A SEAL Wolf Christmas

Yeah. Except for this time, she was afraid. She fretted that they’d get mud all over the place in here, too. And then there was all the stuff they were dealing with—Jessica and Nathan’s mating not the least of it.

A braided country rug of a goose and a gander eyeing each other sat on top of the dryer. White cabinets hid laundry detergents and bleach and the like. A shelf holding baskets to sort clean clothes sat above the washer and dryer and sink.

He set her down on the rug, and she was glad at least her socks were clean. Her pant legs were another story.

He stripped off his black sweater and threw it in the washing machine. “Are your jacket and sweater machine washable?”

“Yeah, delicate cycle for the sweater, regular for the jacket, and neither can go in there with your black sweater. They’ll need tons of bleach. Even then I’m not sure bleach will get the mud stains out.”

“Okay.” He fished his sweater out and tossed it in the sink between the washer and the dryer.

She pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket and placed it on the shelf above. Thankfully, she’d found it in the blanket that she’d dropped in the muddy pit.

Bjornolf took her jacket and slipped it in the washer.

She removed her holster and set it on the shelf with her phone. “We could clean yours in the machine and soak mine in the sink for a while.”

“Ladies first.”

“Hmm,” she said, biting her tongue.

He slipped off his charcoal gray shirt and hesitated.

“Sink,” she said.

He tossed it in there.

She sighed. “We could have washed more at one time if we’d taken care of my sweater and jacket later.”

He shook his head and considered her sweater again. “I love it on you.”

“Thanks. It was my favorite.” She appreciated the way he had observed her in the sweater, like he wanted to get his hands on her and kiss her all over.

He helped pull it over her head and added it to the jacket in the washer. He touched the dirt streaking her skin. His touch was gentle, his expression dark and contemplative.

Suddenly, she didn’t really care if she was squeaky clean or not. Or if Bjornolf was. She didn’t want to think of what might have happened. Only of where they were now. Muddy, sure, but alive and well. And hot for each other in the laundry room of a cabin retreat. That’s all that really mattered.

Before they could focus on keeping things clean, they were kissing, tongues and lips colliding. He fumbled with the fastener on her white bra while his tongue was teasing hers and her fingers were unbuckling his belt. The bra went sailing and ended up inside one of the sorting tubs on the shelf above.

His large warm hands slid over her breasts, making them swell, her blood heating. Her hands took measure of his chest, feeling the ripple of muscles, his nipples hardening, his stomach tightening. Somehow they managed to get out of their jeans. She thought her white panties went into the sink when they were supposed to go into the washing machine, but when she glanced in that direction, she saw them hanging off the sign, the teddy bear peeking through the silky fabric.

His white boxers landed on the floor. He lifted her onto the top of the dryer. They weren’t going to make love in here, were they?

He saw the hesitation in her expression, and he spread her legs and moved in close to her. His gaze held hers, and she swore his amber eyes were a little misty. Dark with lust, but misty.

He took her face in his hands and rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. “I thought I’d lost you today, Anna.”

She thought of making a smart-ass reply because she didn’t want to feel the emotions that were swirling through her—the fear of losing him, of leaving him behind—but she knew what he must have suffered.

She took his hand and kissed the palm. “I wasn’t giving up.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I love about you. If I’m not there to protect you, you’re going to do it yourself.” He smiled slightly. She could tell he was damn proud of her for being able to stay alive on her own.

She smiled. That was the end of the serious discussion as far as she was concerned. “Here… or in the bath… or in the bed?”

“In the living room,” he said, his hands stroking her breasts, his eyes focused on them now. He looked up at her to see her expression when she didn’t say anything.

“With the Christmas tree lights on, a fire going, and a wild sword fight on the TV. What could be better?” he asked. “When I saw you standing in front of the Christmas tree after we’d hung the lights, that’s all I could think of. If Nathan hadn’t been in the guest bedroom, I would have made love to you next to the fire.”

She loved the idea. “Sounds like a deal.”

He went over to the sink and took a cloth from the cabinet, then warmed the water and added a little hand soap to it. “We’ll clean up a bit first.”

The cleaning up involved a lot of kissing, her mouth on his and on his neck and shoulders and throat. His mouth kissing her back, then moving down her throat to her breasts. Her hands combed through his hair, while one of his hands massaged a breast and the other ran the wet cloth over the streaks of mud on her belly. Cleaning off dirt had never taken this long or been this erotic, she thought as he rubbed his stiff cock against her leg.

After they’d cleaned themselves, he tossed the rinse rag into the sink, lifted her off the dryer, and was about to carry her into the living room when she said, “No. Go get the fire going, and I’ll start the wash.”

He sighed and set her on the floor. “Don’t take too long.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Keep it warm for me. All right?”

“I’ll be ready.” He gave her another searing kiss and then took off as if he was in a race. She started the wash and then filled the sink with water to soak the rest of their garments. She snagged her underwear and his, tossing them into the machine. Their jeans had managed to land on each other—his on the bottom, hers on top, pinning his to the floor. She smiled at the image that brought to mind. She threw them into the sink.

By the time she was finished and walked into the living room, the dark room was filled with the soft twinkling lights on the tree, the reflection sparkling on the round, multicolored Christmas ornaments. The fire had just begun at the hearth, but what really stole her attention was that he’d moved the coffee table out of the way, and sitting in its place was the sofa’s foldout bed.

He was bent over the bed as he covered it in red-and-white, candy-cane-striped bedsheets. She studied his gorgeous ass. Perfectly muscled like fine art. “Are you going to climb into bed, or just ogle me?” He looked over his shoulder at her with a smug smile.

She laughed, gave him a pat on the butt, and meant to climb onto the bed, but he tackled her. In that instant, the imagery of her jeans straddling his faded and a new one came into mind—his hot, naked body straddling hers.

She grinned. “I thought we were going to do it on the floor.”

“You deserve soft.”

“I want hard.” She stroked his cock, as aroused as before. “What made you so hard?” She was curious, not thinking he could have remained that way all that time.

“You,” he said, “just thinking of you on the sofa bed with me like this.”

There were no more words after that, just the sound of the wood crackling in the fireplace, their hearts beating wildly, and their breaths ragged. The lights sparkled softly in the room, and the scent of the sweet- smelling soap they washed themselves with filled her senses.

Everything else was touch.

The heat from Bjornolf and the fire warmed her as his fingers stroked her clit, making her hot, wet, and eager to have him finish her off. His tongue teased a nipple, his other hand cupping a breast. Faster. She wanted him to stroke her faster. She touched him, too, wanting to reciprocate the pleasure he was giving her. She caressed his buttocks, loving the hard feel of him. She reached between them and stroked his cock. He was rigid, throbbing, engorged, and ready for her. He groaned and rubbed her faster.