Shelby
Today’s word of the day is lick.
Lick, as in Jaxson’s promise to run his tongue over the sensitive skin behind my ear. Breaching the seam of my lips so we can do the tongue tango. Licking, sucking, nibbling my nipples, then with the tip, drawing a wet line across my abdomen and between my thighs. “Laying some loving on you,” or so he keeps murmuring to me with an irresistible devilish smirk.
Talk about verbal foreplay.
His naughty talk has my thoughts tapping out a steady drumbeat to that word. Lick. Lick. Lick. Lick. A mile or so into this morning’s maneuvering drill and I can’t seem to outmaneuver that word. Of all places and of all days, and I’m turned on like a Christmas tree.
In a short period of time, I’ve learned that Hayden isn’t a man to screw with, that Hell Camp is no joke, and that Jaxson, with his sexy, persistent, come-and-take-me-baby mouth, must be avoided at all costs. A tough task given that not only is he once again part of my team but his main objective isn’t about scoring points for our team but rather scoring points with me.
It’s messed up.
He’s blunt, to the point where if it’d been any other man, I’d have kneed him in the balls and been done with his sexually charged courtship.
But this is Jaxson I’m dealing with. And as much as I know I shouldn’t like it, as much as I should know better, I’m beginning to love his filthy, dirty promises.
Thank God Hayden’s allowed me to return home each night. Giving me time to get my panties back on straight and regroup, as well as reinforce the reason I’m actually going through with camp.
Something’s going to come out of all this aside from the promise of three weeks’ worth of fantastic wages, a beat-up and bruised body, and a pile of Jaxson-inspired, wet-crotched undies.
Revenge.
Funny how that used to be the only drum roll of a word spurring me on. Still, it’s what keeps me coming back to Hayden’s Hell. It’s what keeps me from digging too deep into exactly what his plans are for me, aside from spying on Franco and helping take out those murderous Pricks. All this training for that? I feel like I’m entering the Marines instead of trying out for a job as a private security contractor. Still, if things don’t work out, the skills are useful. What every daughter with revenge on her mind should try and master.
Especially today’s evasive maneuvering exercise.
We’ve been split into two teams, the trackers and the dodgers, the latter pretty much being my goal this entire week. To try and not antagonize these hard-core blowhards, my frenemies. Yeah, they just don’t get how tough this toxic bitch can be. I sigh. Better than being dubbed the dumb-ass blond, I tell myself. But this exercise is meant to root out the weak from the strong. We’re flying solo today yet earning—or not earning—team points. Nothing like peer pressure to add another layer of mind fuck to Hell Camp.
This morning, I hurriedly dressed in my lucky T-shirt, a black Pink Floyd classic with the faint outline of a wall on it. The decal reads: DID YOU EAT YOUR MEAT? along with arrows pointing to either YES, YOU CAN HAVE YOUR PUDDING or NO, NO PUDDING FOR YOU. I’ve paired it with black cropped sweatpants and my old running shoes. A camouflage design would have been better given today’s maneuverings but it’s not like I have time to run out to the local hunters’ watering hole to pick something up.
But as I sprint into the wooded forest and branched out into the southern end of the Ranch, I consider the advice dished out by Hayden’s hired Marine, who spent the better part of the morning lecturing us. His survival tips can be summed up in a nutshell. Blend into your environment. Don’t be predictable. Don’t get caught. My bleeding Tuesday-morning anthem.
Once I’m deep inside the wooded area, I take his advice, stripping off my T-shirt and stashing it in the brush, carefully noting my surroundings as I do so. Can’t risk losing one of my favorites. Fortunately, my bra is a lovely moss green. And thanks to all this time spent outdoors, I’m sporting a farmer’s tan. Great, right? So there’s less white skin to lather mud over.
I pause to listen. Everything is quiet, deceptively so. I warn myself not to get too comfortable, that just because I feel like all those Tuesday morning Prick Patrols have put me on equal ground with the men, it doesn’t mean it’s necessarily true.
The thought of those Pricks has me squaring my shoulders before I resume my fast-paced trek through the woods.
I find the perfect hiding place beneath a fallen tree trunk. It’s hard to tell how much time I’ll have or how long it’ll take the men in the other groups to track down all five of us. Francis and Diego headed off in the opposite direction, though not together—I think Francis is terrified of the hot-tempered Diego. Declan was calmly stalking across the field toward the hill on the far west end of the property, one we’ve all learned to hate during several Iron Man challenges. And the last time I took in an eyeful of Jaxson, he had his hands on his hips—just above that bit of exposed hipbone that has me constantly smacking my lips in delight—and was watching us all skedaddle off like kids at a jelly bean hunt. Acting like this is some big joke.
Go figure: when the Marine drill sergeant said, “Be unpredictable,” he’d been staring straight at Mr. Unpredictable himself.
I move past my hiding spot to a patch of dry dirt and dig in, wetting the soil enough to get a good mud mask going. Lathering it on, I take special care with my stomach and face, which will be the most exposed part of me. I don’t worry about muddying my hair. I pulled it back into a tight bun so a simple dousing of water does the trick. I freeze and listen. Dead silence. Hard to know if this is a good thing or not.
Still, I spend precious seconds to gather bark, leaves, and mud along with a piece of thread I’d brought, and hastily fasten together a fan that I use to settle the dirt across the path I’ve taken as I backtrack to the fallen tree. Gathering leaves, twigs, and whatever else I can quickly fold into my one arm, I lay down on my side then wiggle my way beneath the trunk. When I’m fully beneath the tree, I settle the mulch around my body, camouflaging myself with the leaves I’ve gathered. Then, stretching my arms forward, I use the fan to smooth out any footprints or sign that another person is present.
When all is settled, I inch my body backward. The decomposing tree’s a large one—the perfect hiding spot. When it’d fallen, it landed on a small crop of rocks, elevating it enough for me to squeeze beneath it. Unlike the favorite tree I’d preferred to hide beneath outside those Pricks’ compound, where my body barely fit. No, today’s hiding spot is roomy enough for two. Two peeps in the deep. Two birds of a feather. Two bugs in a rug . . .
I barely finish the thought when I hear a branch snap and then suddenly, I’m not alone anymore.
Before I can process, draw in a breath, blink, a body stops, drops, and rolls until his chest is flush against mine. Pushing against me, shoving me with his big body deeper into my hiding place.
Now our hiding place.
My girls instantly perk up with hello.
Hell, no. “Get out of my spot,” I hiss at him in a low tone.
His breath smells like cinnamon, sweet and savory and mixed with sugary syrup, like Sunday-morning pancakes hot of the griddle. He’s close, his face mere centimeters away. Close enough that I can see the amused crinkles within the fine smile lines around his eyes.
He doesn’t budge.
“Go. Do you want them to find us?”
His hand touches my face, his fingers caressing my cheek. Drawing a line, followed by another that swirls at the end. “They won’t,” he replied as he finishes and withdraws his hand.
I frown in confusion until he shows me the muddied tip of his finger. Damn, I’ve forgotten the mud mask on my face.
He shifts against me, rolling his pelvis into me. I brace myself for the onslaught of dirty, naughty words that are sure to accompany the swell of his man-toy up against my happy place.
“Gum?”
“What?”
“Do you want a piece of gum? We’ve got roughly eight minutes until company arrives.” He doesn’t wait for my response. Waving a stick of gum in my face, he unwraps it, one-handed. With dexterity, and fingers far too capable for my liking, which leave my imagination running rampant with thoughts of what else his fingers can do.
He runs the gum across my lower lip. “The next time I feed you, it’s going to be more flavorful than this,” he tells me.
I bite down hard, snapping off the tip and quickly chewing it, with warning.
He chuckles. “Tsk. Tsk. I like things a bit rough.” He presses the stick against my lips and feeds me the rest.
“How did you find me?” I demand, needing to get my wayward emotions under control and refocus on the real objective here. Dodging the enemy. I’ve been careful about covering my tracks . . .
“You have a fondness for hiding beneath trees.”
“How would you know that?”
He sighs. “You haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?” I struggle to keep my temper in check. I detest surprises, and my life has recently been one long hailstorm of them.
“Tuesday mornings. You never missed a single one. Not in three months.”
“You were there?” I gasp. Crap. I’d been so careful. “You were spying on me?”
“Them. The encampment. Hayden assigned me to scope things out and report back to him about their goings-on. I’ve never seen him more surprised when I informed him we had company. Lovely, voluptuous company. That’s why we grabbed you.”
“Because I’m a big-busted, voluptuous bitch?”
“You’re a surprise, I’ll give you that. If it makes you feel any better, I would have shot the asshole if he’d discovered you hiding beneath that tree. Hayden and his rules be damned.”
I stiffen. God, I really suck at dodging and evasion. I’d had no idea Jaxson had been spying on me spying on the compound. “How long have you worked for him?” I murmur.
“Five years. After my final tour in Afghanistan.”
“You’re a soldier?” A war veteran. Yeah, with a body built like his, I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.
“A Marine. A sniper . . . I’m good with firearms, among other things.” He drags out the last word. Things. Instantly, the air between us combusts into an intense, sexually charged energy that steals my breath away. I struggle to process what he’s told me. A sniper? Skilled and intelligent? A defender of others. I mean, really, can this man get any hotter?
“I’m going to fill you in on a little secret. There’s nothing Hayden likes better than to fuck with people’s heads. He’s good at it. A pro. Hell Camp is about being mentally strong. Use what’s up here.” He taps his temple. “And don’t be predictable about it.” He chuckles, then adds, “Though after that stunt you pulled with the water bottles . . .”
I don’t know what to say so I simply stare at him. His blue eyes are pale, the color of a pond at noon when light dances across it and the water’s so transparent you can see the rocks at the bottom. I blink, startled by how this feels, like he’s allowing me into his soul and offering me a fleeting glimpse of the beautiful, rock-solid man inside.
Then his eyes flash, and he leans in and licks my lips.
“Cinnamon,” he informs me.
I roll my eyes. “Predictably so. Didn’t you just warn me about being obvious?”
“That a challenge?” He smirks. “Know what? I’m going to do you a huge favor right now. A lesson in coping under pressure.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s not what he’s saying but how he’s saying it, in the same deep, gravellytone he’s used all morning on me.
“What? Are you going to lick me?” I blurt out. Damn, that word rolls off my tongue like it’d been waiting for the perfect chance to appear.
“You bet. But now isn’t the right time.”
I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Talk about Hell Camp mind games. I’m never going to make it through with Jaxson around.
“I’ve been thinking about things.”
“How Declan will likely bank the most points by the end of Camp?”
“You.”
“Me? Yeah, right.”
He leans in, places a chaste kiss on my lips, then murmurs, “You’re the best part about this place.” The tips of his fingers brush over my bare stomach. “But you don’t belong here.”
I tense. “News flash. You kidnapped me and initiated my recruitment.”
“Yeah. A mistake. But I was under orders to bring you to the Ranch. And now, I find myself wanting to make it up to you. Call it my twisted sense of duty, but I’m going to give you a useful lesson in evasive tactics. Something harder, that’s going to challenge you and test your limits. Test your willpower. But only if you’re willing.”
Terrific. He’s going to flirt with me and tease me to death.
“You up for a challenge?”
“It depends on what it is.”
“Smart girl. How about I give you a play by play? Then you can either tell me to fuck off or to go for it.”
“What if I tell you to fuck off right now?” I sweetly ask.
He chuckles. “It’s your dime, fireball. Your call.”
I arch my eyebrows. He’s got this naughty, devilish look in his eyes and, God knows, not only should I resist him but I should roll myself out of our hiding place and run as fast as my legs will carry me into the woods.
“If this will help me survive Hell Camp, I’m up for a challenge,” I hear myself say.
“Believe me, it’s going to be a lesson in restraint for me as well. So here’s the deal. I wanna tease that sweet pussy of yours. Fuck you with my fingers. See how quiet you can be, how still you can be, how in control you can be when all hell is breaking loose around you. A shame I can’t lick you like I want. We’ll save that for a better time. What do you say?”
What do I say? I open, close then open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Not “Yes, make me come beneath this decomposing tree while Hayden’s hellions run amuck around us.” Not “No, how about courting me with a few flowers first? Or at the very least, getting me tipsy on a bottle of good wine?”
I swallow hard. “I say this is you being unpredictable. Go figure.”
His hand slides downward and across my belly.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper.
“Oh, I dare. But . . . do you?”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve been thinking about this for days. Fuck, since you sank that knife into my thigh.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Hating that memory.
Jesus. He’s lost his freaking mind right along with me losing mine.
“Listen. You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been eye-fucking me? Damn, I love the way you bite then lick your lip while you think I don’t know that you’re watching me.” His hand moves across my lower abdomen, the tips of his fingers sliding beneath the waistband of my sweatpants and my panties.
“Jaxson who?” I reply. Yeah, right. I’ve had eye-gasms over him for weeks.
This is crazy. Beyond crazy . . . insane. My whole experience at Hell Camp, the fights, the knives, is surreal. One adventure after another. Nothing prepared me for him. The pad of his pointer finger flickers over my nub, tempting me. I think, Why not give into this wild need to go a little nuts? Besides, I’m with the right man to push me over the edge—literally. Just looking at him . . . oh my . . .
He’s curled a finger inside my folds.
The bony part of his palm rubs across my sensitive hood.
And I’m wet, and growing wetter with each subtle caress.
“Bend your leg and put it up on my outer thigh.”
I stare at him like he’s talking gibberish.
“I need this as much as you do.” He grins like a madman, a daredevil, a man who can steal your breath away then have you begging he steal more of it. And just like that, I’m a goner.
I bend, lift my leg, and anchor it on top of his thigh. “Stop . . . talking. Or they’ll hear you,” I whisper, my tone hoarse with excitement.
Naughty. Oh so naughty, and I want it.
“Fireball,” he murmurs, “I’m going to be struggling right along with you not to give our hiding spot away. I promise you that.”
“Misery loves company,” I add, then moan as he thrusts a digit into my slick channel.
“The best kind of misery.”
Slowly, so very slowly, he slides his finger in and out, and I’m in heaven. I feel his thumb pressing into my nub as his finger drags along the walls of my channel.
“You’re wet but tight,” he breathes into my ear, “I’m going to work another finger inside. Nod if that’s okay.”
“Do it,” I demand.
As promised, he pushes a second in alongside the first. Slowly at first, then quickening the pace. I can’t help but tilt my hips along with each stroke. It’s not long before I feel the climax building up inside me.
I moan.
“Coming,” he whispers so quietly, I barely catch his question.
“Almost. Sweet Mary . . .”
“No. They’re coming. Footsteps.” He winks at me, rolling his thumb once again over my sensitive hood while his fingers plunge into me and withdraw. Once. Twice. Three times. Until my body is shaking with need.
I jerk at the sound of a voice close by. “The trail Jaxson left behind was goddamn amateurish. Like he wants us to find him. He’s around here somewhere.”
My eyebrows lift high enough to touch the tree overhead.
His smirk is full of mischief.
And, holy sweet Mary, if his tongue is anything like his fingers . . . I clamp my lips shut, holding back my moan. Yes, oh yes.
“Check around.”
No, oh no.
“Over here,” someone shouts at the same time I arch my hips toward Jaxson and pray that the mewing sound going off in my head doesn’t work its way out of my mouth.
I struggle to keep quiet, to still my movements, to not give us away. And I curse Jaxson for putting me in this situation, for masterfully bringing me to the edge, to make me want to shout out my climax, only to have to dig deep not to do so.
My eyes meet his, and without my making a sound, I crest. My pleasure clear as day in what has to be the most blissful expression known to womankind. Which, I silently gasp, is reflected in the hottest look known to mankind that crosses over his face.
Sweet mother of God. This man is going to be the death of me.
“That was fucking beautiful.”
I blush. “Shhh. They’ll hear you.”
“They’re gone, off on a wild-goose chase. I ran ahead and planted a few less-than-subtle trail marks. Still, we better head back.” He removes his hand from beneath my sweatpants, shifts my leg off his thigh, and rolls out from beneath the tree. I squeeze my eyes shut, briefly, disbelieving what I’ve just done, then slide out after him.
He offers me a hand up.
“You’re insane,” I mumble.
“And you’re beautiful.”
What can I say to that? I turn my attention to brushing off the leaves and mulch clinging to my body. “You’re a trained Marine so why are you even in Hell Camp?” I ask, more curious about him than ever—yeah, now that he’s fingered me. What a hussy . . . my cheeks heat at the thought. Still, it doesn’t make sense, him participating in training when he could, for all intents and purposes, be teaching the drill instructor a thing or two about training. Keeping quiet under pressure—yep, we can check that off the mastered-that list.
“Hayden has his own ideas about what’s important.”
“But five times? Is this typical?”
Jaxson shakes his head. “Let’s just say he hasn’t warmed up to me yet. Thinks I need more lessons in humility.”
I nod with understanding, which causes Jaxson to chuckle. Five Hell Camps. The thought is shocking and makes me wonder how many men Hayden’s trained. How many are running loose on the streets of Shelby?
“So there are other mercenaries out there?”
“Executing Hayden’s orders? Yep.”
Jesus. TORC is much bigger than I figured. And the reasons for my recruitment seem more ambiguous than ever. After all, what can I offer that these other highly trained men can’t?
“I’ll take care of you,” Jaxson tells me.
“Why would you do that?”
“I like you.”
“You like me?” So much for a declaration of love. Or lust—even.
But his eyes tell me differently on the latter as his gaze runs over me. From my worn sneakers, to half-on, half-off sweatpants, across my dirtied bare abdomen, to pause on my still attentive nipples, before coming to rest on my face. His eyes fix on my cheek. He grins. It’s a sexy, smug one. Like he knows that the secret to my heart lies between my thighs. Or at least, that’s what he intends to find out.
“It’s our secret. Don’t let anyone, especially Hayden, in on it.”
“In on what? That you like me?” That you just fingered me beneath a decomposing tree and gave me the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life?
“Let’s go before they backtrack,” he says, changing the subject.
I put my hands on my hips. “Not so fast. You’ve been toying with me since the moment you set eyes on me. How is that even the slightest bit secretive?”
“That’s who I am. My reputation.”
“So you’re admitting you’re a ladies man?”
He shrugs his shoulders. Answer enough. But not surprising—I’ve known this all along about him. Damn it. I didn’t expect his admission to hurt. The thought of him getting other women off . . .
Jesus, I’m an idiot.
“Ready?” he says, watching me, morph from postclimactic bliss into such-a-bitch.
God, I’d love to give the player’s balls a quick, tight squeeze.
“Just remember what I said. Now wipe off your face and let’s get the fuck out of here.” He hands me a tissue along with a silver-plated lighter.
I stare down at both.
When I glance back up at him in confusion, that maddening, knowing smirk of his is back. “I’ll do it, then.”
Grabbing the lighter, he holds it up near my face. I can see a foggy version of my muddied reflection. Specifically, my right cheek. My lips form in the shape of an O. Oh. OH! as understanding dawns on me.
He’s branded me.
Earlier, beneath the tree when he’d been caressing my cheeks . . . he’d etched a deep J into the caked mud.
J for Jaxson.
A bold, less-than-subtle sign of liking me? Dumbfounded, I stare at him as he rubs his initial off my cheek then quietly wipes off the remaining mud.
When he’s finished, he drops the tissue to the ground. “There. None the wiser.” Reaching around me, he smacks me on the ass. “Race you back to the barn,” he challenges me. Before I can respond, before I can patch all of my brain cells, before I can recover from everything he’s come at me with, everything he is, off he sprints.
I stare helplessly down at the tissue. That J muddying my thoughts just like it’s done to the tissue. I hesitate, one second, two before chasing off after him.