The Navy SEAL's scarred chest presses against Queenie's heavy breasts with every security sweep through the restricted corridors, his control the only barrier between duty and the urge to breed the woman he guards. Her birthmark at the throat draws his hand during checks, and the defiance in her gaze cracks under the weight of his dominance.

Duty locks them into tighter quarters where an active threat circles, and professional restraint collides with the raw hunger to claim and fill her. Each hour on the base tightens the noose around his mission and exposes the terror of failure buried beneath his dominance.

In the equipment locker their faces remain inches apart, breaths mingling as his hands hover at the edge of ruin. One touch will decide if he destroys everything to breed her.