By Cat Johnson
Marine Gunnery Sergeant John “Crash” O’Malley has two goals for the immediate future. One, enjoy his liberty in New York City, and two, survive his deployment to Afghanistan. What he didn’t plan on is Trish. A guy can’t have a one-night stand with his best friend’s sister and then abandon her at midnight when his liberty ends, but starting a new relationship days before shipping out would be crazy. Then again, Crash never did do things the easy way.
What he doesn’t realize is that his friend’s displeasure over Crash breaking the “no sisters rule” is nothing compared to what the insurgents have in store for them in the Helmand Province. Now it’s a matter of survival because Crash’s new objective is to get home and make Trish his.
Trish leaned toward Crash in the red vinyl booth and angled her mouth toward his ear. “They’re getting drunk.”
“Yes, they are.” Truth be told, so was Crash. Not exactly drunk, but definitely feeling the effects.
He could get away with nursing one beer, but when the rounds of shots kept coming, it would have seemed suspicious if Crash had refused to partake while he kept pushing them on Zippy.
Still, things were going just as planned. Having the shots before the food arrived only helped his case with Zippy and Dawn. The two were on the dance floor grinding against each other. Only a matter of time now. Crash glanced at his watch. Nearly nineteen-hundred hours.
“What time is it?” Trish hadn’t missed the move. They were both more than conscious of their limited time tonight.
“Almost seven o’clock,” Crash answered.
“I don’t like this Cinderella liberty.” Her pout drew his gaze to her lips.
Trish let out a deep sigh. “Even if Dawn can keep Danny distracted so he doesn’t want to leave early to go to that club you told me about, we should still leave no later than eleven-thirty to make sure you’re not late. Just in case we hit traffic.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about leaving. He also didn’t want to be here in public where he couldn’t touch her the way he wanted.
Then again, the bar was dim, lit by a few hanging lamps and some neon signs. Crash moved his hand to her thigh, hidden by the table in front of them. A sly smile curved her lips as she rested her hand on his leg, then moved it farther up until just the tip of her finger brushed the crotch of his pants.
His eyes widened before he forced his expression to be neutral. If she wanted to play, he could play. He bunched the fabric of her dress and inched it up. His fingertips brushed the warm skin on the inside of her thigh. She drew in a breath and let it out.
In this very public place, while he kept his gaze trained on her brother on the dance floor, Crash pushed higher until he hit the lace of her underwear. She spread her legs just a bit wider and he started to sweat. Hard as a rock now, he was throbbing behind the fabric of his uniform pants while she ran her finger up and down the outline of his length.
Damn, this was a turn on. He had a feeling it was only going to get hotter, because he had no plans of stopping. Crash slipped beneath the edge of her panties. She was hot and wet, and all for him. He slid between her lips. Her hand on him faltered before she resumed her slow, light stroke over the pants hiding his erection. He didn’t treat her quite so gently. With the tip of one finger he zeroed in on her clit, flicking it fast and hard. She jumped beneath his touch but didn’t close her legs or push him away.
“How’re ya doing?” He glanced her direction, before forcing himself to keep an eye on Zippy.
“Fine.” She swallowed hard enough for him to hear her throat working.
“Good.” Crash slid a finger inside her, and then a second. He stroked in and out until he heard her draw in a sharp breath. He went back to her clit, circling the tiny nub fast. It wasn’t the ideal angle or position for this, but he managed it.
One quick glance at Trish, biting her lower lip, told him it was working. He reversed direction, circling the other way, and felt her jump. She angled her hips, tipping them just a bit, and he heard the tiniest of moans escape her throat. He moved faster. Harder. She was going to come. Right here, right now. At least she would if he had anything to do with it. But good lord, it might just kill him if she did.
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