Page 54 of The Playboy SEAL
My body has become his. I can tell by the way he touches me. No one else has ever touched me with such reverence, with such appreciation.
“You’ve realized by now that photos mean different things,” I say, watching the muscles ripple in his arms. “That one you just took of me was the moment I knew I was falling for you.” I swallow. The words tasted dangerous, villainous—traitorous. I don’t back down from them. I face him head-on, bare of any pretenses.
His hands still on my chest, and I chance a glance up. His eyes are on my mouth. “Say that again. But look at me,” he whispers.
“I’m falling for you. Not because you’re an amazing fuck, either.” Adding humor to soften the emotional blow is a tactic I’m going to always use with Macs. He responds to that.
His face is stoic, completely unreadable. He doesn’t respond or reply to my sentiment. He leans down and kisses me so passionately, there’s no question he feels the same way. He holds me tenderly, like I’m a fragile doll expected to break any second if he doesn’t show mehow he feels using his lips and his tongue. I see stars and fireworks, and my stomach turns as my hands wander up his chest.
It’s not falling. In this moment I know it’s not. It’s love. And everyone is right. It feels like nothing else. Goose bumps prickle my skin, and I’m aware of him and nothing else. The world vanishes around us and whatever our chemistry has transformed into. He picks me up and backs me into the wall. I lock my hands around his neck and meet his kiss head-on, telling him I know what he’s trying to explain without words. I’m hot and chilled to the bone. I’m terrified. He has all the power, and I’m helpless to surrender. I clutch his hair in my hands now to intensify the kiss and to try for some control.
It’s a tugging match of power. He wants it. I want it. The common denominator is we both want it for the same reason. We know what power means. What it can destroy.
Everything.
Somewhere during our kiss, he lost his towel, and he’s fumbling in the bathroom drawer and comes away with a condom. He tears the package open with his mouth and has it rolled down his erection in mere seconds. I realize that’s a skill well practiced. My back is against the bathroom wall again as he fills me. He fucks me so hard he leaves his hands on either side of my shoulders flat against the wall and pins me and my weight with only his hips and dick.
It’s a quick, blissful pace, but he’s kissing me with the same passion as before. He chants my name like a prayer in between stealing my breath.
This time it’s quick, and my orgasm takes me fast and hard. I slump over his shoulder when he comes, his cock buried as deep inside me as it will go. Minutes pass, and we stay connected that way. Him holding me while I’m tangled around him. We end up back in his bed, under the covers.
I’m rolled onto my side, looking at him as he gazes back at me. He looks like he’s trying to figure me out. The feeling is mutual because from this angle, lying in bed with him, I want to know what it is about him, too. I trace the planes of his face with my fingers. He doesn’t take his hand off my hip and the side of my stomach.
“I’m glad you told me,” he says. His voice is creaky. Neither of us has spoken for what seems like forever.
My nail brushes over his bottom lip. It’s so full. “I didn’t know how you would respond. If I knew it would be with orgasms, I would have told you sooner.”
He offers a soft smile. “Consider me felled, Teala.”
I flick my gaze up to meet his. “Yeah?”
“I don’t say things without knowing for certain I meant them. Especially ones as significant as those. Let’s not label our feelings, though. Don’t call it something. Then it won’t be the same.”
Love. He won’t say it. And I’m so in shock right now, there’s no way I want to hear it anyway. This is what he’s saying without using the word. Isn’t that exactly what Carina told me? This indescribable feeling that’s different for everyone?
“I feel the same way,” I admit.
I’ve regained my composure enough to scoot toward him for a small kiss. Macs crushes me to his chest andkisses every place on my face he can fit his lips.
“You just became everything.”
“I can’tbecomesomething, Macs,” I say into the crook of his neck. “Especiallyeverything.”
He sighs. “Tell that to my heart.”
My own heart leaps out of my chest. There’s no harried panic in his admission, just truth, and it puts me at ease, and I think this is the happiest I’ve ever felt. I relax against a man, in his bed, for the first time in my life. He falls asleep before I do, and he does call it something, because Macs sleep talks. He tells me he loves me four times before I fall asleep, wondering how many more times he can take my breath away with three simple words.
“I do a lot of things well, but cooking isn’t one of them,” Macs exclaims, standing in front of his new range with his hands on his hips.
It’s early. So early the sun hasn’t risen, and the coolness of night still warps the air. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts that hits mid-thigh and no panties. We made love this morning. And I finally realized there was definitely a distinction between the two. Fucking is hard and selfish. It’s about orgasms and carnal desires—about slick openings and hard, throbbing cocks that taste like salted caramel. Making love is a completely different animal. It’s slow and thoughtful. Perhaps it’s best described as giving what you think you don’t own and taking whatyou don’t think you deserve.
I ask him if he has plain oatmeal, and he looks pleased he does and sets off on his task to not fuck up oats for our breakfast. He tells me, sort of surprised, that oatmeal is his breakfast of choice too.
“I’m going to look around,” I tell his wide, muscular back.
He grunts his approval, and I take my mug of steaming coffee and wander down the hallway on the opposite side of the house. The guest bedrooms are over this way.
“Careful in the back room. I’m building a bookshelf, and there’s some equipment in there,” he calls out.
