Wicked choice, p.6
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       Wicked Choice, p.6
 

         Part #4 of Wicked Horse Vegas series by Sawyer Bennett
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  A shiver of anticipation runs up my spine, but I act offended. "What makes you think--"

  "You've ignored me for two days," his deep voice rumbles right over me. "Ever since the doctor's office. I don't like being ignored."

  This is true. We had a nice but brief chat after I talked privately to Dr. Anchors, and I told Bodie when the next appointment would be. Then we left in separate cars. I haven't seen him until today, even though he'd texted me the last two nights telling me he was at The Wicked Horse waiting for me.

  There was some hesitation on my part because I didn't want to risk being seen by anyone else in the group. Mainly, though, I just avoided him because I don't want to be a "thing" together. I want to keep it as causal as can be, and that means we don't see each other every night.

  The longer I drag this conversation out, the better the chance someone will stumble upon us in this intimate pose. Truth is that I want Bodie again, and tonight would be perfect. We're staying in L.A. after the concert, and don't fly out until morning.

  "Fine," I say before slipping out from between him and the ladder. "Come to my room, and we'll get it on."

  Bodie snickers and steps back into me. I hold my ground, refusing to even lean slightly away. His lips come very close to mine, but don't touch. His breath whispers over me, and I have to press my legs together when he says, "You know, Hart... there was a part of me that was kind of hoping you'd fight me a little. I was looking forward to making you submit."

  "In your dreams," I mutter.

  Bodie laughs and steps away from me. He gives me a quick wink and turns on his heel, walking away from me with a confident strut.

  Maybe I'll put up a little bit of a fight tonight. I never mind being overpowered in the bed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Bodie

  Not sure I've ever seen anything more perfect than Rachel Hart opening her hotel door to me stark-ass naked.

  Beautifully, artfully naked without an ounce of shame. She's fresh out of a shower, and her hair is a million times blacker all slicked back and wet. It exposes with more clarity the cut of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips. Her eyes blaze with need and her hands reach for me, snagging the waistband of my jeans.

  I pull my shirt off in a hurry. She helps me out of my shoes and pants.

  There's no gradual seduction of my cock. It's concrete hard and ready for her, but I've got something else planned first.

  Batting Rachel's hands away when she reaches for it, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. I toss her down and then take her by the ankles, sliding her to the edge of the mattress. One hand goes to the back of a thigh. I push it up high and outward, spreading her. My other hand goes right in between, dragging an index finger through the lips of her sex.

  Rachel lets out a huff of a pleasure, and her hips tilt. I press the very tip inside of her, find her soaking wet, and then withdraw. I just wanted to know if she was as fucking turned on right now as I am, and we haven't even kissed. We've only anticipated being together.

  Now it's time to make her feel good.

  I sink to my knees on the floor, push her legs further apart, and slam my mouth on her pussy. Rachel doesn't wax, but she keeps herself very trimmed. My tongue easily finds her swollen clit, and she grunts from the first contact.

  My lips circle the sensitive flesh, suck lightly. When I release, I murmur against her, "Mmm. You taste fucking good, Hart. Like sweet baby mama."

  She snorts.

  Another tiny lick and her hips shoot off the bed. "You're so sensitive. Is that a pregnancy thing?"

  I look up at her to find her watching me with glazed eyes. When my words penetrate, she starts to laugh. I give her a wink and dive back down, stabbing my tongue inside her pussy.

  "Bodie," she barks out, her hands coming down to fist my hair hard.

  I fuck her hard and deep with my tongue a few times, then lave softly at her sensitized clit. She tries to push her pussy into my mouth, but I pull back. When she settles, I give her a little of what she wants. When she starts getting greedy, I slow it down.

  Finally, when she's begging me and pushing hard on the back of my head for me to make her come, I batter at her with my tongue, teeth, and lips until she's screaming out her release. I don't stop, working her down gently until she's a writhing mass of tortured nerves under me.

  Laying my chin on the top of her pubic mound, I look up her body. Her tits are big, her nipples pebbled hard. She lifts her head and looks down at me blearily.

  "You're so fucking beautiful all spread out under me, completely boneless," I whisper. She rolls her eyes, and her head falls back to the mattress.

  I lift my head, look down at her pussy. My dick is aching to slide in.

  My hands glide down her inner thighs, and I peel her open with my thumbs to stare. It's fucking gorgeous.

  "This cunt, Rachel," I say softly, and her head lifts back off the bed. I glance at her, and then back down to my prize. "All swollen and dripping wet. All mine."

  I tap on her clit, which is protruding a bit, begging for more action. Rachel hisses in response.

  Not able to stand it a moment more, I rise from the floor and my hands go under Rachel's ass. I lift her from the mattress to drive deep into her.

  Slick, hot, tight as fuck.

  "Mmm... mmm," I can't help but groan in absolute relief.

  "Oh, God," Rachel mutters.

  She looks amazing from this angle. Fingers clutching onto the bedspread, ass in the air, and her eyes burning as they laser into mine.

  I slowly pull out, almost to the tip, watching my cock shine with her juices. When it becomes too unbearable, I plunge back in.

  "Yes," she whispers fiercely, and I'm done.

  I let her drop to the bed, fall onto her, and push back into her deep. My mouth comes down on hers, and my torso flattens against her. My hands grope and clutch, finally finding hers, and I lace our fingers together as I pull them above her head.

  And while I'm touching every single part of her I possibly can, I start to fuck her furiously hard. I race for the end and gladly plunge over when I can feel her start to contract around me, crying out her second orgasm.

  I punch my cock in deep one last time, grab her lower lip with my teeth, and growl out the world's best fucking orgasm while I shoot what feels like gallons of cum into her.

  "Jesus," I groan against her mouth before rolling to my side. She has no choice but to come with me since my arms encircle her. I lift her leg over my hip and keep myself planted inside of her while I let my heart rate come back down to a normal level.

  Rachel is silent, but she seems content to lie like this. Her arm is draped lazily across my ribs, her face pressing into my neck. I'm content to stay this way as well, because I've never been averse to cuddling.

  Something about the fact that my stomach is pressed against the stomach of the woman who is carrying my kid makes it special. If I weren't so comfortable right now, I'd want to stick my hand in between us and touch her belly. That would probably freak her out, though, so I abstain.

  "Is this weird?" she asks, and the sudden sound of her voice startles me.

  Leaning back so I can look her in the eye, I ask, "Is what weird?"

  "What we just did?"

  "Sex?"

  "Well, yeah," she says almost hesitantly, as if she's now doubting that what she thought might be weird actually isn't at all. "I mean... we're coworkers. We've known each other for a few years. Now we're fucking. It's just weird, right?"

  "I'm pretty sure the weirdness comes from the fact we're pregnant," I say with a chuckle. "The fact we're fucking is just a bonus."

  She gives a reluctant smile along with a chastising look. She wants me to be serious, but I'm feeling too replete and high on amazing sex to be.

  I decide to change the subject. "Did you fill Kynan in on everything we learned at Dr. Anchors?"

  Turns out, between our meeting with him and whatever Rachel discussed with him privately, there just wasn't a
whole lot. We were loaded down with literature on what to expect throughout the pregnancy, and had a good idea of what would happen on the subsequent follow-up visits. Dr. Anchors said there weren't many limitations on Rachel this first trimester--at least physically for her job. She told me she'd described to him what all she did. Technically, she was as fit and physically sound to perform her job now as she was before she got pregnant. Of course, this might not hold true two months from now when she starts to show, and the baby could be more susceptible to injury as it grows.

  "I filled him in," Rachel says. By the tone of her voice, I'm thinking it wasn't an enjoyable conversation.

  "What's he have a problem with?" I ask.

  She gives a tiny shrug. "I guess he's just worried about the general risk of sending a pregnant woman on the more dangerous ops."

  "Is he going to sideline you?"

  Rachel doesn't answer me directly. Instead, she asks. "Do you think I should be sidelined? I mean, this is your kid. What are your worries?"

  I'm totally surprised by her graciousness toward my feelings on the matter, but I'm also careful in my answer. "Rachel... you know your body better than I ever could. I understand the risks, but pregnancy isn't a disability. I guess right now at this stage, I don't believe there's much you can't do. So, unless you're worried about something..."

  I let myself trail off, leaving it up to her to complete that sentence.

  Chewing on her lower lip, Rachel considers this for a moment. "There are risks in everything."

  "You could be hit by a bus tomorrow crossing the street."

  She tries to pull away from me, but I hold her tight in place. "I'm a higher risk because of my age."

  "Because of the age of your egg, not because of what you do for a living," I point out. I'd read all the literature they sent home with us and some additional stuff online. "I don't think you need to stop living your life because you're pregnant. I think you need to look at each mission, where it will be, and what the actual risk is. You can make decisions as opportunities are put in front of you."

  Her lips tilt up in an attempted smile, but the light of it doesn't reach her eyes. She's conflicted about something, and I'm wondering if this has to do with what she wanted to talk to Dr. Anchors about. She said it was about personal female stuff, and I took her at face value. But now...

  "Do you know how Kynan and I met?" Rachel asks softly, and the change of subject and fondness in her voice throws me completely off.

  "Um... no. I don't believe so."

  Rachel wiggles slightly, not to pull completely away, but to put enough distance between us so she can look at me without craning her neck backward.

  "After I retired from the Olympics, I spent a few years just traveling around the world and indulging in all my adrenaline-rush whims."

  "Adrenaline-rush whims?" I ask with a laugh. "Now that's a term I've never heard before."

  She chuckles. "Skydiving, bungee jumping, free diving, base jumping, rock climbing. You name it, I did it. The scarier the feat, the more I wanted to do it."

  "Damn, Hart," I murmur, dropping my hand to her ass and giving a playful squeeze. "That's kind of hot."

  She grins. "I met Kynan just about an hour before he dove off Angel Falls. Just over thirty-two hundred feet. We became fast friends after I jumped off after him."

  I can't help the low whistle of respect and appreciation that blows through my teeth. I like the flow of adrenaline, but not sure I like it that much.

  "I don't always appreciate danger," she says. This time, the smile is gone from her face. She's being as serious as she can possibly be, and it causes my belly to flip a little. "I might not like hearing it, Bodie, but if you're worried about the baby in any way as we proceed along, you need to be vocal."

  "I will," I promise. Why she even needs to tell me this is beyond me, because nothing could keep me silent if my kid was at risk.

  This seems to satisfy her, and she gives a grateful nod. That unsettles me... that she seems to need me to be a checks and balances against her. It also reassures me that when Rachel said she was going to let me be involved, she truly meant it.

  More than anything, though, it shows me she cares for this baby at least to the degree she wants to carry it to term. An adrenaline junkie such as herself who doesn't want to be pregnant wouldn't think twice about risks. That person would roll the dice with a que sera sera attitude.

  There are a million ways I could poke at this more, but I don't want to do anything to make Rachel clam up on me. Right now, she's happy to let me fuck her and be involved in this pregnancy. I know a good thing when I have it.

  But the one thing that has happened since finding out about the pregnancy is that I've become infinitely more curious about this woman. She's smart, beautiful, and sexy as sin. She's also one of the most capable people I know, and I trust her with my life. She has agreed to carry a baby for me, and I owe her the world because of that. It's safe to say Rachel Hart has gone to the top of my favorite people list.

  And I want to know more about her.

  I roll to my back and bring Rachel with me. She gasps in surprise, but doesn't fight when I arrange her body to lay mostly on top of mine. I even put a hand to the back of her head and force it to my chest. It takes her a slight moment to understand what I want, but she eventually settles down on top of me.

  "Okay, you have to tell me how a woman goes from being a winter Olympian to traveling around the world jumping off cliffs?"

  Her body shakes slightly against me in a silent laugh. I'm not sure if she's even aware she's doing it, but her hand spreads over my chest, her thumb idly stroking my skin there.

  "My parents are well off, and when I say well off, I mean I don't have to work if I don't want to because of a nice trust fund. But I had some endorsements during my Olympic career, which meant I had enough money to indulge in those whims. I didn't travel extravagantly, but I did travel the hell out of this world. I'd often just sleep in cheap hotels or stay with friends. I once spent two weeks driving around Australia in an old VW bus that doubled as a bed for me."

  "It sounds very bohemian of you," I observe.

  "I was young and liked the freedom," she says. "I'd never had to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I'd been training since I was a kid for the biathlon. When I finally got tired of it, I had no idea what to do with myself."

  "You deserved a break," I point out.

  "Yes, that's the way I reasoned it out in my head. But a few weeks turned into months and that turned into years. I chased thrills and lived like a bum for four years."

  "Sounds kind of cool," I admit a little wistfully. It's very different from my life of responsibility, whether it was working on the farm since I was probably ten to going right into the Navy after high school. I'd always had obligations I'd never walk away from.

  Maybe that's why I feel so strongly about this baby... while Rachel is sort of able to treat it like a road bump in her life.

  CHAPTER 8

  Rachel

  I normally love the sounds of a gym. Clanging of metal on metal, the hum of a treadmill, and the grunts of exertion. It's certainly no chore when the gym is busy such as it is now with hot, ripped guys. I've never been able to explain the phenomena, but for some reason, men have to be insanely gorgeous and built to perfection to work at The Jameson Group. My eyes are having a tough time staying focused on my little work area because I keep wanting to let them stray over to Bodie while he works out with Cage. We'd all flown in on a private charter from L.A. this morning, and then we shared an Uber to come right to the gym to workout.

  It was slightly weird flying back with the team, and by weird, I mean sitting across from Bodie and not continually thinking about how great sex is with him. He and I stayed up a good chunk of the night and into the early morning hours just gorging on each other. I kicked him out of my bed around three AM, so I could get a few hours of sleep before our flight. He grumbled about it, but he eventually went. Whenever I
happened to look at him during the flight, he would either shoot me a wink or knowing smile. One time, he even licked his bottom lip. I almost combusted.

  Damn pregnancy hormones.

  The Jameson Group's gym is state of the art and geared for more than just strength or cardio training. A huge rock wall takes up the eastern side, extending up two stories. There's an indoor obstacle course that would rival any military boot camp facility, and just off the gym complex is an indoor shooting range. My favorite, though, is the knife station. Three straw dummies are set up with head, chest, and femoral artery targets, and there's a case full of different-sized throwing knives.

  I'm practicing trying to hit the femoral artery of the dummy that's furthest away. So far, I've managed to hit his little straw nuts three times in a row. I pick up a six-inch Japanese Shinobi, flip it in the air so I catch it by the blade, and cock my arm back to launch. Clearing my mind, I focus my gaze to the left side of the dummy's nut sack and let my confidence clear the way. I launch, and the silver knife glints as it tumbles end over end.

  Solid strike to the testicles once again.

  "Goddamn motherfucking hairy balls," I growl a little too loudly. Tank Richardson, another explosives expert at Jameson, gives me a startled look as he throws knives at the dummy in the lane next to me.

  "Sorry," I mutter.

  "Take a deep breath," he says as he chooses a knife from the tray beside him.

  "Excuse me?" I snap. I don't need to be told to calm the fuck down, which given the quick flush of anger that overtakes me, might actually be good advice.

  Fuck you, pregnancy hormones.

  "It helps if just before you throw, you take a deep breath and hold it," he says, either unaware of the anger brewing just under the surface or not really caring.

  Knowing Tank, he just doesn't care. He's a big brute of a guy with the personality of a fresh Brillo pad. All abrasive and uncaring if he scratches people up.

  "Thanks for nothing," I mutter under my breath. Tank throws his knife, and it hits the dummy's right eye. He gives me a knowing smirk, and I contemplate launching my next knife to see if I can hit that curve of his lip on the left side of his face.

 
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