Page 104 of Beast

I collapsed across the bed. A thousand spikes of pleasure still bounced through my body. I gasped in a final breath, savoring the moment. I had to tell him something.

“I love you.”

I didn’t expect a response. Maybe a cuddle, a kiss on the forehead, a loving touch.

The silent night echoed through the room. He wrapped his arms around me, pulled me to him.

I was drifting off to sleep, content with his embrace.

A few more seconds passed, and his words roused me from my haze. His lips parted. “I love you, too.”

31

Patrick

ANNIE AND GABRIEL SLEPT IN late, but I couldn’t rest. After making her come last night, I was worked up, so I just watched her sleep. I wanted to fuck her so badly but I had to be patient. Normally, and I know it makes me a fucking douche to say this, but I wasn’t the type to have a woman stay over at my apartment. I couldn’t afford those kinds of connections due to the amount of time I was on assignment. I simply didn’t want the complication. With Annie though, I didn’t have any objections to waking up with her shit all over my house or having her in my bed.

I snuck out to the farmer’s market, came back, and made her breakfast in bed. I wasn’t much of a chef, more of a short order cook—scrambled eggs, bacon, toast.

I told her I had to do something quick at work and that I’d be back in an hour or so. She and Gabriel decided to take Trigger to the park.

I cruised over to Kyle’s place. The lucky bastard had invested some of his NFL money in a sick townhouse overlooking the beach.

I rang the doorbell and a blonde girl opened the door wearing nothing but one of Kyle’s jerseys and purple panties.

The girl didn’t say anything, just turned and walked into the kitchen. I followed, and couldn’t help staring at her fine ass. Had I never met Annie, I’d probably be hooking up with a different girl every night since I’d been home. Kyle and I would be living it up, maybe even hit the Playboy mansion. We always were invited courtesy of a Hollywood director who loved us. We’d trained his actors for one of the many action movies about the Bin Laden raid.

Kyle was sitting at his breakfast bar, reading the paper. He wore only pajama bottoms.

The girl went into the kitchen. “Want some breakfast?” She cracked an egg into a bowl.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“My bad. Pat, this is Sara. Let her cook you breakfast.”

“Sure.” Every girl Kyle hooked up with tried to audition to be his wife. He wasn’t like me—he believed in love and wanted to get married. But he still hadn’t found what he was looking for.

Sara smiled, put some butter in the skillet. “So are you a former football player, too?”

I glared at Kyle, not knowing if he had even told this chick he was a SEAL. I doubted it. Kyle usually told people he was retired from the NFL.

“Nah, honey. Pat here’s my personal trainer. Actually, we need to discuss my plans for the upcoming season in my office. Can you bring us our omelets when you’re done?”

“Sure, babe.”

Kyle stood up and kissed her, his right hand cupping her ass. I followed him into his office.

“Upcoming season? She thinks you still play ball?”

“I told her I used to play ball, might try out again.”

“Really? That’s news to me. You’re kind of locked into a military contract.”

“True that. But who knows, I could write a book about one of our missions and get kicked out.”

I laughed. Five years ago, most SEALs wanted to remain anonymous. After the Bin Laden raid, every SEAL had a book deal, wanted to become an actor, or ran a Cross Fit. It was fucking ridiculous.

“When’d you meet her?”