Dangerous Secrets by Lisa Marie Rice

was it? The mission? An op?
    It felt like more. No, it felt like something else entirely. Nick wasn’t completely comfortable with all these…things going on inside himself. He was comfortable in his skin. He knew what he wanted in life and he usually went after it like a bullet to the bull’s eye. This felt…different.
    And good. Definitely good. In fact, he felt better than he could ever remember feeling.
    Unexpectedly, Charity turned around, as if she’d suddenly sensed his presence, and smiled at him.
    In an instant, that supernatural feeling of well-being disappeared, as if it had never been. Whoosh, gone. In its place came a burning, itching feeling, a drive to touch her, touch that smooth, creamy skin he knew was underneath the soft pink cotton of the track suit. Put his hands on her and never let go.
    “Hi, so you’re up…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped and her face went from the slight flush of someone cooking to stoplight red. Charity’s soft pink mouth made an O .
    Oh yeah, he was up. Massively. It was as if his cock were trying to stretch its way across the room to her.
    It couldn’t, of course, but he could. It took him a second or two to firm up his knees and then he was crossing over to her, eyes never leaving hers. She looked down at him again and heat washed over him, as if he’d walked in front of an open oven door. The heat even pulsed in his veins.
    He was clenching his jaws so hard his teeth hurt.
    This was sex but it was more than sex. He wasn’t hurting for sex and they’d been at it practically all night. By rights, he should be all fucked out.
    Right now, instead, it was as if he’d never fucked before, never even touched a woman in his entire life. This felt urgent, with all the adrenaline of combat in the field, the moves as necessary as ducking under fire or scrambling out of the way of flames or bullets.
    This was a place he’d never been in before, a foreign country. Nick didn’t do urgent, pressing desire. He was the Iceman.
    Whenever he fucked, a part of him—a big part—remained detached, observing. Sex made men drop their defenses. A lot of guys got offed while boffing. Not Nick. There was no way anyone could get the drop on him during sex because he was always aware of what was going on, always cool. Iceman.
    Oh Jesus, he wasn’t Iceman now. He was burning up, breathing hard, focused like a laser beam on Charity.
    He wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. His body had taken over completely.
    Moving fast, Nick hooked a chair with his foot and plonked down while reaching out to Charity. Hands a blur, he had her sweats and panties down in a second, positioned her over him, opened her with his fingers and thrust. Straight up into her soft little cunt.
    Ahhh! Christ!
    Sweat beaded on his face, a drop trickling down the side of his face and dropping onto her shoulder. He was holding her so tightly she was probably having trouble breathing but he couldn’t seem to let her go, or even relax his death grip. He was holding on to her like you held on to a lifeline, not to a beautiful woman.
    He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed tight. “Sorry,” he whispered roughly.
    Fuck. She was dry, not ready for penetration, wriggling a little to find a comfortable position, to adjust herself to him. Her toes barely reached the ground, so almost the full weight of her body anchored her to him. Shit, he hoped he wasn’t hurting her, but he wouldn’t take bets on it.
    “No you’re not,” she whispered back. “You’re not sorry at all.”
    His eyes opened. He’d kept his eyes screwed shut because what was happening inside him was overwhelming, but also because what he had left of his brains told him she’d be furious. You don’t jump a woman, strip her, and shove your cock in without even a second’s foreplay. He was half expecting her to tell him to fuck off.
    But no—wow—against all the odds, she wasn’t angry. How did that happen? When his eyes