll find I’m better when I’m hot.” Mmm... then that would be always, I can’t help considering, because everything about this man radiates heat, and it singes me as he massages the water’s residual moisture into my breasts. His hands are so skillful, I wouldn’t be surprised if he is a masseuse on-the-side, even though it doesn’t quite match up to his day job. His ridiculously sexy day job, I think, as his dog tags tickle my belly when he moves lower on me. He eases my legs further open and almost seems to examine me critically, tracing his finger lightly along every fold. He dips into me, then lifting his finger to his mouth and sucking off the moisture. Then he slides further into me so deep that I gasp, and he tastes the moisture again.

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Leaning back, he unzips his shorts and pulls his cock out from of his briefs. The thing is huge—long and thick in a way that should make me question whether he’d fit inside me. But oh, I want him to try... He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a condom, taking only a moment to sheath himself. “I’m going to fuck you with my mouth again, baby,” he says, the profanity only arousing me more. “Do you want that?” “Yes.” My answer escapes in a gasp. “Then I’m going to ram myself into you just before you come.” I only whimper in reply. “I won’t be asking anymore whether this is what you want. So if that doesn’t sound like what you’re after, this is your last chance to stop me.” He digs his callused hands into the flesh of my ass. I’ll be bruised tomorrow, and I don’t even care. “It’s what I want.” I murmur it at least three times, making damn sure there isn’t any room for ambiguity as his mouth takes me in. I am drunk on hormones and I want him—this—more than anything. He moans against me, the vibration working its predictably fabulous wonders on me as I moan right back, letting my head rock sideways on the cool tile. I should feel uncomfortable, but I don’t. My body has transformed into a soft putty that he could mold any way he wants on this hard floor. My insides start to coil when I feel his tongue dip into me, flicking from side to side and then moving out again to thrill me with a precise, circular motion around my clit. I feel my back arch, pelvis lifting to meet him. Breathing in sharply, my sight glazes over and I press my eyelids shut. I’m poised to explode when he moves his mouth away from me and slides his cock inside me, so deep and hard I cry out. The pressure of his entry is surreal—how it makes me want more rather than less of him.

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He moans when he’s balls deep in me and I feel him throb inside of me, a sensation that pushes me right over the edge. “Jackson!” I scream as my body bucks beneath him, forgetting completely that the window is open, and forgetting completely that I’m on the bathroom floor with a man I barely know. My channel seizes up around him, pulling him in deeper, harder, till I can feel the rigidity of him against my womb. Brain shutting down momentarily, my skin sizzles against the cool floor. His mouth is on a breast now, slowing his thrusts as my body recovers. He nips and licks playfully and sinfully at turns. “Too big for you, baby?” He’s bragging and I know it. And if it were anything but the truth, I might respond in a way that would knock his ego down a half point or so. But he is too big for me. “Yes.” “Am I hurting you?” “Yes. And don’t you dare stop.” I feel my body adjusting, stretching even more to accommodate him. It’s like I was made for him, as though until this moment, I didn’t even know how deep a man could go inside me. “Feels good then?” “Yes,” I gasp. I hope he sees the theme here. Yes seems to be my operative word for the night. “You are so fucking wet, Em.” The shortened name seems sweet right now, almost as though he’s known me for longer than a few hours. But I reject it, wanting to play a different role tonight. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” “Yeah? Want me to tell you how much I want to flip you over and slam into your hot, wet pussy and spank the life out of you for being such a bad girl?” My insides purr.

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Spank me? Bad girl? A total contradiction to the “rules” girl I’ve always been. And while I’m not sure whether I’d care for being spanked, I like the idea of being with a man who’s open to the idea. Because I’m discovering I’m open to just about anything this guy proposes. “That’s what I’m going to do to you, baby. Carry you back into that bed of yours and show you just what that big mirror was installed for. If you think I’m filling you up now, wait till later...” His voice bears a mild threat and I love it. “I love your tits, Emma,” he growls, grabbing both of them and squeezing them... hard. “Grab my ass, baby,” he commands. I’m almost unwilling to pull my hands away from the sumptuous muscles of his corded back, but I do, and discover he never even removed his shorts completely. His low chuckle rumbles inside his chest. “That’s how much I wanted you, baby. I couldn’t even pull my shorts off me. I couldn’t wait another second before I sank my dick into you.” I glance down to where we are joined and watch him pull his long, hard cock out of me. He stops just before exposing the crown, and I shudder a little, not wanting to separate from him. Then he pulls out completely, almost like a tease. My brow furrows before he kisses me lightly. “Don’t worry. I’m not through with you yet,” he whispers against my forehead and he disappears into me again. The pads of his fingers grip my ass as his rhythm inside me increases, and every time he’s deep in me, the pressure of his groin against my clit makes me suck in a breath. A climax is coming into view for me, and I find myself propelling toward it, uncontrolled. My eyelids press together, not wanting to look at him right now, not wanting the gorgeous sight of his wealth of muscles or those penetrating eyes to push me over the edge. Because I like dangling on this precipice, toying with the orgasm that awaits me rather than grabbing at it with both my fists.

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But he seems to sense my desire for control, and he steals it from me, angling his cock so that it slams into my g-spot making me shatter beneath him again. I feel him moan in release, with one more thrust, as he joins me in ecstasy.

Twenty hundred hours - JACKSON -

“This is disgusting,” I grumble, my mouth half full and my teeth unable to slice through the seaweed wrapping the rice and raw God-knowswhat. “Is this the tuna?” “Beats me. They all look the same to me.” We’ve got a Chinese feast spread out on the bed. Moo shu chicken, egg rolls, lo mein, and a few platters of these rolls of revulsion people refer to as sushi. I would have preferred pizza, but she wanted to try something new, and Chinese was the only other delivery option in her neighborhood. “I always thought sushi was Japanese,” she ponders, popping another roll into her mouth. She doesn’t seem to find their texture as abhorrent as I do. I shrug. “I’m not sure. But I’ve never known a Chinese restaurant to not offer it.” Taking a long sip of her wine, her gaze caresses me, and I can’t help being grateful we wound up eating on her bed rather than in the kitchen.

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As good as sex was with her on the bathroom floor, I’m betting that in her bed will be even better. When she stretches out like a contented cat on the dark duvet, I’m guessing I’m going to find out soon enough. “So, tell me more about yourself, Jackson.” I set my plate aside on one of her nightstands nudging aside the grip strengthener. Curious, I take it into my hand and squeeze a few times, never able to resist a little extra PT in my day. “Not much to tell.” “Oh, come on. Must be something.” I can tell this is the part of the night when we talk rather than fuck. And it doesn’t bother me as much as it should just because I like the sound of her voice. “What are you doing in Virginia Beach?” she asks. Setting down the grip strengthener, I stretch out next to her, and finger the chain of my dog tags. “I would think you could guess that. How about you?” I ask, turning the tables. I’d much rather hear about her. She rolls her eyes. “I followed a guy.” Chuckling, I reach for her, sliding my hand from her hip to her belly. “That happens.” “Yeah,” she sighs. I want to ask her where the guy is now, just to see what she’ll reply, even though I know it will be a lie. But I decide not to push it. “Tell me something else.” She flops over onto her stomach, and with her backside exposed, I can’t help remembering what I promised to do to her when we were having sex on the bathroom floor. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone in your life,” she urges. “That’s a tall order.” “Come on. I told you I want to live out West, I’ve never had sushi until tonight, and my career as a concert violinist was tragically cut short at the age of nine. But all you’ve told me is that you have a strange fascination with bounce houses.”

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I heave a pained breath as I look at her. Much to my dismay, she put on her panties and a t-shirt while I went downstairs to get the food when the doorbell rang. It’s a white t-shirt with a marathon advertised on the front—about three sizes too big for her, probably once owned by some unfortunate guy who’s wondering how it disappeared from his closet. Yet even in the big t-shirt, she looks sexy as sin, and I’m struggling to come up with something to satisfy her curiosity. “I joined the SEALs on a dare.” Her eyes brighten with surprise. “Really? Never would have guessed that.” “Yeah. It was mostly on a dare, anyway. I had a CO who was really into reverse psychology. Told me I couldn’t make it through BUD/S training. Dared me to try. So, of course, I had to do it.” “He must have been impressed.” “She said she knew I could do it all along.” I grin, remembering LCDR Kelly Gaines, my first CO out of boot. I secretly had a serious crush on her. All the guys did. But she had a husband. And even if there wasn’t that little fraternization rule in the Navy, I still wouldn’t sidle up too close to her. I won’t cheat or be a party to cheating. That’s the way I roll. I tilt my head. “Have you ever cheated on a guy?” Her eyes pop like she’d never expect me to ask such a thing. I shrug. “What? I’m curious. I mean, anytime. Like in high school or something.” At the mention of school, she deflates. “Once. I kissed a boy in middle school even though I was technically going out with another boy.” Letting out a low whistle, I ease onto my side. “Teetering on the brink of immorality.” She laughs. “Yeah. That was me. I was curious, you know. There was this boy, Eric. And he passed me a note one day in math class asking me if I wanted to go out with him.” “Let me guess. It had a little check-off box for yes and one for no.”

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“How’d you know?” “I was eleven once.” Her smile warms me. “Anyway,” she continues, “it was the second week of sixth grade, and I was pretty sheltered at that. I wasn’t even sure what he meant by ‘going out’ with him. But I checked off yes, anyway. We were officially going out for four weeks, but we never did anything. He never kissed me. We didn’t see each other outside of class. We didn’t hold hands. I was confused and let down. So when some other boy asked me if he could kiss me just before I broke it off with Eric, I leapt at the chance because I was seriously thinking there might be something wrong with me. You know, like I was undesirable.” I trace a finger down her thigh and back up again. “I hope you know now you were wrong.” She shrugs awkwardly as though she’s uncomfortable with compliments. “So, that was your only brush with immorality?” I ask. “Yep.” She pauses, her eyes turning from playful to hungry. “Up until you walked into my life, stranger.” Stranger. I let the word stay in the forefront of my mind as I move toward her, brushing my lips against hers. She tastes like soy sauce, and maybe a bit like sushi, though I push back that thought. Stranger. She said it playfully, like I’m a cowboy out on the range. But I know the word is important to her tonight. She wants me to be a stranger to her. She might ask me a few questions, but she doesn’t want the real me to reveal myself to her tonight. A one-night-stand. She made it crystal clear that’s what she’s after. And if kissing the wrong boy in sixth grade is the raciest thing she’s ever done in her life, then I can’t blame her. I also can’t blame myself for wanting something more. “How about you?” My eyes widen at her voice. “Me?”

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“Have you ever cheated, Jackson?” The way she asks it, the question bears a shitload of weight. And I can see the trepidation in her eyes as she waits for my answer, as though more is riding on it than she’d like. I nudge her fully onto her back and blanket her body with mine, enjoying the rise of my cock beneath my shorts as her warmth touches me. “Emma, I have never cheated on a woman in my life.” I punctuate each word with a pause so that there is no question in her mind that I mean it. Whatever she’s been through that would make her ask that of me right now, I won’t minimize it with a flippant reply. I kiss her, sucking in her lower lip slightly before I finish, “And I never will.” “Make love to me.” She barely whispers it, as though the “l” word might send me running for high ground. But I know what she means by it. Here in the comfort of her bed, with a soft mattress beneath her, she wants something more than a hard, anonymous fuck. And I’m just the man to give it to her. Pressing my mouth against hers, I taste her again, not rushing it this time. Sliding my tongue along her teeth, my body responds to the wetness of her mouth, remembering her moisture elsewhere. Slow down, I command myself, not letting my mouth divert from hers this time. But my hands seem to have a mind of their own as they lift her shirt from her, exposing her breasts. My thumbs gently flick against her nipples, lightly tracing the circumference of the pink buds. I lift my face slightly to soak in the sight of her. With dark brown eyes half shrouded by lashes, lips pink and plump from my attention, and cheeks flushed, Emma looks like the embodiment of sex itself, like a siren on a cliff tempting sailors. Or this sailor, anyway. I lift her shirt from her as though revealing a masterpiece, and then let my hands slide down the outline of her, down her arms to her hips where my touch meets the cotton of her panties.

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No, this just won’t do, I ponder, needing to see her completely bare, with her pale skin contrasting against the dark duvet. I look to her eyes for any hesitation, asking this time rather than taking. And when I see none, I slide her panties off her. Her scent tickles my nose, making my mouth water, and I wonder if she has any idea what she looks like to me when her pussy is swollen and moist, aching for release. An idea strikes me. I tug off my shorts and my briefs wanting my bare skin to savor the feel of her when I do this. “Come here,” I whisper, pulling her up slightly. I prop some pillows against the headboard and lie back against them. She starts to crawl on top of me, but I shake my head. “Turn around. Lie against me like a chair,” I say, opening my legs and letting her back touch my chest. Smiling, I take in the prominent reflection in the mirror of the two of us on the bed. “I want you to see yourself as I see you. I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come.” She relaxes against me until my hands lower, urging her legs to open. In the mirror, I can see the shimmering moisture of her, and on my fingers, I feel it. Again my mouth waters, wanting to dive my face into her and feast. But I stop myself when I see her eyes flicker shut. “Open your eyes, baby. Watch yourself,” I urge. I dip one finger into her entry and steal the moisture, then pull out, wiping the dampness along the outside of her clit. With my arms so tight around her, I can feel every irregularity in her breath, every time it catches or gasps or quickens. I watch her watch us, two beings seeming fused into one in the reflection as I dip inside her again. “Ohhh...” Her murmur makes the edges of my mouth curve upward and I kiss her neck. “That’s right. Feel it. And watch what happens when I do this,” I encourage her as I slip two fingers into her this time, deeper than before. One of her hands clasps onto my arm and the other grips the duvet gathering up a fist of material in her hand as she moans.

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I pull out, toying with the center of her desire again. Then I trace the slit, not going in this time, just teasing her, until I plunge into her. She’s so close; I can tell by the way her muscles are tightening up, almost coiling in desperation for release. I split my two fingers apart while they are inside of her, stretching her, and she whimpers in response. “More.” The one word she manages to expel is all I need to slip a third finger into her, curving upward to that elusive spot that can’t hide from me. And when I press the pads of my fingers against that g-spot, she screams out my name once, then twice, bucking shamelessly. I watch her in the mirror. “Look at that, baby. Look at how hot you look.” Moisture spills from her onto my hand, and after I feel the last tremor of climax leave her, I can’t resist taking a long lick of my fingers, hungry for her juices. “Oh my.” I feel the whisper of her breath as she emits the hushed words against my face. She is pliant now, and I grip her softly, tugging her downward on the mattress. Reaching for the pile of my clothes that I had put to the side of her bed, I search my shorts pocket for a condom. Once I’ve covered myself, I shield her from the chill of the AC with my body, gently bending one of her knees for easier access. I slide in slowly this time, letting her—and me—savor each inch of our joining. I know I’m bigger than most and it can be a problem sometimes. Other times, like now when I’m feeling some semblance of control over myself, I know my size will make her never want to go back to an average guy again. Watching her intently as I take her, I can see when the pressure becomes more difficult, so I slow my invasion, letting her body adjust, then give her another inch. “Does that feel good, Emma?” I watch her for a reaction, but find I don’t need to. I can feel her response as her channel tightens up around my cock.

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“Good,” I reply, seeing that she seems to be struggling for words right now. Noticing her nipples need my attention, I move my mouth to one of her breasts, arching my back so that I can still stay deep inside of her. Her skin seems to sizzle against my tongue, and I can feel her passion intensify as I move to her other breast. “Feels so nice,” she utters breathlessly. I don’t reply, deciding that she prefers my mouth sucking her rather than talking. And I do just that, until her breasts are raw and wet as she clenches my head against her, unwilling to let me go. I could make her come right now and I know it. A slight angle change and she’d erupt for me. But she doesn’t appear to want that now, seeming to savor the slide of my body inside of her. Make love to me, she had said. And so I do as the minutes tick away and one hour passes into the next, I let her stay beneath me, sheltered from reality, while my body pumps inside of her. Until she can wait no longer. I feel her squeeze hard around my cock, tighter than before, and her fingers dig into my back. She wants completion now. And I’m more than ready to give it to her. My pace quickens and my heart slams behind my chest, with the triumph of a climax within my reach. But, ladies first, I always say, so I ride the wave of my desperation until just before I want to explode. Then I ram against her depths, holding my groin tight against her clit for just long enough that she screams. And there’s no missing that moment when she’s reached her apex with her pussy quaking and grasping and pumping my cock. I drive into her once more, needing the same satisfaction myself, and feel all the energy—all the life—seep out of me as I gasp on top of her. Watching her sink into the sheets, I pull myself from her. I hate doing it. I love being fused with her more than I care to admit.

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Time passes as we catch our breath, until she murmurs, “I could do that all night.” I chuckle, glancing down at my spent cock as it dangles from me like Florida. “Maybe you can. But I’ll need a few minutes to recover.” “Just a few minutes?” She traces a line down my abs to my dick, which twitches at her gentle touch. “Maybe less. And I’ve still got another half hour or so before I apply that second coat of sealer.” “A half hour,” she repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah. Any ideas how we can fill the time?” I ask, watching her lips as she presses them together. I can’t resist thinking how nice they’d feel around my cock right now. And that tongue I taste every time we kiss would certainly make me spring back to life. In fact, just thinking about it has already got me half-chubbed. “Actually, I kind of do,” she murmurs. I smile, picturing what images might be conjuring in her brain. She bites her bottom lip. “Do you know anything about plumbing?” The fantasy of her mouth sucking me into life again disappears, replaced by visions of clogged pipes and plungers. Please God, let her be kidding. “A little,” I answer warily. Very warily. “I have a leak under my kitchen sink that needs fixing. I ordinarily wouldn’t bother you—” Like she ordinarily wouldn’t pick up a man in a home improvement store, I’ll wager. “—but I’d really owe you big-time if you’d take a look.” Owe me? The idea of her lips on my cock returns to my dirty mind. “Big time, huh?” “Yep.” I lift myself upward. “Let me see what I can do.”

11:30 p.m. ~ EMMA ~

Don’t judge me. My eyes flit over to my grandparents’ photo that hangs in the hallway as I sit on the floor, watching Jackson standing on the footstool he found in my garage. I’d swear Gammy’s and Poppy’s smile has been replaced with a slight frown of disappointment right now. And I’m tempted to take their photo down, especially since I’m having impure thoughts about the man in their view. Very impure. Jackson stands in front of them, his thick arms stretched out above him as he installs the new light fixture I picked up from the store two months ago. The same light fixture that’s been collecting dust in my front closet while the old one boasts an unsightly crack and a permanent yellow haze on its glass, as well as fifty dead moths that have collected there over the life of this house.

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And I wouldn’t blame anyone for judging me poorly right now, putting this specimen of male perfection to work again after he so skillfully fixed the leak under my sink. But the truth is, he just looks so damn sexy when he fixes stuff that I couldn’t resist asking him to check-off another thing from my mile-long to-do list. “Enjoying the view down there?” He darts his captivating blue eyes my way, and I know the smile on my face is a dead-giveaway. “Immensely.” My eyes track downward along his form to the small footstool that he stands on. With his height, he doesn’t even need it to reach my light, but the extra boost gives him a better view of the wiring. “Just let me know if you need help,” I remind him, trying to sound useful, even though I’m sure he’s aware that I’m incompetent with tools. It’s not some sexist thing either—where my parents never showed me how to fix stuff because I’m a girl. I just grew up in a townhouse that had a property manager who would magically appear whenever something broke. A stark contrast to where I’m living now. I never wanted to buy this house, nor its vast assortment of problems. I would have much preferred a condo. I have enough balls I juggle in my life. It doesn’t seem right for me to let my mind wander to the reason I find myself twenty-two-years old and saddled with a mortgage for a fixer-upper. So I won’t let my mind go there... to him... not when I’ve got this wellspring of home improvement skills standing in front of me. “There’s nothing I need help with,” Jackson mutters. I think I detect a little frustration in his tone, and I don’t blame him. He offered to seal my grout, not fix my entire house. Maybe it’s time I throw him a bone. I giggle under the effects of my third glass of wine tonight. A bone. Impure thoughts, indeed, as my eyes track to his crotch. There’s a bulge there that tells me his mind isn’t just on wiring and lights.

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Setting down my wine, I stagger slightly as I stand. “You’re sure you don’t need help?” I ask. “Yep.” “Positive?” I cup his heat in my hand through his shorts. He definitely got a second helping of cock in his genes. His muscles tense. “If you do that, I might drop this light fixture on your head.” “Oh, I never told you to stop working on the fixture,” I respond coyly as I unzip his shorts. “I’m just a big believer in multi-tasking.” I tug him gently from his briefs and trace his impressive manhood. My finger touches the tiny drop of pre-cum at the tip and I slide it around the crown. He groans above me, and I sense he’s frozen stiff. Very stiff. “Back to work up there,” I tease, glancing upward until I see his screwdriver turning again. “You finish your job, and I’ll finish mine.” I’m not normally like this, I ponder as I bend slightly to let the tip of my tongue caress him, tasting his saltiness. The taste makes me want more, so I draw a shimmering line of my saliva all the way up to where his cock meets the base of him, just beneath those magnificent abs. I hear him working fiercely above me, ever-focused, as though he’s suddenly in a desperate rush to finish the job so that he can have his hands free. I hope so, anyway. Stooping a couple inches lower, I move my mouth up the bottom of his cock till I hear a groan above me. The sound of it only encourages me, and I wrap my lips around him and take him in. He’s too big for me to fit in my mouth easily, but I do my best, moving him back and forth till I feel the tip of him at the top of my throat. My core simmers, panties moistening again, wanting him not just in my mouth. And it’s as though he reads my mind as I hear him toss the screwdriver down on the floor.

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“Done,” he says, sounding frantic and triumphant at the same time. As he steps off the stool, my mouth sets him free and he reaches into his shorts pocket. “But not done with you.” He sheaths himself, and spins me toward the wall, grabbing my hips and forcing me to bend slightly. I feel his fingers slice against the sides of my legs as he jerks my panties down. I can’t even prepare myself before I feel him thrust into me, hard, punishing—just the way I wanted him this time. “Is this what you want, baby?” he asks, the soft lovemaking from a couple hours ago a distant memory. “Teasing me like you’ve been. Staring at my cock while I fixed your plumbing. Sucking me off while I fix your light fixture. You want me again?” “Yes,” I hiss, his entry possessing me. Hands scraping from my waist to my breasts, he pinches my nipples between his fingers. A fiery kiss sears the base of my neck and I bury my face in my bent arms against the wall, wanting him deeper. His rough hands bend me further, molding me into the form he needs, and when the angle is just right, he slams into me, letting my wet folds yield to his complete invasion. My breath catches—and catches again—with the angle of his cock inside me somehow startling to my body while I lean against the wall. He pounds into me striking my innermost depths, making my moisture drip down my legs as my knees quake. “Can’t take much more.” My voice crackles as his hands reach around, tunneling into my dark curls, seeking out the nub that aches for his touch. “I’m betting you can.” “Yes!” The word leaps from me as my climax consumes me the moment his finger strokes my clit. Gasping for air, I’d swear I’m almost crying now—half of me wanting to beg for relief from the onslaught of sensations, and the other half needing so much more.

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“I think I remember you saying you needed a spanking,” he growls, smacking his hand against my ass. “And that’s just one for the bad girl who made me fix her leak.” It wasn’t that hard, far less powerful than the ramrod that is consuming my channel right now. But the idea of it arouses me. It’s good to be bad, I decide. At least for tonight. “What about the light fixture?” The words expel from me in a gust just as he pounds into me again. “I did that just so I could watch you fixing it. And I’d do it again.” “Bad girl.” I feel another slap against my flesh, this time at the same time the tip of him smacks against my g-spot, and spasms rock my body uncontrollably. This is absurd—sheer insanity—this fierce warrior behind me, inside me, his teasing words—and mine—volleying between us in between my orgasms. I feel hard become harder... and then harder still, till there is no dismissing his pulsations inside me. My own satisfaction crashes over me like a wave, wrapping me in a heat that is suffocating and exhilarating at the same time. “Don’t stop. I’m so close,” I beg as his rhythm accelerates even more. Just as I feel him explode, my soul escapes my body. I quake violently from the climax that electrifies me, crying out a string of profanities with flourish as desire crushes me, sapping my energy completely. As the last aftershock trembles through my body, I feel his strong arms wrap around me protectively, the only thing keeping me from falling to the ground. “Come here, my bad girl,” he whispers after sliding out of me. He bends and lifts me off the ground carrying me into my bedroom with a lot more gentleness than my bad girl self deserves.

Zero two hundred hours - JACKSON -

I shut my eyes from the reflection of us in the mirror as we are stretched out on her bed in each other’s arms, and simply feel her. Her skin is warm against mine, except for her hands which always seem to be running about ten degrees cooler than her breasts and her belly. And then there’s the core of her that is scorching hot. But I’m not touching her there. For once. For now. Right now, I’m just enjoying being with her, listening to her breathing slow as she teeters on the brink of sleep. Then, watching her body jump with a start as she is pulled back into consciousness. Like right now, as her eyes snap open and her smile greets me. It’s two hours past midnight. Too early for dawn. But that’s what it seems like to me when her lips curve with joy—as though the rays of morning have just struck offering me a sweetness that is foreign to my war-weary eyes. “I’m going to take you out West,” I murmur, and then press a light kiss to one spot on her shoulder that I don’t think I’ve yet tasted tonight. 54

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She grins slyly. “You mean now? Tonight?” I chuckle, remembering the rules of engagement. “Oh, that’s right. This is a one-night-stand.” I glance at the clock on her nightstand. “Maybe there’s a flight we can take before the sun rises...” “... when my plane turns into a pumpkin,” she finishes for me. I lift my arms and put my hands behind my head, smiling at how the sheets have somehow twisted around her body. “Seriously, where would you go?” I ask. She rolls onto her side, gazing into my eyes. “Never thought that much about it to really choose a place.” “Why the hell not?” “Life happens, Jackson. Responsibilities.” I grimace at the futility in her tone. “You’re—how old did you say?—twenty-two, right?” I ask, choosing my words carefully. “Right.” “These are the years you should be dreaming about all the places you want to go. What the hell happened to you to make you forget about dreaming?” Her eyes narrow slightly. “I got pregnant in college. That changed my priorities, I guess you could say.” At her words, my mind quickly formulates the image of my daughter at my mom’s house right now, sound asleep. I’ve gotten three texts from Mom tonight (one less than her average), keeping me updated on my child’s every sneeze, every outburst of temper, every peal of laughter, every slight stumble, until my girl’s eyes fluttered shut in her toddler bed as she drifted to sleep at around twenty-one hundred hours, one hour later than her usual bedtime. And as much as I find the updates from Mom annoying, I also savor them—little reminders that the person who is my everything is doing just fine. Yeah, I know all about how a kid can change a person’s priorities.

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I stare at Emma for a moment, tempted to push her, ask more questions, tempted even to talk about my daughter and how she brightens my days in ways I never expected. Yet somehow I know that if I do, this fantasy we’ve shared together will dissipate. I don’t want that to happen. “Jackson Hole,” I say, rather than asking her what anyone else might at this point in our conversation—questions like, where is her child now? Or, what kind of an idiot man in her life let her think that just because she had a child with him, she had to give up dreaming, too? I’d like to rectify that. Now. “Jackson Hole?” she asks. “Yeah,” I reply. “That’s where you’re going out West. And not just because they named the town after me.” The light in her eyes returns as she giggles. “I’ve never been there,” I tell her. “But everyone says it’s incredible. A couple of my teammates went skiing there one winter. Mountains bursting up from the ground. Wildlife everywhere. And stars so bright, you’d swear you could pluck them from the sky with your fingers.” Her eyes look... dreamy. And it’s just unusual enough of a sight that it makes my breath catch. “It’s right by Yellowstone, too,” I finally add. “You could visit Old Faithful.” “And the Grand Prismatic Spring,” she says, her voice wistful. “Yeah.” “I saw that in a documentary once. Seemed otherworldly.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re going there, Emma.” Her smile rises and I swear it fills me up inside. “You’re right,” she says. “I think I will.” She nudges me playfully onto my back. “And where do you want to go?” Anywhere with you. I nearly say it, but I stop myself. “Churchill.” “Where?” “Churchill. It’s in Canada.”

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Her brow creases. “What’s in Churchill?” “Polar bears.” Face curling, her eyes widen. “Holy crap. I’d think you’d want to avoid a place with polar bears.” “Not me. I’ve always wanted to see polar bears up close.” “Sounds like a death wish.” “Well, I am a SEAL. But it’s not that dangerous. These huge vehicles take you out to see them. You’re protected.” “Have fun,” she remarks, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “They have beluga whales there.” Her ears literally perk up. “Really?” “Yeah. Those cute white whales that look a little like dolphins on steroids.” “I know the ones.” She tilts her head. “That might be neat to see.” “They even have boat tours where you can swim with them.” Incredulous, she props her head up with her fist. “The whales. Not the polar bears, I’m assuming?” “The whales. Though maybe the bears join you. But I’m hoping not.” “And this is way up north, right?” “Yep. Hudson Bay.” “Jackson, you’d freeze in that water.” “You wear a dry suit. It would be less uncomfortable than plenty of missions I’ve been on.” “You need to raise your standards.” I grin. “I might. But not before I’m through with you. So, don’t worry.” “Hey!” She laughs, clutching her fingers into a pillow and tossing it at my face. “You set yourself up for that one.” She’s giggling as I pull her close, spooning her tightly. I know I could have sex with her again right now. But I don’t want to, for some reason. I just want to lie here with this woman and imagine

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the places I’d love to show her, and the dreams that are still within her reach.

7:30 a.m. ~ EMMA ~

I’m not deluding myself. I know this isn’t like most one-night-stands. In reality, I might have gotten a quick, unsatisfying lay from a guy with the nickname “Two-Pump Charlie.” Or worse—had my image showcased on the latest Missing Persons poster. No, this isn’t reality I’m swimming in right now. I’m shoulder-deep in a fantasy that I really needed last night, more than this man lying next to me will ever know. I watch him as he sleeps, the first rays of morning streaming through my curtains. What a stranger he is to me, really, on so many levels. His eyes skitter behind his eyelids as he dreams. And I realize that I might be able to guess what he’s dreaming right now—about polar bears, a SEAL mission, or grout sealer. But I’d probably be wrong. It doesn’t matter whether you spend one night with a man or a handful of years—there will always be secrets that slowly reveal themselves. A hidden wish or fantasy, or just a food that you’ve never sampled. There will always be questions that you ache to ask someone, but never do... until one night under the influence of hormones and wine, 59

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you finally might, giving you a glimpse into another human being that you never knew existed. Life is filled with surprises that we offer each other. And maybe that’s half the joy of it, when those surprises turn out to be something good. Something that lasts. My eyes scan his body, and I remember the feel of him on me, in me, so many times last night. I remember the luminosity of his smile, the feel of the rumble of his laughter against me when we were snuggled close. And I remember how he wanted to take me out West. It was a promise I know he’d keep, if given the opportunity. Jackson is a man worth falling for. Hard. And sticking with until the end of time. My face leans toward his, soaking in the sight of him, looking for any trace of imperfection as though it might snap me back to reality. Yet every tiny scar or divot in his skin, every out-of-place hair on his head, or any excess stubble on his jaw makes him even more appealing to me. And in the morning’s light, I find myself wishing he had a few more flaws on that perfect body of his, because they’d only make him more endearing to me. I crane my neck slightly, pressing my lips against his brow and when the heat of his skin warms me, my heart sings. “I love you.” I say it in barely a whisper. A smile forms on his lips at my words and I see his eyes flutter open, so blue, like the deep, alluring oceans that probably attracted him to a life in the Navy. “I love you, too,” he replies, his words soft as he stretches with a yawn and reaches over to the nightstand. He slips on a wedding band. A frown touches my lips, the fantasy dissipating, and I pull myself upward reaching to my own nightstand for a tiny band of platinum

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speckled with diamonds resting next to a photo taken just after the birth of our daughter. His hand takes mine, tracing along my wedding ring after I’ve slid it onto my finger. “The lengths I go to just to keep you satisfied,” he proclaims with mock martyrdom, a sly grin easing up his face. I angle my head to the side. “The lengths I go to just to get you to finish a few projects around the house.” He grabs me by the middle and tickles me, and I giggle furiously until I’m beneath him again. “Think we can manage a quickie before I pick up our kiddo from my mom’s?” he asks. I bite my lip and glance at the clock. “Better yet, I’ll go with you. I happen to know a parking lot that is deserted on Sunday mornings.” My smile widens. “You know... bad girl that I am.”

From the Author Thank you so much for reading SEAL My Grout: A Novelette. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed writing this lighthearted, steamy romp, if for no other reason than to prove that yes, even after marriage, that fire can still burn scorching hot! (But it sure helps if you have a babysitter.) If you enjoyed this novelette, please do me the HUGE favor of leaving a review. I cannot begin to express how much positive reviews mean to independent authors like me. I dedicate this short read to my handyman... who also happens to be my husband, my hero, my comic relief, and one of my military technical advisors who, one day during our nightmarish bathroom renovation, struck a sexy pose with a grout trowel and said, “SEAL My Grout. There’s your next book.” (And no, the guy on the cover is not my husband. But that is my grout trowel.) Happy anniversary, honey. My thanks also to my Navy O-6 advisor who has been such a help to me through all my books. What I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall when you first looked at this one! And to Danielle... well, I know you’re just in it to get a sneak peek at my covers. How blessed I am to have friends like you both.

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I love to hear from readers. You can contact me through my website1 at www.KateAster.com2 and also sign up to find out when my next book will be available. In the meantime, I hope you’ll check out some of my other books below. Thanks again for reading, and for supporting an independent author! *** Books By Kate Aster ~ Special Ops: Homefront Series ~ SEAL the Deal3 Special Ops: Homefront (Book One) The SEAL’s Best Man4 Special Ops: Homefront (Book Two) Contract with a SEAL5 Special Ops: Homefront (Book Three) Make Mine a Ranger6 Special Ops: Homefront (Book Four) ~ Homefront: The Sheridans Series ~ More, Please7 Homefront: The Sheridans (Book One) Full Disclosure8 Homefront: The Sheridans (Book Two) 1.

https://kateaster.com/contact-kate/

2.

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3. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00B2EGMWI/ref=series_rw_dp_sw 4. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00L499TUS/ref=series_rw_dp_sw 5. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00OO6IE40/ref=series_rw_dp_sw 6. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00OO7Y1EG/ref=series_rw_dp_sw 7. http://www.amazon.com/More-Please-Homefront-Sheridans-Book-ebook/dp/ B00V50VSUU/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

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Faking It9 Homefront: The Sheridans (Book Three) ~ Special Ops: Tribute Series ~ No Reservations10 Special Ops: Tribute (Book One) Strong Enough11 Special Ops: Tribute (Book Two) Until Forever: A Wedding Novella12 Special Ops: Tribute (Book Three) Twice Tempted13 Special Ops: Tribute (Book Four) ~ Stand-Alone Novel ~ BFF’ed14 ~ Stand-Alone Novelette ~ SEAL My Grout15 More books are coming soon. 8. http://www.amazon.com/Full-Disclosure-Homefront-Sheridans-Book-ebook/dp/ B016YWZMH8/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 9. http://www.amazon.com/Faking-Homefront-Sheridans-Book-3-ebook/dp/B017ZZZ2LY/ ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 10. https://www.amazon.com/No-Reservations-Special-Ops-Tribute-ebook/dp/B01FMTA1WU?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc 11. https://www.amazon.com/Strong-Enough-Special-Ops-Tribute-ebook/dp/B01LFX8MIM/ ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8#nav-subnav 12. https://www.amazon.com/Until-Forever-Wedding-Novella-Special-ebook/dp/B01LWRDI4V/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1475453588&sr=1-1 13. https://www.amazon.com/Twice-Tempted-Special-Ops-Tribute-ebook/dp/B071G8X42D/ ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 14. https://www.amazon.com/BFFed-Kate-Aster-ebook/dp/B071X15C6H/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 15. https://www.amazon.com/SEAL-Grout-Novelette-Kate-Aster-ebook/dp/B01NBEGNGP/ ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

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