Page 100 of Secret Mission

And need.

Something deeper than sexual fulfillment.

She unzips the jacket, the hospital gown beneath has slipped off one shoulder, revealing a tempting expanse of skin.

Her hair is wild, her lips slightly parted.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.

"I’ll be just outside."

Fuck all. Walking away from her is the hardest thing I’ve done.

I return a moment later to set the clean clothes on the counter, my fingers brushing across the broken-in cotton of the T-shirt.

It's stupid, but I feel a rush of satisfaction at the thought of Allison wearing my clothes again.

My flannel shirts on a winter night. My dress shirt at the breakfast table. My T-shirt on lazy Sunday mornings.

"Thanks," she calls from beneath the water, behind the shower curtain. A shadowy, curvy version of herself. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," I choke out.

I run from the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I stare at the floor.

Oh, fuck. I’m in so deep.

Swim, Truck, swim. You’re a damned SEAL. That pretty-eyed little woman might scare the life out of you, but she also breathes it into you with every look. Every touch.

You walk away now, you’re signing your own life-sentence.

The sound of the shower continues, a steady rhythm both soothing and agonizing.

My heart rate speeds and speeds until the organ is galloping. Images of Allison under the spray are too damned vivid to ignore.

She does not need me manhandling her right now.

Shower. Food. Sleep.

Restless, I pace the cabin, alternating between clenching my hair, putting my cap back on, and scrubbing my face. All while counting the seconds until she emerges.

Before I can stop myself, I tug my shirt off, tossing it onto the floor.

With tingling hands, I find a change of clothes for myself.

She’s not going to be subjected to one more moment of my river-water, mud-caked, stress-sweat body.

Bandages be damned. I’m taking a shower.

Just as the sound of water shutting off reaches me, I kick my boots off, suddenly impatient to be in and out of the shower too.

Hell, I’m just impatient, period.

I snatch up the phone that Beast gave me, typing a quick text.Tamales?

His reply is instant. A middle finger emoji.

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