Page 37 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

Which made her smile. His voice was so familiar. And so very, very dear. She’d forgotten that. It also made her remember something else. Something she might be able to do.

“Do you remember what we used to do before we had the courage to actually make love?” she asked.

“Yeah, I remember,” he finally said. Then he laughed. “We were so afraid of getting you pregnant.”

They had been. And though she hadn’t thought about it in years, it all came back to her: the empty pool house, their near silent whispers, their nervous laughter.

“I’ll never forget it.”

“Me neither,” she found herself saying as she slowly regained some semblance of calm. She took a deep breath and said softly, “Do you think we could . . . do that again?” She looked up at him and saw the stunned surprise in his eyes, as well as a question: “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Trent,” she told him. She licked her lips. “I need to do this. Please?”

He didn’t smile, didn’t nod—didn’t do anything other than stand, release her hand so he could sit in the chair across the room.

With another deep breath she turned toward a drawer and the vibrator she’d stashed there. She’d brought it along in hopes of using it with him. And okay, when she reached in to grab the thing, there was another moment’s hesitation. It looked like a penis, one fully engorged, and the thought of dragging the thing out and letting Trent see it . . .

You just saw the real thing a few minutes ago. Get over it, Bree. Now. Time to throw your inhibitions out the door.

So she grabbed the thing, desperation making her flip her skirt up. She peeked at Trent. He hadn’t moved, but just the sight of him sitting there . . .

She closed her eyes, fear, trepidation, a healthy dose of embarrassment and yes even excitement causing her skin to heat as she slid her underwear down. She wore a thong, one with tiny straps that caressed her hip bones. And as she removed the tiny piece of silk, she caught the smell of herself, the salty-sweet scent warmer than the air around her.

Was she aroused?

Her eyes sprang open when she realized a part of her was. She wanted release. She craved release. Sex had been good before . . . before John.

You’re safe now. Nothing to worry about. It’s Trent. He’s never hurt you.

So she slid her underwear off her ankles and out of lay back. She still wore her heels, she realized, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the damn vibrator and turned it on. She could do this, she told herself, turning on her back and spreading her legs. She could.

And, God help her, the moment she touched herself her body reacted out of reflex. She might not want Trent in the room with her, but she sure wanted sexual satisfaction. It felt sooo good when she pressed that vibrator against herself.

So good.

Trent faded away as she ran the dildo up and down her valley. Her body’s instinctive reaction was to heat and moisten. She even dipped the thing inside her a bit, enjoying the feel of it stimulating her hole.

With each passing second she grew more and more aroused. Something about Trent watching her, something about the way he sat there—objective—and yet not. It did something to Bree.

She leaned her head back, working herself more. She was slick now. And hot. She loved the way her juices felt against her own hand. So she stroked herself, sweet release beginning to build, which was why she spread her legs farther.

Trent didn’t move.

Her rib cage began to expand and contract as her breathing became irregular. God, she wanted to come. She wanted to cream all over her fingers, she found herself thinking, and to do it in front of Trent because he deserved to sit there and watch. He couldn’t have her. No man could have her. They didn’t deserve her.

She moaned, moving on the bed so that her open valley faced him. She thought she heard him moan, too, opened her eyes.

He was hard.

“Take it out.”

He did exactly as she asked and began to stroke himself. He threw his head against the back of the chair, watching her through eyelids that were slits as he ran his hand up and down his cock.

He liked her fucking herself, did he? Well good. He probably wanted some of her come juices, too. Probably wanted to taste her. She stuck a finger in her mouth, sucking her own juices off.

He groaned again.

Her vagina pulsed in pleasure. Just knowing what she did to him, knowing that with every caress, every touch, she drove him nuts—it made her pleasure grow and multiply. She went back for more, loving the wet feel of herself, oh God, she was going to come. She wanted to let it go, wanted to throw her head back and scream her release. But it was too good, watching him stoke himself, hearing his moans as he moved his hand up and down—just like old times—it was all too good.

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