SEAL: A BWWM BAD BOY NAVY SEAL ROMANCE Read online

  SEAL

  A BAD BOY BWWM NAVY SEAL ROMANCE!

  [email protected]

  www.amazon.com/author/miacaldwell

  © 2015 Mia Caldwell

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

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  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to Avery. You’ll always be my man in uniform…

  -Mia

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  More from MIA CALDWELL!

  It was supposed to be simple.

  One night, no regrets, no strings attached.

  I thought I’d never see him again.

  I was wrong.

  I’m so fucked.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DEVLIN

  The limousine stopped abruptly, right in the middle span of the sweepingly curved Coronado Bay Bridge. I looked up, briefly, but managed to retain the rhythmic piston-thrusting of my cock into my fuckbuddy Sandy. She was really digging on the sensation of my P.A. piercing against her wildly wet pussy walls and She definitely wasn’t paying attention to the traffic delay………

  “Don’t stop Dev! Oh fuck, don’t stop!”

  My favorite words……..

  Her gyrating hips looked like they were about to unhinge from the rest of her body, swiveling frantically while she screamed out in ecstasy. As I lifted and tilted her ass in the air with my hands, she let out a coyote-like howl, digging her long violet fingernails into my back, right between my shoulder blades, and slicing into my Navy SEAL tattoo, again. The sharp pain caused me to unload my entire wad into her and I came hard..........really fuckin’ hard. Three final stabs, and I was done.

  I had hoped to fuck her longer, but it wasn’t the first time a girl did that to me. The circular barbell in the head of my dick had a way of sending them into a fucking frenzy. I made sure I always left them more than satisfied.

  I might not be a gentleman, but I always allow the lady to come first.

  By the time I looked up again, we were already cruising through the streets of downtown San Diego. “Better get your clothes on quick babe, we’re almost there.”

  “Oh shit! Okay! How’s my hair?”

  “Good enough.”

  The limo driver stopped the car in the parking lot of Seaport Village, got out, and opened the door for Sandy. She was disheveled and breathless. The driver was used to seeing my “dates” leave that way.

  Sandy waited tables at one of the restaurants on the waterfront. I didn’t know which one and I didn’t care. Fuck, I didn’t even care if I knew a chick’s name most nights. Sandy was fun and all, but I knew better than to expect anything but a booty call from her.

  “This is the last time,” She said, reaching over to squeeze my thigh.

  “Never say never,” I replied, smiling.

  The driver offered a hand to Sandy as she exited the rear of the car. She barely acknowledged him before scurrying off with her shoes in hand.

  It was the last time. I knew that. Sandy was thinking about working things out with her ex husband, and I’m no goddamned home wrecker. I watched her disappear around a corner and shook my head. We had some good times…

  She kept my mind off the pain.

  “Where to now, Mr. Danes?”

  “Home, please...”

  It was only 9 A.M. but I needed a drink. My fucking knee was throbbing. I poured some whiskey over ice and promptly knocked it back. Then I poured myself another, propped my leg up onto the leather seat and reclined back for the rest of the ride, up Pacific Coast Highway, to the hilly seaside community of La Jolla.

  My little fucking slice of heaven.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CALI

  By the time I shifted my little black Fiat into fifth gear, I got stuck at yet another red light on F Street. Traffic in the downtown area was always thick, despite the many transit options. I tried not to let all the idiot drivers get to me as I sang along to the Beach Boys’ “Little Deuce Coupe” on the radio. My momma had instilled a love of 60’s music into me while I was still in the womb.

  Despite my upbeat attitude and the cheery song, the city got the best of me…

  More street construction?

  I felt like a rat in a maze.

  Goddammit! Which way should I go now?

  At least I was lucky. I was going to a job I loved. Not just a job, either. It was my own physical therapy business, located inside a popular gym.

  Bayside Fitness offered the perfect facility for my therapy/rehab services: A large office space, and private therapy rooms for my company, PacificMed, plus a 30,000 square-foot gym, swimming pool, and exercise classes for my clients. Everything an injured soul might need to get their body back in perfect working order.

  And there was no shortage of perfect bodies around this place. The mild year-round San Diego weather was ideal for showing off a sexy physique. And being summer, maintaining beautiful beach bodies was the goal du jour. Bayside Fitness was an awesome health club but it was also a meat market.

  I snagged an impossibly small parking spot outside the sports complex, got out, and headed toward my office. The ease of parking my little Fifi, (My car’s nickname) more than made up for her lack of horsepower.

  As I was unlocking my office door, one of my least favorite clients sauntered by me and headed into the cardio room. I was glad my back was to him, because my conscious attempt at not rolling my eyes failed miserably.

  “Hellooo, Gorgeousssss.”

  “Good-morning, Travis.”

  What an asshole. But as his physical therapist, I had to overlook that. He thought he was quite the smooth-talking, ladies’ man, but in reality he was just a jerk with an inflated ego and a pair of way-too-tight gym shorts. He strutted around like a silly rooster, with his chest puffed up and his chin stuck way out like he had a corn cob up his ass.

  My work wardrobe consisted solely of loose-fitting sportswear, but it didn’t help around here. I was hit on relentlessly. Outside of Travis my clients usually left me alone, but the rest of the male gym patrons were a different story. They felt compelled to flirt with me while I worked rehabilitation out in the weight-training areas.

  Of course, they weren’t subtle about what they really wanted. Their eyes were usually
glued to my tits or my ass, no matter how baggy my clothes were. One steroidal freak actually started addressing me as “Cali-fornication”.

  He was more amused at his clever play on my name than I was.

  A couple of times I’d been tempted to complain to the club owners, but Kesha, my business partner, always talked me out of it. She insisted that the annoying attention bestowed upon me by dickheads was, ultimately, good for our bottom line.

  Kesha was my loyal friend from way back in middle school, and now she was an extraordinary physical therapist. She’d always been brilliant, and truth be told, that scared quite a few men away. She made it clear I was the bait for her hook…

  I’d always been the one the boys flocked to. Maybe it was my big golden hazel eyes or my beautifully mocha skin… Maybe it was just because I’d bloomed a little earlier than the other girls.

  Whatever caused it… My caterpillar became a butterfly, but Kesha’s was still stuck in its cocoon. Working in a fitness center didn’t seem to have any effect on her ability to socialize without me. At the end of the day, I was the one who had to endure the idiotic advances leveled by all the “Travises” at the gym, and Kesha was happy to swoop in on anyone I rejected.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DEVLIN

  Two weeks had passed since Sandy stepped out of my limo and things hadn’t gotten any better…

  The intense pain in my knee started to subside with the second scotch of the day. I figured one more pull directly off the bottle ought to do it. Carl never failed to keep the limo bar fully stocked.

  Today was another visit with the doctors and yet another asshole with a PHD telling me I was either going to take my physical training serious or end up in a wheelchair.

  The smooth ride up PCH to my neighborhood was a favorite of mine and I felt relaxed... But, as usual, my thoughts kept wandering back to my last SEAL mission and the IED that shattered my knee cap. The daily pain was a constant reminder.

  I spent a lot of time thinking about it and near as I could tell, the improvised explosive must’ve been hidden somewhere on the tugboat vessel that had accompanied the tanker. My best guess was that it was probably smuggled on board while the tanker was being loaded full of oil at the rebel-held Libyan port.

  When my SEAL team took control of the ship in the international waters off the coast of Cyprus, we were in for quite a surprise.

  BOOM!

  That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital in Athens. My extended stay there was anything but a Greek vacation, although I had been lucky enough to meet a pair of really fucking hot nurses. I’ll never forget Helena’s warm olive oil massage…

  But I couldn’t fuck away the pain or the regret.

  We lost a member of our team that day. Fuckin’ Ray Carvelle. I loved him like a brother. He should have been the one laid up in that hospital room…

  The brass said I was a hero. Said I dragged three men out of the water before passing out from the blood loss. I didn’t feel like a fucking hero. I was here with shrapnel in my leg and Ray Carvelle was buried at sea in the fucking Mediterranean.

  He was the hero. I was just another broken soldier.

  A few months ago, I was flown back the states and I’d been staying in my father’s beachfront home in La Jolla ever since. I underwent knee replacement surgery at the Naval Medical Center and there was nothing left to do but heal.

  I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to forget.

  I hadn’t gotten the most out of my first round of physical therapy. Not even close. All of my doctors strongly suggested I get serious about my rehabilitation and resume PT.

  They were right. My knee hurt worse than ever.

  I was done fucking around feeling sorry for myself.

  I set up some more appointments. I figured that would give me something to do besides my regular daily debauchery. It was time to stop trying to forget.

  It was time to remember.

  The limousine crept slowly up the winding driveway, giving me plenty of time to drink in the sapphire blue ocean vista of my congressman dad’s residence. He’d jumped at the chance to have me back home, but I knew what he really wanted. Pictures with his son, the motherfucking wounded war hero.

  I was nothing but a pawn for his little political dealings. Always had been. It’s why I ran off and joined the navy in the first place. I didn’t need his money or his politics.

  After the hell I’d been through though… It was nice to be back. The view was fuckin’ magnificent and I never grew tired of seeing it. The car pulled into the warehouse-sized garage and the door closed behind us on cue. Carl opened the car door for me and offered me a hand. I refused to take it and struggled to get out on my own. My bum leg had fallen asleep.

  “Is my father home yet, Carl?”

  “Not till tonight, Sir.”

  I limped into the house and headed straight for the bathroom medicine cabinet, gulping down a couple of Vicodin without water. I kept my pain pills at home, because I knew that if I carried them on me, the bottle of one hundred wouldn’t last.

  I sprawled out on my back, sinking into the white suede sectional sofa and gazed out at the sparkling Pacific through the floor-to-ceiling living room windows. My dick ached from Sandy’s pussy pulling on my cock ring so aggressively. I was still getting used to the feeling since it was relatively new. It was worth it though. All the chicks seemed to get off on it in a big way.

  Yesterday’s beach party over on “the strand” had stretched on into the evening hours and turned into another depraved all-nighter.

  Since I had absolutely no sleep under my belt and the effects of the Vicodin were kicking in, I decided a nap would be in order before heading out for my PT appointment. I wanted to, at least, appear to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed…… and sober.

  I was determined to turn over a new leaf with regards to my rehab. The last therapist came to the house for my sessions and I didn’t find him to be very motivating. This time I would try doing my therapy in a gym. Maybe it would be different. Besides… If the therapy didn’t work, there was bound to be some more eager little pussies wanting a ride on my Prince Albert. That was always good for taking away the pain… At least for a little while…

  CHAPTER TWO

  CALI

  Scrolling down to the very bottom of the computer screen, revealing our daily appointments, I came to the name of the last person scheduled for the day. I blinked twice, hoping my eyes were simply out of focus, but his name was still there. Devlin Danes? Are you kidding me? The Devlin Danes? Obviously, the same one. How many could there be in San Diego? Shit, shit and double shit!!

  “Kesha, today’s last appointment? Did you speak to this guy, or did he book online?”

  “Devlin Danes? Yeah, I talked to him, briefly. Why? Do you know him? He was kind of an asshole on the phone... Sounded like he was in pain.”

  “I know him alright. It sounds like he hasn’t changed at all. You’re almost correct: He is definitely an asshole, but not because he’s in pain. That’s just how he is. Period. He’s an egotistical, conceited, dickhead. So, are you able to do his appointment today? Please, Kesha? Pretty please?”

  “Wow, Cali. As tempting as that sounds, you know I can’t take him. I have to leave at 4 o’clock today to pick up my mom from the airport? How do you know this guy anyway? When did you meet him? Where did you meet him? Why don’t I know about him? Is he one of your old flames?”

  I hardly knew where to start. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with Kesha. I was still embarrassed, even though six years had gone by. Just seeing his name, Devlin Danes… It turned my stomach and made me cringe. It also made me sweat. I didn’t even want to repeat it out loud.

  Kesha wasn’t going to give up, so I was forced to send my mind and memory back to my college days at San Diego State University. I was still dating my high school sweetheart, Deshawn, and Kesha was away in Arizona attending ASU. I ended up relaying the b
asic plot to Kesha, but not the full movie version that still played in my head:

  For weeks, Deshawn and I had been arguing almost nonstop. Things weren’t really working out between us, but I kept trying… Right up until I caught him cheating on me with some bitch from up state.