She mewled, the thought slapping the back of her mind that she wasn’t a woman who made that sound. Ever.
His hand came down hard on her butt, echoing through the room. She jerked, her thighs quaking.
His teeth latched onto her shoulder. “You’re going to do what I tell you to do when it comes to safety. Period. No negotiation, no contingencies, and no arguing. I can do this all day until you agree.” He spanked her again.
Her throat closed. A tremor started deep inside her. “Scott.” She couldn’t find another word.
“Promise. Now.”
“I do. I promise,” she rattled, so close to the edge.
“Good.” He pulled out and drove inside her with such force the headboard smacked against the wall, hammering so fast that her body opened to take all of him.
She pushed against him again, then with a sharp cry, she fell over.
Euphoria blasted within her, more powerful than any bomb ever detonated. A thrilling surge of pleasure rushed through her. So exhilarating. She stopped breathing for one second, hanging completely suspended in time and space, then she crashed all the way, riding out the waves and murmuring softly until her body went lax.
Behind her, Scott tensed and powered inside her one more time. Holding still, he spasmed with his own release, whispering her name.
Gradually, she blinked back to reality as he pulled out and walked to the bathroom. When he returned, his footsteps projected strength and power. Fatigue engulfed her.
Chuckling, he lifted her, swept back the covers, and planted them both inside before drawing her near and kissing the back of her ear.
Her eyelids were already closing. “We’re gonna talk about that whole bra thing later,” she mumbled, settling her butt against his groin and allowing his strong front to warm her back.
He closed his lips over her jugular and pulled, no doubt leaving a mark. His mark. Then he kissed behind her ear. “Anytime, Tinker Bell,” he murmured. “Anytime.”
* * * *
The brutal water pounded down on Scott, burying him under tumultuous currents that somehow propelled rocks toward his head. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely move, trapped deep in a watery grave.
The nightmare took him under, throwing him from the murky water into a rushing river, the one right outside Millie’s home. The familiar setting twisted his gut, even as he fought the unknown currents, trying to keep his head afloat. He would pop to the surface every once in a while and draw in a deep breath before being dragged back down by unseen claws.
He fought as hard as he could, grunting, swearing, breaking the surface again, only to see Millie perched on a massive rock in the middle of the deadly current.
She wore a light pink sundress with her bare feet curled up and her arms around her knees. Her hair was a wild mass of bright green curls, and raw fear glowed in the blue of her eyes.
The sky above her morphed into an unreal, frothing mass, throwing bolts of fire at the ground. Several were aimed for Millie and impacted the water around her, causing the river to hiss out steam that partially obscured her expression.
He tried to swim toward her, holding his breath, using every ounce of strength he could summon. But the closer he got, the farther away her rock floated.
Armed enemies emerged atop the far bank, and flashes of light whipped through the stormy night as they fired bullets at her fragile body. She hunkered down. He bellowed and fought wildly to get to her as blood filled his vision.
An explosion rocked the entire scene.
He sat up in the bed, panting, sweat rolling down his shoulders. Lightning struck outside the house and he jolted, his gaze slashing to the open window. The barrage of rain pierced the night like runaway bullets. He scrubbed both hands down his face. His whiskers scratched his palms and he wiped back his hair, noting the slightly sweaty strands.
So now his subconscious wanted to fuck with him by combining his past military traumas with fear for Millie’s life. Fucking wonderful.
Gulping, he turned to look at the silent woman next to him, sleeping quietly. She curled onto her side, her back to him with her hair a wild mass on the pillow. She slept peacefully, despite the violent storm outside.
He couldn’t believe the nightmare. Bad dreams often haunted him, but the heaviness of this one felt like a warning about Millie. So far, he’d been lucky protecting her. But something was coming for him, and he knew it.
He silently slid from the bed and drew on his jeans before padding to the open window to look out into pure darkness. He heard only the staccato rhythm of rain striking the home, vehicles, and river. He took a deep breath and strode through the room to gently shut the door before descending the stairs.
Roscoe looked up from his spot on the sofa, giving a soft whine. He jumped gingerly to the floor and walked over to Scott to nudge him with his furry head. Scott petted the dog, finding comfort in the simple act. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.
Roscoe snuffled against his legs.
