No Surrender. Sara Arden

chosen to move his hand up her torso and beneath the damp cup of her bra.

      Kentucky opened her eyes to watch him as he touched her, memorizing their joined topography, the way his tanned, callused hand looked on her breast, the shape of his thumb while he drew lazy circles around her taut pink nipple.

      “Are you on any birth control? If not, I have a condom in my wallet,” he said.

      She shook her head. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

      “Me neither. Not since my last deployment and I was tested when I enlisted and tested again when I was brought back Stateside. Clean bill of health. You?”

      “It’s been a year, but I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested either.”

      She liked that he asked. She liked that he was mindful. Safety was incredibly sexy.

      “A year? That’s a long time without touch.”

      “But not long enough if it’s not with the right someone.”

      “And this, right now, is it right enough?” His eyes searched hers. He wasn’t being glib; he was asking her again, giving her the chance to say no. Making sure she was going into this with both eyes open. It was such a far cry from what she’d imagined when she first began to consider that being alone with him now could lead to this.

      Neither of them would be able to say this was some heated descent into madness. That it was some kind of accident where they’d been swept away by a tide of desire.

      A tide of emotion maybe, but not mindless. They weren’t unthinking animals, but cognizant, aware complex creatures.

      “Yes, Sean.”

      He’d been waiting on tenterhooks, it seemed, when the expression changed on his face. He’d thought she might say no.

      As if that would happen in a million years.

      Still holding her gaze, he hooked his thumbs into the waist of her panties and tugged them down slowly. She bit her lip and lifted her hips to help him. His fingers sparked tiny jolts of electricity where they grazed her skin.

      His lips were so close to her inner thigh, his breath ghosting against her flesh as he continued to divest her of her panties.

      She tried to keep still, keep from shuddering and quaking at every new sensation. Kentucky didn’t want him to know just how bad she wanted this—him.

      “Don’t hide from me now. Let me see it. All of it. Show me what I do to you.”

      He worked his way back up her body, lips branding her as he went. First the inside of her ankle. That had never been something that struck her as particularly sexy, but the heat of his mouth on that neglected and oft-forgotten place sent shivers all through her.

      Then her calf, the back of her knee—she squirmed and squealed, his breath tickling her in the most delightful way. He laughed and did it again, grasping her hips and holding her in place for the blissful torture of his mouth.

      She knew exactly where he was headed with his mouth and if it could make her squeal just behind her knee, Kentucky realized she was in deep trouble.

      Deep and hard trouble.

      She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

      He moved up her thigh, tongue drawing hot little circles in her flesh.

      But instead of her cleft, he continued up the softness of her belly, to the V between her breasts, to her throat—she was sure she was going to have a hickey, but she was too dizzy with lust to care.

      His mouth found hers again, his hands on the back of her bra, freeing her breasts. He pulled back then and stared at her—no, stared was too banal a word for what he was doing. He drank her in, devoured her. She hadn’t known someone’s regard could become a physical thing, not like this.

      She’d felt people try to stare holes in her head when they wanted to shame her into doing something or pressure her to behave differently. It felt nothing like this. The way he looked at her was intense, but it didn’t try to tear her down. It made her feel like a goddess. Like something sacred and beautiful.

      Something perfect.

      And she needed it to stop or she’d crash down the rabbit hole. As it was, this was going to be painful when it was over. She didn’t need to give that future pain any more ammunition. So she reached for his boxer briefs and pushed them down his hips.

      “You’re beautiful,” she murmured. He was. He was perfect, as though someone had designed him for her pleasure.

      “I don’t have the pretty words that you deserve,” he said slowly. “But you can see what you do to me.” Sean drew her hand over his engorged sex.

      She began to stroke him slowly and he didn’t close his eyes or look away; he held her gaze. He did that a lot, looked into her eyes while doing things that would cause others to close theirs. It made it so much more intimate.

      That act itself was better than any pretty words he could summon.

      His flesh beneath her hand was solid, real. There was no mistaking his intent or his desire. There’d be no picking apart his words later, wondering what he really meant. Or if he was just saying flowery things to get into her pants.

      This, right now, it was honest and true.

      When the morning light burned this to dust, these memories would be solid and whole. She’d remember the feel of him in her palm, the way he looked into her eyes. Kentucky knew he was there with her in the moment, not taking refuge in the memory of another woman.

      Even if that woman was someone they both loved.

      He dipped his head and kissed her, his mouth claiming hers with renewed vigor as his hands traveled her body deliberately—bringing her pleasure was a planned military campaign.

      His mouth followed the trail his hands blazed, lips hot and seeking on her heated flesh. She couldn’t get enough of him. Kentucky wanted to touch him, explore him, but he was determined to indulge her first, as evidenced by the way he caught her wrists with one hand and held them over her head.

      “Ladies first. I’m a gentleman.” He bent between her thighs, his mouth on her mound.

      She gasped and hooked her legs around his shoulders, pushing her hand through the short spikes of his hair. The scruff of a day’s growth of his beard scraped against her thighs and the first touch of his tongue laving at her caused her to cry out again.

      Pleasure spiraled through her and her whole body tensed with anticipation as she realized he was in no hurry. He played her body well, as if he knew exactly what she needed and set out to give it to her—as if her bliss was his own.

      Kentucky was strung tight, arching her body to meet his mouth, waiting for that burst of ecstasy and consequent unraveling of self at his hands.

      He groaned as if he were savoring some particularly delicious dish and the very idea that it was her caused her channel to constrict and spasm.

      Culmination struck like lightning, overtaking her when she least expected it. She’d wanted it to last longer, wanted to hold out for more. But he was giving her more, she realized, as he rose above her.

      Her flesh was still quaking with aftershocks when he pushed his rigid length inside her, his face so close to hers, eyes open. They seemed to be joined intrinsically, more than skin, more than heat.

      She reached up and cupped his cheek and that was when he closed his eyes. “I’m drowning in you,” he murmured against her lips.

      Kentucky wanted to give him that, wanted to swallow him whole and hide him from his pain so all he could feel was pleasure.

      “You feel so damn good.” He buried his face in her neck and she clung to him as he thrust into her.

      The friction built the flame in her anew and she rolled her hips to meet his thrusts, countering