Page 11 of Wrong Number Right Grumpy Navy SEAL

Dahlia does an impression of the ride operator, some kid trying to look tough while running a machine that was built before he was born. It’s so dead-on that I laugh harder than I have in months. Possibly years.

She stares at me with her beer halfway to her mouth. Her lips are parted and her eyes are wide and she’s watching my mouth with an intensity that makes me catch my breath.

“I haven’t heard you do that before,” she says softly, her hand still on my arm.

She’s so close that I can feel the heat coming off her skin. If I turn my hand over, her fingers will be in mine, and then I’ll pull her in and my mouth will find hers. And she needs to know this isn’t just tonight. It’s Dahlia. All of it is Dahlia. Every minute since I picked her up at that damn bougie restaurant.

“You’re the only one who makes me laugh like that.”

One second she’s staring at me, and the next her mouth is on mine, hot and open, and my whole body ignites. She tastes like beer and sugar. I grab her waist and pull her close. She moans against my lips, a soft, needy sound that goes straight to my cock. I’m so hard so fast my vision whites out.

Her fingers twist in my hair and pull. I groan into her mouth and lift her onto the counter. Her legs wrap around my waist, and the heat of her through my jeans makes my cock strain for her hot pussy. I grind against her, and she gasps and rocks into me. I’d better slow down, or I’m going to come before I’ve even gotten started.

Dahlia pulls back an inch, leaning her forehead against mine. She makes a sound, half-laugh, half-moan, and tugs me back in. This time, it’s all tongue, and my hands shake on her hips.

I pick her up. Her legs lock around me, and her arms circle my neck, her mouth never leaving mine. I carry her to the couch and go down with her straddling my lap. Her hands find my shirt buttons. She gets three undone, gives up, grabs the fabric, and pulls. A button pings off the coffee table.

She laughs against my mouth. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Burn them all.”

I exhale hard as she shoves the shirt off my shoulders and flattens her palms against my bare chest. Her hands are so hot. Everywhere she touches me, my skin comes alive, my nerve endings firing in a wave that rolls straight to my cock.

Her hands slide up my stomach, and my muscles clench under her fingers. I inhale sharply as her thumbs drag along the ridges, and every place her skin crosses mine flares white-hot.

She finds the scar on my collarbone and pauses there with her fingertips on the raised edge. “What happened here?”

“Shrapnel.” My voice sounds like somebody else’s. “Long time ago.”

Dahlia looks at me for a beat, then dips her head and presses her open mouth to it. Tender. My throat locks, and my hips buck up hard. She gasps and grinds down against me. I grip her hips and pull her tighter into my lap, and the friction through two layers of denim makes me groan.

I pull her shirt up, and she lifts her arms, leaning back so I can remove it to reveal her white bra. The kitchen light catches the flush spreading down her neck to the tops of her breasts, and my hands freeze in the air between us. I run my thumbs slowly along the lace edge, following the curves. Goosebumps race up her stomach, and her breath quickens. I unclasp it one-handed and ease it off.

“Jesus, Dahlia.”

The freckle below her left collarbone. That tiny brown fleck on all that bare golden skin, and my hands won’t stop shaking. I’ve rappelled out of helicopters under fire with steadier hands. Right now, I’m trembling.

“You’re staring.”

“Can’t stop.”

“Don’t.”

My thumb brushes across the freckle. Her skin is so hot under my fingertip that my cock aches. I cup her breast, and she’s so soft that I’m scared I’ll break her. My thumb teases her nipple, and she arches hard into my hand, her lips falling open on a moan I feel in my cock. Her nipple stiffens under my thumb, and I do it again, slower.

“Right there.” Her voice is barely there. “Cole.”

My vision blurs at the sound of my name in her mouth while my hands are on her. Her head tips back, and her hips roll against my lap.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth.”

I pull her in and put my mouth where my hand was. Her skin is hot and salt-sweet under my tongue, and her body arches into me, pressing against my chest. She cries out, running her fingers through my hair, clamping her thighs around my hips and rocking in my lap. I’m so hard it hurts. She moans my name again, and the sound hits me low in the gut before spreading through my whole body.

I want Dahlia in my bed. Not just tonight. Every night. Her face on my pillow, her laugh in my kitchen, that freckle under my mouth whenever I want it. The intensity of how deeply and how fast I’ve fallen in love with her should scare me, but it doesn’t. It just makes me hold her tighter.

She pulls back to look at me, breathing hard, lips swollen. Her eyes drop to my mouth and come back up. Her chin lifts, her eyes steady on mine.