Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
E.M.
She stopped training with us durning the day, but at night I see her on the field. Push-ups, sprints, laps, building muscles over muscles on her perfect body. She runs the mile fast. Like four minutes and seventeen seconds fast. I know because I time her each night to see if she loses form or if her time slips up. But nope. Four minutes and seventeen seconds. Always.
I haven't met her, and I'm not sure I should. The guys say she keeps to herself and we should stay out of her way - NSA or FBI or something like that, the rumors whisper. Like I ever listen to the guys except when we're on a mission.
I'm a SEAL. I know stealth and silence and how to be neither seen nor heard, so I let her walk thirty feet in front of me. I'm not stalking, I swear, I'm just ... curious. Curious because there's more to her and this rehab story than they're letting on, and sure, it's none of my goddamn business, but when has that stopped me?
My feet trip on a rock - who the hell put a rock on the dirt path? - and I stumble for a moment but catch myself on my hands. I'm a pretty quiet tripper for a big guy.
And then I'm on my stomach in the dirt, one of her knees is pressing on my balls and her other foot holds my head against the gravel. She's a motherfucking ironman.
"Why are you following me?" She demands. Her voice is smooth like honey, and probably tastes as sweet.
I grunt, but I'm not saying anything. Her knee in my ball sac would probably make me sound like a little girl if I tried.
"Steer clear and mind your own goddamn business, Squid."
And she's gone faster than she appeared.
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A/N:
WOOHOO! Off to a biting start!
Thank you for the love!
