Under his command, p.5
Under His Command, page 5
part #2 of Decadence L.A. Series
Turning her head, she admired his profile. “Exercising all day on unforgiving hot black asphalt or freezing in the Pacific; both sound awful. Which do they usually pick?”
“Both.”
“What?”
“Babe, believe me, they don’t want me ripping them a new one.” He said this with such an evil-looking expression on his face, she cringed.
“Flynn! Both could only be considered cruel and inhuman punishment.”
“This ain’t no tea party,” he drawled, “and a SEAL is not a SEAL if he’s not polite to the ladies.”
She couldn’t keep from laughing. “I think you must be a sadist at heart.”
His head whipped to the side, his expression indecipherable. But he didn’t utter a word, only blinked, then turned front, downshifting into a lower gear to take another turn.
“I only meant you must be hell on wheels as a commander for a man to choose a fate worse than death over a dressing down from you.”
Flynn’s face visibly relaxed, and he shrugged one broad shoulder. “At some point, before they’re done here I’m sure many think death would be a relief. And we’re only selecting the ones who move on. After BUD/s they have twenty-six more weeks of qualification training before they earn their trident and get assigned to a team. You’ll see those men in your simulator, too.”
That came to almost a full year, start to finish. Amazing! It took someone exceptional to endure all of that, someone like Flynn Dalton.
She eyed him speculatively, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the muscles that filled out his shirt so nicely, and his lean waist. He had to be close to zero body fat.
“What do you do while the tadpoles are tormented, Commander?”
“I’m in the trenches or getting wet right along with them.”
“No wonder,” she breathed, though she didn’t mean to. She bit her lip too late to take it back, however.
“No wonder what?” he inquired, as he hit the brakes and eased the vehicle to a stop. Twisting to face her, he looped his sinewy forearm over the wheel, as he waited for an answer.
“Nothing,” was her instant reply.
This only got her a knowing grin. “I don’t stand around chewing asses and barking orders like the drill sergeants you’ve seen in the movies. I like to lead by example, both the candidates and the SEAL instructors under my command. And, even though the odds of being called up again are remote, I have to stay mission ready, just in case.”
“There’s a chance of that?”
He shrugged, as he set the parking brake. “The odds of that are slim, as I said. Someone has to stay behind and train more SEAL Team members to take out the next terrorist threat. Technically, I’m active-duty, so there’s always a possibility.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. The thought of Flynn overseas, involved in a dangerous top-secret mission scared the bejeezus out of her, and she wasn’t sure why. They’d only just met.
“We’ve arrived at your basic, state-of-the-art geek lab, Cassie. Want to have a look?”
Shifting in her seat, she took in the moderate-sized nondescript building, the site of her newest challenge, one that was all hers for the next six weeks until Gary arrived. With excitement bubbling inside her, she jumped from the vehicle.
“Damn straight, Commander! Me and my big brass balls can’t wait to dig in.”
Chapter 4
With little time before training classes started for the officers, Cassie rolled up her sleeves and got to work as soon as Flynn left her that first day. She’d worked well into the evening, with him stopping by to take her back to her car and thoughtful enough to have one of his men bring it to her when she wasn’t ready to leave.
She spent the next two days setting up each of the twelve simulator stations, and the third running system checks. By Thursday, she was ready for testing and invited two of the men in early for trials. Flynn hadn’t been one of them; he was much too distracting.
After her first day, she’d only had brief glimpses of him. He’d checked in with her daily, popping his head in around midday, or calling the control room in the morning. She’d declined his offers to help her find her way around the island, not that she didn’t want to see him, but because she had a ton of work to get done and barely came up for air. When she had a few moments to spare, she politely refused, not wanting to be a pest.
It was late Friday morning, and she was tweaking the settings based on her test subjects’ feedback when the control room doors opened with a soft whoosh. She looked up to see Flynn in the doorway, propping one of the double doors open with a broad shoulder and lean hip. Her pulse rate instantly picked up its pace.
She was startled each time she saw him by how gorgeous he was. At first, she thought it was the crisp white uniform, fitted to his perfect body as if tailored to it, and the way it contrasted with his golden tan. But today he wore khaki and still took her breath away. She couldn’t help the tingling of excitement that raced through her when he flashed his movie star smile her way.
Flynn didn’t have the pretty boy, rom-com leading man sort of good looks. Instead, he had the striking ruggedness of an action hero with an alpha male hotness that fueled her dreams.
Flynn had starred in every one of her fantasies which had haunted her nights over the past week. Some centered on him scooping her up in his arms and carrying her off to his bed where he made wild passionate love to her. Invariably, she woke up, before they got to the good parts—the happy ending—darn her luck.
Overshadowing the heart-melting romantic fantasies were her naughty ones. In these, his raw sexuality matched her own, and he dominated, tossing her over his shoulder when she lodged a token protest, and smacking her ass until it was a warm, rosy red. This had her quivering with the desire to do his bidding, as well as doing him.
Since her subconscious mind was in charge, strict bondage and spanking were the headlining acts, both ranking in her top three favorite activities. Then he’d use her thoroughly, controlling her body to their mutual satisfaction, which was at the top of her list.
One started out with her tied to his bed in four-point restraints, Flynn over her, his cock deep inside her, not touching her anywhere Then, somehow, she ended up with her feet above her head, ankles fastened to the same posts as her wrists.
In this position, folded over like a taco shell, her bare, vulnerable bottom pointed skyward, she’d been helpless to do anything except cry out for more when he used her—relentlessly—with his mouth and fingers.
But before she could reach completion, the dream changed again. The only explanation that the laws of time, space, and physics became suspended within the power of REM sleep.
Now on her knees, wrists bound to her ankles, chest to the bed, head turned to the side where she could see him, she watched Flynn kneeling between her legs, the tails of his flogger keeping a steady whoosh and thwap rhythm on alternating cheeks of her ass while he drove deep and hard into her from behind.
It continued this way all night, in different positions, Flynn having restrained her in various ways, while he brought her close to climax but never allowed her to fly. He edged her expertly, the torment sweeter than any she’d known even though an orgasm was never a part of it.
Another time she’d been on her knees on a table, cheek pressed to the cool, smooth surface, with her wrists restrained between her feet and her thighs strapped wide apart so she couldn’t move an inch. He spanked her upraised cheeks, rubbing and teasing her in between swats until she begged him to let her come. He hadn’t, not in the way she asked for. Instead, he powered into her from behind, denying her release until he gave the okay.
When he finally relented, they came together, lights exploding around them like fireworks on the fourth of July. In the vision created by her sleeping brain, one climax extended into another, and still another, until she was mindless and limp from innumerable orgasms. Through it all, Flynn had kept going—inexhaustible—until the blare of her alarm clock chased him away. She’d lain in her rumpled bed, drenched in sweat until she’d recovered enough to stagger to the shower.
This morning, she had trudged into work for the fourth day in a row, exhausted from another episode of Flynn Does Cassie Nightly. She’d slept, but not restfully because she’d been busy with her relentless dream lover. This time, he’d secured her with hemp rope, inserted a spreader bar between her ankles, and suspended her upside down from the ceiling. His flogger and mouth had done such incredibly wicked things to her body she had bolted upright in bed, his name on her lips, with her nightgown plastered to the perspiration beaded up on her body.
The vivid memories of her erotic fantasies made the tingle between her thighs radiate to her entire lower half, leaving her pussy drenched, the same way it had been upon waking each morning for the past few days.
“Cassie?”
Her name, said in his deep voice, snapped her head up. It was accompanied by the curving of his full, kissable lips into a slow, sexy grin.
She stiffened. No way could he know what she had been thinking. Although, he probably got a hint from the sudden flush heating her cheeks. An easy blusher due to her fair skin, it gave her away every time. Though the cause was commonly embarrassment over something she’d said or done, not from replaying sex dreams in her head while on the job.
Holy molasses in January! Get it together, girl.
“Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine. Just frustrated over getting the calibration on these simulators set before Monday.”
“Having trouble?” His gray-blue eyes shifted to the bank of monitors over her shoulder. An instant later, one smooth, dark blond brow arched in question.
She glanced back, biting off a groan when she saw the message on the main screen. It read, operation successful, in big red flashing letters, proving her a liar.
“Thank goodness,” she exclaimed, faking relief. “I’ve been running that sequence and getting an error all morning.”
“Are you at a stopping point?” he asked, being gentleman enough not to call her on her fib.
“Yes, why?”
“I’m heading into town to get lunch. This is my last chance before the new group begins indoctrination next week. I won’t come up for air, in a literal sense, except on weekends for the next three. I thought you might like to join me. You’ve been putting in SEAL hours, working from dawn to dusk since you arrived, I’m guessing.”
Her eyes darted to the paper bag on the table against the wall that contained her less than appetizing peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Brown bagging it gets pretty old by day five.”
She grimaced, not admitting she had planned to skip lunch altogether rather than choke down another PB&J.
“I know a place that makes the best cheeseburgers west of the Mississippi,” he said, a little lilt in his voice. He couldn’t know she’d sell state secrets for a juicy burger with the works. “Come on, Cassie. Don’t make me eat all by my lonesome.”
Her mouth watered, not from the thought of a thick burger and a big pile of fries, but from the sight of his lips, turned down in a pretend pout. Could she be in Flynn’s company for an hour and not beg him to do everything he’d done to her in her dreams? “I don’t know,” she replied, a little quiver in her voice she hoped he didn’t notice. “That’s high praise considering there’s a lot of cattle country between here and the Great Muddy.”
“You know you want to,” he cajoled. “And you can’t say no when it’s my treat.”
She couldn’t say no because it was lunch with Commander Flynn Dalton. “Okay. I’m in!”
“That’s my girl!” he murmured with a wink and a self-satisfied grin. It was all she could do to walk to her desk, retrieve her purse, and not fall flat on her face from a case of lust-induced rubber legs.
He led her out to his vehicle, a big black Ford truck, a newer model judging from the way it gleamed in the sunshine. It came as no surprise when he directed her to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
With uncertainty, she eyed the distance from the ground to the cab. His truck lacked running boards, a necessity for a petite woman in flats. “Good thing I wore pants, today,” she commented, well-used to vertical challenges.
“Do you need a hand up, small fry?”
Tilting her chin, she looked up at his grinning handsome face, higher than her own by at least a foot, and considered his offer. Having his hands on her hips, or heaven forbid, boosting her up with one across her backside would have her hot and bothered, more than she was already. She declined while teasing him about his own far from average size. “No thanks, Commander Colossus. I got this.”
With his soft chuckle filling her ears and warming her insides, she grabbed on with two hands and climbed up.
Once she was inside, he paused, watching her buckle up before he shut the door with a solid thud. As she situated herself with her purse in her lap, clutching it as though her life depended on it to hide the nervous, trembling of her hands, he strode around the hood to the driver’s side. His long legs made his entry effortless compared to her own.
“Next time, I’ll drive.” She pointed to her roadster one space over. So small it stood in full shade from the shadow cast by his enormous truck.
He barked with laughter. “You’ve mistaken me for a human pretzel. No way is my frame folding into that pint-sized clown car, Cassie. I’d be in traction for a month.”
He either ignored or didn’t catch her comment about next time. If it was the former, she covered her forwardness further with a joke.
“Everyone knows clown cars are spacious inside, Flynn. I believe the World Record stands at thirty-one in a Citreon set back in 2013. Therefore, I take no offense at your insults toward my baby.”
Grinning, he started the engine and drove them off the base. Only minutes away, along Route 75, the road she took to work every day, he pulled into the packed lot at the Surfside Diner. To Cassie, who had passed it coming and going, it looked like your everyday greasy spoon, the exterior weathered by sand, sea, salt, and sun. From the line out the door, she could tell it was a local favorite. They had to park on the street a few blocks down and walk.
Flynn knew the ins and out of dining there and moved them to the takeout line which was much shorter. “We’ll get it to go. There’s a park near here with picnic tables and shade trees,” he told her, then ordered two cheeseburger combos, only deferring to her when it came to choosing her drink.
She didn’t mind in the least when he took charge but should have remembered when it came time to pay. He reached for his billfold in his back pocket at the same time she opened her purse and dug around for her wallet.
“Don’t even think about it, Cassie,” he murmured, not needing to say more, the warning in his firm tone and his stare promised retribution if she even thought about trying to argue. The firm set of his jaw didn’t ease until she pulled her hand out of her bag.
While he paid, she studied him at length. Flynn Dalton was a rare breed these days. A take charge kind of man, he was used to calling the shots. Not only as a naval officer but as a SEAL, the toughest of the tough. And he trained other men to be the same way. To do so, he had to be fit, strong, and intelligent, as well as determined, and he had to be the best at his job. From what she had seen of him so far, he was also a gentleman to the nth degree. Notwithstanding, the night they met. He’d been curt and sorely tempted to paddle her backside when he thought she was both drunk, high, and close to drowning in the surf. But that only showed he meant business and didn’t take crap from anyone, even a girl on the beach in need of rescuing, sort of.
To complete the package, he was oh-so-easy on the eyes. When a dreamy sigh threatened to escape, she used unknown powers and kept it inside even while she fell deeper under his spell.
Once they had their food and fought the crowd to get outside, then made it to the park, every table had been claimed. So, the ground had to do, but lunch with him beneath a shade tree on a grassy hill overlooking the bay was all she expected it would be. The food was good, the company better, and he charmed her further with his quick wit and lively sense of humor. He put her so at ease she spent most of the time talking about her family and growing up near San Francisco.
In no time, their hour had passed, and it was time to head back to work. It was then she realized with him asking leading questions, she’d done most of the talking and had learned little about him.
Flynn gathered up their trash, stuffing it all into the bag it had come in, even their empty cups then rose to his feet. After brushing off the seat of his pants, he offered her his free hand.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to get back for a meeting,” he explained as he helped her to her feet with a firm tug.
“Me too. If I’m going to be ready to train your badass instructor brethren on new weaponry and simulated deadly warfare on Monday, that is.”
He shook his head then twisted and pitched the bag into a nearby open trash bin, swishing it from about twenty feet.
Was there anything he wasn’t good at?
“We’re trained, kid, believe me. This will just fine-tune us and add another tool to our arsenal as we prepare the masses on how to use our new technology.”
As he stepped onto the sidewalk and waited for her to do the same, she struggled to conceal her reaction. It was the worst thing he could have called her. More hurtful than a four-letter word or the five-letter one starting with b. Worse even than fat, ugly, or stupid. None of those would crush her as much as “kid”. She’d battled against it her entire adult life, and now, when her dream man walked into it, he thought of her the same way everyone else did. And this wasn’t the first time he’d used it.
He hadn’t been wooing her gently as she’d hoped. By checking in and assisting their new contractor he’d been doing his job as his captain had ordered.
