Frog Hog: Valen and Hutch (A Frog Hog Novella Book 1)
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Table of Contents
FROG HOG
Copyright
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Other Titles by International Bestselling Author, Rachel Robinson
Copyright © 2016 Rachel Robinson
All rights reserved.
Cover design by MakeReady Designs
Edited by J. Wells
Formatted by CP Smith
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
/Frôg • hôg/ 1. A woman who only dates SEALs
(Yes. That’s a real thing.)
Prologue
Hutch
Leaning against the bar with a beer in my hand, I’ve situated myself so I can see her. She looks just like her. She sounds just like her. The way she tilts her head back as she laughs is an identical mannerism. For all intents and purposes she could be her.
I knew I wanted Valen before I knew anything other than the curve of her ass; before I knew what it was she did every weekend night at this bar. I’ve watched her for weeks. Not in the creepy-I’m-going-to-steal-your-life-way, just in the gathering information way. She interests me in a way no other woman is capable of. Curiosity piqued, I know nothing but everything will quell this desire coursing my veins.
Valen crosses her feet at her ankles as she talks to one of my brothers, another SEAL. He’s already goofy-eyed and hard dicked over her and her fate is sealed for tonight. The jealous rage stirs in my chest, but I know I have to be patient. I push it down.
One of these days, when she finally works her way to me, I’m going to give her something my brothers don’t offer her—would never give her without being blackmailed and cut to the quick. I’m going to offer her me. All of me.
Valen’s laugh rings through the air, and I force the sadness tinged with desire down to the pit whence it came. Her smile is so wide and bright and her neck, long and lean. It won’t be easy getting to know Valen, but I know this is the only way I can be close to her.
And I’d do anything to get her back in my bed.
Chapter One
Valen
Before I desired men with rippled abs and a penchant for sixty-nine underwater, I was engaged. He was a nice man who lived next door to me during college. We started hanging out after statistics class where we did more body experiments than actual homework. His name was Dean, and he was as adventurous as his moniker leads you to believe.
We graduated college and began our respective careers, and because Dean followed the path of predictability; he proposed. And because I’d been inundated with his theories on life, I accepted on principle alone. Fireworks never flashed across my eyelids and kisses never turned into molten lava, dripping pussy syndrome. No, the union was safe. I knew I’d be secure forever. Dean wouldn’t cheat or do anything to upset me. By the book, by the goddamn sentence, he would be the definition of a good husband, regardless of cost.
I came home one day and Dean wasn’t enough. It wasn’t one thing or another, it was the whole package wrapped in a beige colored bow tie that did me in. Feet tucked under my ass, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa he let me choose, I told him I wanted to break up. The Bachelor played low in the background as I told him everything I always dreamed of saying, but never did for fear of hurting his feelings.
Dean was masterful at arguments and making his point seem more valid than mine, but I was ready for him this time. I spoke of lust and chemistry. I waxed poetic about messy sex and explosions of love—all things we never had, all things he knew we would never have. I forced my feelings down his throat until he had no rebuttal. At first, I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It’s hard when you’ve been with someone for a long time. Your mind makes you think you need them to survive. With my safety net gone, I danced back into the single market with a steely resolve that no one could sway.
I immediately gravitated toward the type of men that were the polar opposites of Dean.
The first time I did it, I labeled it novelty. The second, I was ovulating and extremely horny. The third time was because I’d had two martinis and he had fourteen abs. Fourteen. You don’t say no to that. I subconsciously ended up at Burning Fish twice. The third time I went by myself on a mission and even I was willing to admit the addiction was real.
No other man compares. There’s some visceral quality Navy SEALs possess that no other man has. Average Joe doesn’t have a fighting chance. The playing field is seriously unleveled. Normal men should raise the white flag and just bow down already. A SEAL has, in one pinky finger, enough testosterone to populate the planet three times over. Along with loaded AK’s they have loaded dicks. I have a theory that they should spray their seed like a rapid-fire weapon at any fertile woman. There would be more good in the world that way.
Everything they touch is fast and dangerous with a hint of mystery. The allure isn’t something anyone can overlook. Me, especially. I want it all. Every last, throbbing inch of every SEAL I can get my hands on. Dating them is nice and all, but I’m twenty-seven and my skin isn’t as soft as it was when I was eighteen. I’m tired of playing catch and release. I want a SEAL for keeps.
They hang out at this bar and they’re looking for what I’m offering. The lights are low and the noise is loud because it’s almost midnight, so most everyone is already drunk. Women have dark, spill spots on their tops and men have squinty drunk eyes--everyone has bad breath. The kind you get after you’ve drank all night long and alcohol ferments the insides of your cheeks and tongue. I’m not sure what that condition is called, but I know it well and take precautions against it.
I like to arrive when it’s late, like this. I’m still sober enough to edge the drunk girls out of the way and bonus points for still looking clean with minty breath. I’ll do a few shots before I leave, but I need to find him first. Narrowing my eyes, I scan the crowd looking for the “tells.”
If you live here, you know what a SEAL looks like. You have to watch out for the guys who pretend they’re SEALs, or try to pass themselves off as one. They’re just as frequent in places like this. These dudes will be in the Navy and sometimes they are support staff, and they’ll name the command the SEALs work at as their place of employment, but you can root them out with one simple question
. “What BUD/s class did you graduate in?”
Regardless of what they want you to think, the imposters won’t ever go so far as to throw out a number. Even they have loyalties to the Frog Men and wouldn’t cross them in their own territory. Sure there are websites where you can check the validity of such a claim, though I’ve never had to use one; I can always spot the real ones.
Narrowing my eyes in the dust-smote atmosphere, I let my eyes find what they so desperately seek. Firm hands grab me from behind, startling me into a small jump. “Valen,” he growls, tasting my name, and blowing his stank, beer breath into my breathing space.
I recognize the voice right away. Sighing, I spin in his hold. “Fancy seeing you here,” I reply, turning out of his strong grasp and backing away to an acceptable distance. Too close and I belong to him, but if I’m too far I’m an ice-cold bitch.
“You knew I’d be here. I’m always at Burning Fish. Want to ditch this place? That’s the subject we should be broaching.” He grins wide and predatory. Oh, what a rookie mistake. I smile at this obvious, FNG. He can’t help being the fucking new guy. Even if he is hot, I’m interested in something a little more…adventurous.
I shake my head and take a sip of my diet soda. “I’m here with a friend tonight. Next time for sure. Okay?” Nodding my head yes, I help him nod in response. That trick works well with drunk people. Waving a prim, tight wave, I vanish into the back screened-in room. The DJ is in the corner, the music is loud, and the bodies are sweaty as they flail around in every direction.
There’s a bar wrapping the edges of this room. It overlooks the ocean. Most of the stools are vacated in favor of dancing, but several are taken by couples trying to have drunken conversations. I’d wager a bet they are trying to decide where to go to after the bar closes. There’s one guy, he’s sitting in the corner, spun so he can watch the bodies as they pass by.
The lights are dim, and people keep butting in front of me, but I’m drawn like a moth to flame. How about frog to mosquito?
Chapter Two
Valen
I extend my hand when I’m just close enough to see the color of his eyes. They’re light green. His jaw is square, his muscles are large, and that bone frog tattoo licking up his neck? Well, that’s the proverbial panty scorcher. “Now what’s a man like you doing over here by himself?” I ask, smiling. When he slips his hand into mine I say, “I’m Valen.” A shiver, an actual godforsaken bolt from head to toe, hits me at first contact with his skin.
The man grunts, his wide chest pulling his black t-shirt and he raises his eyebrows. “You’re that Valen?” he asks, removing his hand from my grasp, as he leans back on his elbows. His posture suggests he can’t be bothered. Stiffening my back, I try to stifle the irritation. “I’m just taking in the scenery.” The bolt I just felt melts into a piss warm fizzle.
“What Valen?” I ask, even though I know where this conversation is headed. I can’t say it’s a virgin conversation, but I will say most of the guys don’t have a problem with it. They don’t mind sharing what they don’t plan to keep. “The most awesome Valen that ever existed on planet Earth? Or do you mean the Valen who walked over to a lonely gentleman to introduce herself despite her nervous demeanor?” Nervous, my ass. I’m not using any of my usual lines, but he’s taken me out of the safe zone.
His green eyes narrow right before he casts his glare over my right shoulder. “I’m not interested. Have a good night, though.” Panic sets in. I read this man all wrong, and I’m exceptional at reading people. My gay-dar is the hottest commodity in a one-hundred-mile radius. His left ring finger is bare of both a ring and the tattooed bands that are wildly popular in the Teams. This man is not taken. He’s just not. I don’t have a self-conscious bone in my body, but all of a sudden my face is awash with heat and shame.
“Excuse me?” I ask, trying not to scream over the music. “Who says I was offering you anything to be interested in? That’s offensive.” I cross my arms under my breasts and scowl. Glancing at my watch I check the time. Walking away at this point would be akin to a dog tucking its tail between its legs and retreating. I made the decision for tonight and he’s going down. Either between my legs or by way of an embarrassed woman’s scorn. He hasn’t even mentioned his name. What type of ill-mannered twat is he?
Sighing in an over exaggerated manner, he stands, and towers over me like a death haunt. Gazing down, he nods toward the exit back into the bar. “Go inside if you want to talk to me,” he says, brushing by me to stalk through the door. People get out of his way as he goes. Women gawk, his friends smirk, and I send my icy glare at his back hoping it penetrates to his heart. He chooses a booth and slides in. He motions to the seat in front of him when he sees I’ve followed. Now I’m a dog who follows instead of tucking its tail. Fucking hell. I slide into the booth acutely aware he’s sizing me up in the brighter light.
I stifle the gasp when I actually see him in full light. He is gorgeous. Not in the rogue, pussy defiling way. In the actual, ‘hey, I have good genes, nice symmetry, and bone structure that will make your children beautiful’ kind of way. The type of attractive that draws attention from strangers, the all-encompassing masculine features any woman wants in a man she desires to keep around.
“I wasn’t trying to be offensive, Valen. Quite the opposite actually. I don’t do…women like you. And before you say that’s offensive, you should know you blew off my buddy earlier, and we talk. And most guys love that thing you do with your tongue, and the small, black heart tattoo you have on your left hip-bone. This isn’t me being offensive, this is you being offensive assuming I’m like my friends. We aren’t all dick driven beasts only out to fuck.” He’s smiling as he speaks and it makes my stomach roil with rage. He swallows, and the frog tattoo on his neck dances. He meets my eyes and my brain momentarily scrambles. Is he sucking my soul out through my corneas while he trashes me? What is happening right now?
I take several deep breaths and stay silent, my eyes trained on his, he continues, “Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?” He throws his hands out to the sides and shrugs. “Tell me I’m off base. I’d love to be wrong. I’m looking for an actual relationship and I’m acutely aware this isn’t the place to find it, but given my circle of friends this is where I ended up tonight. You’re a beautiful girl and I’d love to take you out.”
I lose my breath. “If you’re not that Valen,” he amends, flashing his white smile my way. His eyes flick from the top of my head down, over my breasts—as far as he can see with the table blocking the bottom half of my body. I throb everywhere, my heartbeat skipping along at a furious pace I’m unfamiliar with. I’ve lost all control for the moment and I’m not sure how to get it back.
Clearing my throat, I fold my hands in my lap to keep from swinging on him. “You’re assuming after your tirade I’d want anything to do with a man like you.”
He crinkles his forehead. “A man like me? One that respects women?” He looks over my shoulder, distracted by something. Turning, I see his friends making faces his way. They halt their twisted grimaces when they notice I’m viewing their asshole maneuvers. They’re drunk, so their reaction time is like three seconds slower than it should be.
Slowly, I turn to face him again. “You haven’t even told me your name. How respectful is that?”
“I brought you inside here so I could talk to you away from them. I am respectful despite what misconceptions you’ve labeled me with. The name is Hutch, by the way. Not that it matters much at this point.”
“Why did you even bother bringing me in here to talk, Hutch?” I sling his name like a curse word. Anger needs to fully replace the lust I feel for this barbarian.
He shrugs and starts tapping his large fingers on the table. “I already told you I didn’t want to be here. I was bored.”
My eyes widen in shock. “My God, I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my life! You’re talking to me because you’re bored?”
He laughs. It’s a loud, low soun
d that sends shockwaves to my pussy. That cunt is a traitorous bitch. “It’s hilarious you think I’m insulting you given your predispositions. Why did you come here tonight? Humor me. The night is practically over anyways. Let’s learn something about each other.” He’s taken all of his friends off the table. Even if I wanted to, I’d never make myself look like anything but an angel in front of this jackass.
“As if!” I growl. “I came here tonight to find something different, too,” I admit. “Not that it’s any of your business. It’s why I turned down your friend in the first place.” Because I was waiting for a man like you, I think. Shaking my head, I clear my idiotic thoughts.
He presses his lips into a firm, smug line. “You expect me to believe you came to Burning Fish with the intent of finding a decent man to date?” Hutch quirks up one brow. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man with such smug facial features. He knows he’s beautiful and cunning and downright evil.
Clearing my throat, I avert my gaze—unsure how much longer I can heat under his stare without imploding. “I don’t want to date just any decent man. Some assumptions you’ve made about me are correct. There is a certain sort of man that makes my loins tingle.” Keeping a straight face is difficult, but I manage it aside from a small smirk.
“Wait, wait. So, you want to fuck a SEAL,” he says, keeping his voice low. They’re always very hush, hush about their profession. I’ve had a SEAL in the past swear up and down he was a pilot. I broke the news to him gently, that I was too skilled to fall for that line. “But do you actually want to date one? You realize they are two different things. One is far more complicated than the other,” he says, his face wiped of all emotion. He swallows hard and meets my eyes.
“I want to date a SEAL, Hutch. Not just fuck one. I’ve done that before. Since we’re being honest and because this conversation doesn’t matter, I’ll spill my fucking guts,” I admit.