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“Captain Zachariah Clark at your service, ma’am.”

Becky licked her luscious lips with that sinful tongue in an assessing, appreciative look that made his entire body lurch.

“I’ve never seen you in uniform before,” she said. “You wear it well.” She scanned him from shoulder to shoulder, from head to toe. “Take it off, Captain.”

In a single beat of time, the atmosphere in the room thickened.

“The hotel cleaners just sent it up, starched and pressed,” he tried to argue.

“So we’ll make it a point not to wrinkle it,” she said, grinning wickedly. “Come on, soldier. Take it off and come over here.” Becky reached for the knot of terry cloth between her breasts and dropped her towel.

She was naked.

Damn. Zachariah’s penis throbbed to shameless attention as he stood, transfixed, by all her abundant glory. His body knew he was fighting a losing battle. He might as well go with it.

“At your command…”

At Your Command

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