“Fuck,” he mutters gruffly against my ear. “My knot is already swollen. This is going to be rough on you. Nothing we can do about that now, is there?”
My body is bent, and one hand is trapped. He doesn’t care. He fucks me against the door with deep, hefty, pounding thrusts that bang me into the unyielding surface. I’m like a toy in his hands. All I can do is take what he gives me.
The climax comes from nowhere. It shoots me straight into the stratosphere—helpless mewling sounds pouring from my lips.
“You feel good,” he mumbles. “Hot. Tight. I’m going to come. You want that, baby? Want me to fill you all up?”
“Yes.” The word comes out slurred.
No one’s ever done this before. No one would ever dare. He’s not an ordinary soldier. I know that now. He doesn’t give a damn about rules. He smacked a recruiter’s head into the desk. I’ve met some tough soldiers, but I’ve never seen one of them do that before. He’s completely crazy.
“I told you this was mine. I’m just reminding you of it,” he grunts with each deep thrust before he slams deep and stills.
There is too much of him. Too much cock and knot. I’m completely stuffed. The air is whistling in and out of my lungs as I grip and milk his cock in the throes of a climax that never seems to end.
He’s still coming when he pulls out, tearing a cry from my lips.
He carries me over to a nearby table, dripping his cum all over the floor. Here he drops me on my back, bends my knees up to my chest, and penetrates me again.
Fingers wrapped around my throat, he fucks me.
I need a timeout. I need a moment.
He’s not giving me one. His face is a mask of determination as he pounds into me. And I’m coming again. What does this man do to me? He destroys me. Only he’s not destroying my body, is he? No, my body craves this. Loves it. He’s destroying my mind.
He comes with a roar while I’m still reeling.
His radio crackles from inside a helmet on the floor.
He huffs out a breath, pulls out, and lets my legs drop. I lie there, dazed, as he snatches up his helmet and shoves it on while fumbling to put himself away. “Acknowledged,” he mutters.
He grabs my helmet next, drops it onto the table beside me, then hauls me to my feet.
My arms and legs don’t work. I’m trembling, dripping, and undone. He doesn’t wait, just goes ahead and starts stuffing me back into my armor.
“There,” he says, satisfaction ripe in his voice. “That’s filled you up, hasn’t it?”
I blink a few times. “What was that? What’s happening?”
“I’ve got to go,” he says.
“Go?”
He yanks my zip up—pauses halfway, my breasts crushed together and heaving in the gap. He groans, presses a hot kiss to the center of my cleavage, then throws a look up at the ceiling like he’s begging for strength, and tugs the zipper the rest of the way. My helmet is dropped onto my head with practiced efficiency. He taps it twice with his knuckles. “I’m needed at the front.”
“The front? What! Why?”
He takes me by the arm, swings the door open, and marches out, taking me with him.
“Acknowledged,” he says into his comm. “Leaving now.”
“Why can’t I hear this? Why am I not in the communication?”
“You don’t need to be,” he says.
Up ahead is the sectioned-off medical area, lined with curtained cubicles, ready for when the wounded start to arrive. It’s huge. I’ve no idea how I missed it before.
He stops at the entrance and releases my arm. Then catches my chin between his fingers and thumb, tilting my face up toward his.
