Sharon Hamilton & Her Sexy SEALs!

Hi,

It’s fabulous to have Sharon Hamilton on Superotica today. She’s one of my co-writers with a story in High Octane Heroes but this time she’s going to tell us about her latest title SEAL Under Covers and why she adores Navy SEALs.

Over to you, Sharon:

Writing SEAL Romances

I’ve always had a healthy respect for the men and women who put on a uniform and protect us from harm’s way. Any uniform will do: police, fire, Para-rescue, and of course, military of all kinds. But it wasn’t until I attended a graduation celebration following the grueling BUD/S training in Coronado that I understood why Navy SEALs had permanently stolen my heart.

I mean, my heart is buried out at sea along with the DOR bell that sometimes gets buried there too. Men train for this elite group of warriors by doing all sorts of things. They carry little rubber boats up over sharp boulders as a team, timed, with bullhorns shouting at them. They get “wet and sandy” by lying down on the beach in the surf, throwing sand over their entire cold soaking bodies. They carry telephone poles on their heads in teams enough times to rub the hair off their scalps. They go sometimes five days without a shower, with less than an hour’s sleep, and without a change of clothes such that their feet turn green and their chest and underarms are bloody from the chafing from their life vests.

I watched as they walked like some crab-like species, careful to sit down and humbled to be one of the few. Of a starting group of almost two hundred men, only a dozen survived the training.

They walked past rows of helmets and boots from all those that DORed, Dropped on Request. The instructors don’t make it easy to drop, either. The recruits are sometimes forced to run after the DOR bell, which is mounted in the back of a pickup truck heading down the beach. They have to work hard to catch up to that bell and ring it.

There is a lot more to the training than just the physical or mental aspects of being a SEAL. I don’t have time or room to talk about all that. But, what I love about writing Navy SEAL Romances is the problem for these fine heroes when they come home and have to face the world of shopping malls and elevator music. When they fall in love with a little lady who knocks their world off its axis. All the tough training, all the mental and physical preparation doesn’t train them for falling in love.

I know, not fair, to mix them up so much and give them a hard time at home. But at least they’re alive, and out of harm’s way (for the most part). If I was Queen of the Universe I’d make sure they all were perma-safe like some of the immortal alphas I also write. I make sure they all fall in love, and all have a happily ever after. It’s the least I can do.

Here is an excerpt from my new release, SEAL Under Covers, which is Book 3 in the SEAL Brotherhood Series.

He knew she was aroused by the way her eyes widened when he’d kissed the back of her hand. He could see them having sex together, a satisfying and painful thought because of the Tomahawk missile between his legs. It was difficult driving the truck, reaching over the wheel to shift with his left hand because his right hand was entwined with hers. And as long as she hung on to him so tightly, he damn sure wasn’t going to let go. She watched the tangle their hands made together as his fingers reached up towards her chest. He touched her with the backs of his knuckles right above the deep neckline of her fuzzy dress.

And best thing of all, she let him.

As he snaked one finger down her front, Gina closed her eyes and licked those bright red lips. Ordinarily, he’d want to wash off all the makeup she wore. He liked women plain but beautiful. But tonight, he knew he’d take her either way and her hot come-on looks were turning him hotter, which surprised him. He was as excited by her puffy crimson lips as the mounds of her breasts heaving under his fingers.

If a little rub right there made her shudder and moan, what would she do when he did something with his tongue? He was starved for the taste of her. Suddenly he wanted to be planted deep inside, making her melt in his arms with ecstasy.

He was weaving over the roadway, and knew it was dangerous, so he pulled over and into a deep shoulder, put the truck in neutral and yanked the hand brake. He’d forgotten to turn off the radio he and Fredo had listened to on the way over, and the crackle of the Eighties Mix made him feel just like how he’d felt in high school. He was back on that infamous date with the Homecoming Queen, the one whose father wouldn’t allow them to date afterwards because Armando was Hispanic and Mary Jo and her family was very lily white.

It had been years since he’d wanted someone this much He turned off the ignition and slid over, pressing her back against the passenger door, throwing a knee between her legs and riding her thigh as he kissed the soft places under her chin and behind her ear. He wished he could take his time with her, make love to her all night, but, if she didn’t stop him, he’d nail her right here in the front seat.

He liked that she wasn’t as urgent as he was. He’d halfway expected her to rip his clothes off, but she seemed to hold herself back. Her kisses were long, though. She inhaled his tongue and lingered against him everywhere they touched, which he took as a definite sign she was just as into him as he was into her.

He smoothed his palm up against her thigh and towards the center, rubbing up and down her panties. She arched back and raised her knees slightly. Unless he was completely misreading the situation, Gina wanted him to take her now.

“You want to do this here?”

She sighed, lacing her fingers through his hair, then, tracing down his nose with one provocative finger. She took his face in her hands and breathed, “Anywhere.”

A car passed them and honked. Armando figured it was someone who saw the steamy windows, the silhouette of two people beginning to get it on, and recognized Fredo’s truck.

Another Team Guy.

“Back seat?” he asked, thankful for the four-door beater, but hoping she wouldn’t notice the condition of the compartment. Before he could warn her, Gina was up over the back of the front seat, her luscious ass practically in his face as she dove to the bench behind. The unmistakable sound of hamburger wrappers and milkshake cups being tossed to the floor and crushed didn’t dampen his ardor.

She crouched for a second, removing something from her bra, he thought, stuffing it in her purse. Up on the seat, she quickly slipped her dress over her head and shoulders and wadded it up as a pillow under her head. She lay there in her black panties and bra, feet still encased in the red spiked heels, waiting for him to do the rest. And she held a little foil packet in front of her.

Nice. Because Armando had forgotten to replace the one he’d used.

Armando had a little more trouble getting over the seat back due to the size of his package, which hung like a lead weight next to his thigh. He must have been as big around as his arm. At least that’s the way it felt.

As he covered her body, her fingers found his zipper, and he was glad she was quick, her urgency beginning to grow. God, it made him ache for her even more. He felt her fingers squeeze his buttocks as the cargo pants slid from his waist down to his knees. He kicked off his shoes and removed his pants the rest of the way. She lay back, putting one long arm under her head and letting the other rest on the back of the second seat, holding the condom.

I know it’s not fair, but you’ll have to get the book to read the whole scene. But I think you’ll like it. Come stay awhile in my world of hunky Navy SEALs and the woman who are lucky enough to love and be loved by them.

Sharon Hamilton

Life is one fool thing after another.

Love is two fool things after each other.

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