Page 40 of Married to the SEAL
“I said no, Grace.” The deep tenor of his voice seemed to shake the air in the room. She jerked her head back.
“Why not?”
He seemed to be holding himself rigid and taut. She wasn’t crazy. She knew she wasn’t. The sexual chemistry between them was searing, and he must be refusing her kisses for a different reason altogether.
“Don’t you want me to kiss you?” she asked. She felt like she was falling, hoping his answer would save her like a bungee cord pulling her back to safety.
“Hell yes.” His voice was rough and gravelly. “But if we kiss, I’ll need to touch your sweet, smooth skin. I’ll need to touch your body—to feel it with my hands.”
Her breath came quickly and her heart beat faster.
“And if I touch you,” he said, “I’ll need to make love to your sweet goddamn body. I won’t keep myself from doing that again. It nearly killed me the last time, not to be inside you when you came.”
A hot flush bloomed over her chest and up her neck to her cheeks. She could imagine him making love to her, imagine how good it would feel.
“And if we make love there won’t be any annulment,” he said. “I’ll take a bullet for you any day of the week, but damn it, Grace, you’re in love with another man.”
“But—”
He stood. “I won’t stay married to a woman who’s in love with another man. And you shouldn’t ask me to.” He walked into the bathroom, closing the door between them.
25
Matteo letthe steaming spray cascade over his head and shoulders. He was wired, full of adrenaline and angst, his thoughts shuttling between his desperate need to fuck his wife and their brush with death at the restaurant.
If they were being deliberately targeted, then whomever was after them likely knew where they were staying, too.
Yet the hotel room had been untouched, the telltale hair he’d put on the top of the door hinge still in place. No one had been here while they were gone.
He could relax, be less vigilant, at least for now. Tomorrow they would be back in the car, little more than a moving target for anyone who wanted to hurt them.
This sham of a marriage was going to be the death of him. His restraint could only take so much before it would tear like a tendon that was pulled too far. His cock was standing tall and rigid in the spray of water.
It was his fault for encouraging her, for taking her to dinner and giving her champagne. Hell, he’d been encouraging himself, too. He knew all too well that he wanted her and only the slightest temptation would find him caught between desire and his own morality.
He picked up the soap and unwrapped it, tossing the paper over the curtain to the floor before scrubbing his body with punishing strokes.
He wanted her in here with him, her hot, wet mouth open beneath his as he pushed her against the tile wall.
Put a thousand men in this position and nine hundred and seventy-five of them would be a hell of a lot happier than he was right now.
So kiss her.
You don’t have to have sex.
Just kiss her.
His cock was throbbing and he squeezed himself tightly. He wouldn’t be able to stop if she was willing, wouldn’t be able to control this desperate need to be inside her if she was begging him for just that.
He pulled on his cock, imagining her beneath him, his excitement needing no more encouragement than that visual provided. He pumped once into his fisted hand, desperate for the release that could free his mind from this damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t situation. But he didn’t want to jerk off in the shower.
He wanted to make love to Grace.
A good, hard fucking that could erase this need for her body forever.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen.
One taste of that woman and he’d only want more.
