Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Cooper

There’s nothing I like more than getting a woman off with my mouth.

I’m limited in mobility right now, so having her sit on my face worked for both of us, and it’s gratifying to see her struggling to catch her breath. Under normal circumstances, I would have already flipped her over and slammed inside of her, but I can’t do that. Something tells me I need to slow down, both physically and emotionally. I’m pretty sure no one has ever spanked her before, and I’m equally positive she’s never sat on a guy’s face before either.

I don’t want to embarrass her, though, or make her think she’s doing anything wrong.

“I’d love to pull you down and ravage you some more,” I say, “but these ribs aren’t having it.”

She immediately swings one leg over and crouches beside me. “Do you hurt? What can I do?”

“Baby, I’m fine. I’m just explaining why I can’t hold you or do more of the things I want to do.”

“Oh. It’s okay.” She smiles. “I’m going to get you a towel.” She gets up and hurries into the bathroom.

Yup.

Definitely her first time with this kind of thing.

I have to believe guys have gone down on her before, but she’s either embarrassed or overwhelmed, and I want to know why.

She comes back with a hand towel and gives it to me before reaching for her panties.

“Stop a second.” I take the towel from her but make eye contact. “Hey. Look at me.”

She looks up.

“Leave the panties off and come here.” I realize since we’re not actively having sex I might sound a little bossy and that’s not my intention. “Please.”

She slowly comes back to the bed, and I pull her down beside me.

“Tell me why you’re suddenly embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” she says slowly. “I’m a little unsure how to behave after…”

“After?” I prompt.

“I don’t know. I’m not a prude I just… I’ve never had a lover quite so bossy before.”

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you I like a little…dominance in the bedroom. We should have discussed it, but things have been kind of crazy. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it anymore. Or, you know, much.” I try to make light of it.

She bites her lip. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I’m just not used to it. And I’m not sure how it carries over into the rest of our relationship.”

“It doesn’t.” I take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing it softly. “You’re still you, and I’m still me. I just like to be in charge in bed. This isn’t some master/slave BDSM thing.”

She visibly relaxes. “Oh. All right.”

“You just tell me if you don’t like something or if it’s too much, okay?”

“Okay.” She leans over and lightly kisses me. “I loved it. But I’m starving. Are you up to eating something other than me?”

I grin. “Yeah, I’m hungry too.”

She gets up and starts setting out the food and the aroma is amazing.

“God, is that paprika I smell?”

She nods. “We use it a lot in our cuisine here. One of the wonderful things about Limaj is that we take little bits and pieces from so many other European countries. Paprika from Hungary. Olive oil and feta cheese from Greece. Desserts from Romania. Wine from all over the region.”

“The food I’ve had so far has been amazing.”

“I should have at least half a day off on Sunday. If you’re up to going into town, I’ll introduce you to our famous black and white hot chocolate. It’s incredible.”

“Sounds like a date.”

“I guess it is.”

We eat at her desk, and the goulash is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I never thought much about paprika, but it’s prominent in this dish and I like it. The bread is still warm and the butter so fresh I wonder if it’s made in house.

I realize I don’t know a lot about her culture, and I want to. We talked a lot during our time in Iraq, but it was different. We talked about the Royal Protectors, American football and European soccer, the fact that she’d never had a Snickers bar. She told me she’s not close to her parents even though she helps support them financially.

I know her pretty well, but there’s a chunk of information missing.

“When was the last time you saw your parents?” I ask as we eat.

She lifts her brows. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. We talk about a lot of things, but your family isn’t one of them.”

She shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell. I come from a small town up north and my parents are old school. They weren’t fans of the old regime, but they aren’t fans of this one either. The old one was too strict, too conservative, and this one is too liberal. They like that they’re no longer under tyrannical rule, but they also think dresses should be longer, gay sex is a sin, and a woman’s sole purpose in life is to bear children and take care of the family.”

“They must not have been fans of you going into the military.”

“They weren’t. They don’t say no to the money I deposit into their account every month, though.”

“What about your sisters?” She told me she has two.

“Femke is eighteen and considering joining the military as well. She wants to get the hell out of there, but my mother is doing everything in her power to talk her out of it. She has a boyfriend now, someone my parents consider husband material, and she’s in love. It’s hard.”

I nod. “And the other one?”

“Luciana is married with a two-year-old. Her husband hits her. She’s miserable but won’t admit it to anyone but me. Last time I was home was right before I left for Iraq and, of course, I’d just lost Logan so I wasn’t in a good head space. She had a black eye, and I threw Pieter against the wall, told him if I found out he hit her again, I’d send my Royal Protector friends to find him.” She makes a face. “Luciana was furious, so I don’t know if I made it better or worse.”

“Is that kind of thing common here?”

“Not in the big cities, but in the little towns? Absolutely. It’s difficult. There’s nothing to do. Very little money. Almost no communication with the outside world. Most homes don’t have internet, they have to go to the library or an internet café so their connection to reality is limited. Frustration builds and they have no outlet. Alcoholism is at an all-time high. Erik is trying, but infrastructure takes time. Building roads to those remote places so that there are easier paths in and out. He can build schools, but schools need teachers, and there aren’t enough educated people to do it. Nor do people want to live way the hell up there. Same situation with medical care. You can build a hospital, but who will work there?”

“I never thought of things like that,” I admit.

“Do you see now why I feel like what I’m doing is so important? It’s not like what you do. And please don’t think I’m minimizing your life. You’re in the military, and that’s wonderful. In theory, you are protecting American ideals, perhaps even your democracy, but it’s theoretical. Other than the men you serve with, you’re not helping specific people. It’s all about a way of life. What I’m doing literally impacts my family. My home town. People I know. When he adds another fifty miles to a highway, we have a party. When he provides running water to a town that’s never had it, we all go help them celebrate. Everything Erik is doing impacts specific people, many of them either people I know or friends or family of people I know.

“If Erik is killed, who knows what might happen or if Sandor or Daniil could continue his work. So protecting him, and allowing him to continue what he does, means something to me.”

Damn.

I suddenly feel a little small.

Not because I’m ashamed of myself or the military, but because of just how impactful what she just said is.

And she’s right.

For the most part—there are exceptions—the reasons behind what I do are very theoretical. We do help people all over the world, but the protection of American democracy is different. We don’t see it in tangible ways. At least, not the way she does. We have similar problems in rural places in the U.S. but my job in the marines has nothing to do with that. Her job, protecting a king who’s affecting change, is pretty damn badass.

“I think you’re amazing,” I say after a moment. “I know in my head what the Protectors do, but no one ever spelled it out quite like that before. And I’m impressed.”

She dips her head almost shyly. “Thank you.”

“I mean it. You’re a special woman. Strong and courageous on the outside, sweet and vulnerable on the inside. Fucking incredible.” I meet her gaze, and the air sizzles with tension.

Sexual, romantic, a little of everything.

The spark has been here since the beginning, but it turned up to eleven after I fucked her in that storage locker.

I’m frustrated by the limitations of my body right now, even though I know it’s only temporary. I want so badly to throw her on the bed and make her scream my name. Tie her hands to that headboard and watch her squirm and wiggle, begging me to let her come.

Doing it would be reckless, though, and I’m many things but stupid isn’t one of them. If I try to do too much too soon, it’ll probably cause a setback and that’s the last thing I need.

Although… as I think about it.

The longer it takes me to heal, the longer I can spend here.

And not just because I’m crazy about this badass woman sitting across from me. I’m also fascinated by the Royal Protectors, King Erik, and the life here at the palace. The Royal Protectors are at least fifty percent American, and in my heart, I know there’s more to this job than just the money.

For Natalia, it’s personal, but the others aren’t from here. Xander and Lennox and Axel and Jonas and Ace are all American and former military. Casey is American. One of the Royal Protectors who’s still in training is Canadian, a former professional hockey player, and his wife is a Scottish physicist. Ace’s wife is also American and a teacher, and they moved here as well.

There is something that sucks all these people in, and I’m really curious as to what it is.

I want to stay as long as possible because of Natalia, but it also has occurred to me the Royal Protectors might be what I want to do next.

I just need the time to figure it out.

I’m just about to tell her that when her phone goes off, a loud shrill sound unlike any other I’ve heard before.

“Shit.” She’s immediately on her feet, reaching for a pair of cargo pants I hadn’t noticed hanging over the back of a chair.

“Babe, what?—”

“This is an all-hands drill,” she says, not missing a beat as she slides her feet into boots that were on the floor beneath the chair. “That means you too. Get dressed as quickly as you can, please.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Injured or not, I know what this means.

She’s talked about drills, and I know they’re timed and treated like an actual attack. There are staff-only drills and all-hands drills. Staff only means it’s just the Protectors, palace staff, and/or immediate royal family members, excluding kids and nannies. All hands means everyone. Newborns, sick, elderly, support staff, visitors, anyone and everyone.

Which includes me.

And that means I’m going to slow Natalia down.