Duty: A Secret Baby Romance (18 page)

Aaron comes over then stops, going to his bags, where he takes out a tube of lubricant. “It's a bit old, but it should do the trick,” he says, showing it to me. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” I promise, taking his cock in my hand and pumping it slowly. “I’m not a dainty little princess, remember?”

Aaron smiles and gets between my legs and lifts my hips until my asshole is exposed, trembling in the cool room air as he slides a pillow under me so I’m slightly off the bed. He squeezes a little bit of lube onto his fingers and rubs it into my asshole, and I moan. It feels good. “Oh, yes . . .”

His fingers slip inside again, and it's a little tight, but I stretch out as he pumps his fingers in and out slowly, until I'm pushing into his fingers, wanting more. “Aaron?”

“Yes?” he asks, his eyes hypnotized by the image of his fingers in my ass.

“I need your cock.”

Aaron's grin as he repositions himself tells me all I need to know. He squeezes more lube onto his cock, stroking himself until he's glistening in the light that plays in from the bathroom, and he positions himself at my ass, pausing. “Ready?”

“Been ready. Now . . .”

He nods and pushes in, the wide head of his cock stretching me painfully, but I love the pain, love the feeling of giving him this gift. When the head of his cock pops past my ring, we both pause, breathing deeply, letting our bodies adjust. Then with slow, small thrusts, he spreads me open, each time just a little deeper, and the pain disappears, washed away in the wonderful fullness of being this open for him.

The feeling of accomplishment that washes over me when I feel the tuft of Aaron's pubes crinkle against my ass makes me smile, and he leans down, kissing me. “You okay?”

“No,” I tease, stroking his face and kissing him lightly. “I'm not going to be okay until you make me your bitch.”

It feels good right now to be naughty, a little nasty, and Aaron growls in understanding. He pulls back and thrusts again, all the way, deep and fast, his hips slapping into mine, the sensation amazing. I groan deeply, gasping as he kisses me hard, thrusting his cock again and again into my tight ass, both of us moaning and grunting animal sounds at the sensations. Aaron's fingers find my nipples and pinch, making me cry out because it feels so good. He's just rough enough that I'm being ripped apart by the amazing feelings, lost in wave after wave of pleasure.

I feel Aaron swell in my ass, and I know he's close to coming, and I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his hips and urging him in deeper, to fill my ass with his seed and completely make me his forever. “Yes. Oh, oh!”

I start to scream, but Aaron kisses me, swallowing my scream as he also lets out a groan, filling me as I’m pushed over the edge again, trembling and my heels drumming on his back as I'm rocked by the deepest, hardest orgasm I've ever felt in my life. The world goes gray, and I feel something give way under my fingers that are clawing at his back until I drop off, unable to feel anything other than the warm weight of his body on top of me, holding me warm and safe.

My vision returns, and I see Aaron staring into my eyes. “What is it?”

“Just can't believe how perfect today is,” he whispers.

“It's not over yet,” I promise him, kissing him gently. I go to caress his back, and he hisses, sitting back. “What happened?”

“I think you scratched me hard enough to break skin,” he says with a groaning laugh. “Didn't feel it until just now.”

“Come on then, let's go clean that up,” I reply. “And get washed up.”

Aaron climbs off the bed. When we reach the bathroom, I'm shocked at the four parallel scratches on his back, and I look at my right hand, slightly embarrassed while Aaron studies the scratches in the mirror. “Looks like I'm wearing a t-shirt tomorrow. I have no idea how we'd explain this to Lance.”

His little joke helps me feel better, and we get back in the shower, adjusting the spray to stay off Aaron's back as much as we can.

I relax in the warm spray, and I can’t help myself. I have to get out what I’m thinking. “Aaron . . . what if I leave the Army? My enlistment's up in about eight months or so.”

He pulls me tighter and kisses me. “I'll support whatever your decision is. I love you, and I love Lance. Army or no Army, I'm not letting go of you two.”

“You mean it?” I ask, and Aaron nods.

“Completely.”

I kiss him again, and I’m surprised when I feel Aaron's cock twitch between our bodies, ready for another round. I grin and reach down, fondling him as he starts to stiffen again. “One more time before bed?”

Aaron smiles and nods, lifting my left leg with his hand. “One more time.”

F
riday morning
, and I'm looking forward to the weekend. Sure, it's not a training holiday, but at least Captain Bradley has backed off my ass. In fact, for the past week, he's barely said anything to me outside of duty needs, which to be honest, I'm fine with. I'm allowed to train with my platoon, and everyone, including Nadar, with his screwed-up ankle for another two weeks, is going along well. Even Hardy, whose Article 15 is next week, is doing well, the stress of possibly being court-martialed off his back. He's still a little stir crazy, but he's doing okay with it.

“Hey, Sarge!” I call across the area, waving to Pillman. “Got a minute?”

“What's up, sir?” he asks, relaxing. We're not doing too much today. Mostly, the platoon's working on some maintenance tasks in our equipment, nothing too rough. Even Nadar is able to contribute, sitting down on a chair and running radio check, making sure their batteries and cases are sealed properly and that the scrambler codes are staying locked in after being programmed. After a hard training week, the platoon can use the light day, and nobody's complaining about being a little bored.

Pillman comes over close and salutes, which I return casually. “Relax, Sarge. I just wanted to know if you've heard anything about your new slot.”

“Actually, the word on the wire is that I might be getting an ROTC slot, University of Oklahoma or something like that,” he replies, shaking his head. “Going from the Regulators to riding herd on a bunch of wet behind the ears cadets. You know they're worse than privates, right?”

The little jab makes me laugh, and I nod. “Hey, you could have been assigned to my alma mater. Then you'd have a bunch of cooped up, socially incapable cadets to deal with instead.”

Pillman groans melodramatically, then laughs. “Well, my wife was happy when she heard that I'm coming off the deployment line for a while. Nothing official yet, of course, but with my daughter getting ready for high school, it'll be nice to be able to actually stay home and see her go through school for a few years.”

“I hope so,” I tell him, thinking of Lance. “You know, Sarge, they may be just a bunch of cadets, but they'll benefit having a damn good NCO teaching them. I know I learned a lot from you.”

“Just take it on to your next slot too, sir. And remember rule number one.”

“That your NCOs are always right?” I ask, and Pillman laughs. “Yeah, I remember you telling me that some time. But first, I have to—”

“Yo, Simpson!” the XO, Robbie Lisker, calls from across the quad. He's new to the company, and I haven't really gotten to know him too much. Just part of the rotation, really. He's going to be the core officer for the company when they rotate overseas next year. “CO wants to see you!”

“Thanks!” I call back, waving. It's nice to be able to talk without the constant rank issues, and Robbie is one of only four people in the company I can do that with, with the other platoon leaders being the other three. You get used to it, but it's nice to not have to deal with rank at least a little bit. “I'll be right there.”

I turn back to Pillman, who shakes his head. “Seems you've got work to do today, sir. I'll make sure everyone's squared away here.”

“Good deal. See you at end of day formation,” I tell him, tossing off a quick salute and walking quickly toward the company offices. Inside, I see Robbie and wave. “CO's free now?”

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “He's smiling, so take that for what it's worth.”

“Really? Thanks for the heads up.”

I knock on the CO's door, and he calls from inside. “Enter!”

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” I ask, coming in. It's perhaps the one and only way that I've publicly changed my behavior toward the CO. Before he chewed my ass and put me on shit details about Lindsey, I almost always called him 'sir.' Now, he's 'Captain,' fully acceptable within military customs and courtesies, but the fact is that I don't respect the man any longer. Not after that bullshit.

“Sit down, Lieutenant. And close the door,” he says, pointing. I close his door and take a seat, crossing my right leg over my left and stretching out my hips a little bit. I've been on my feet for most of the day, and the ability to stretch a little helps. “I've got reassignment orders for you. Congratulations.”

I blink, stunned. “E–excuse me, Captain?”

He hands over the papers, and I read it silently before looking up at him, anger seeping into my voice. This is total bullshit. “You're transferring me.”

Captain Bradley nods, sitting back with a half-grin on his face. “I spoke with the battalion commander last week, and I told him that while it's a challenge, I think it'd be better for the company if you and SFC Pillman are able to transfer out at the same time. It'll give the Regulators a new Platoon Leader and Sergeant that work together flawlessly for the deployment.”

“But that's totally . . .” I start, then shut my mouth. It's not unheard of in the Army, but it's only done to units that have either an unfit platoon sergeant or platoon leader, usually an unfit officer. The theory is that if the platoon is fucked up, by bringing in two fresh faces, the amount of 'pollution' from the previous leadership is minimized. I've heard of it done, but I've never seen it. “You're fucking kidding me. Administrative transfer?”

“Not at all,” Captain Bradley says, a smirk on his face. “In fact, here's your evaluation report. I already submitted it to battalion. You're a one-block, top marks across the board. There's nothing in anything being done to in any way make it look like you're being administratively transferred.”

I take a look and see that the Captain's right. The OER says that I'm
Top 10%, recommended for promotion
in every category. The only remark that stands out to me is in the comments section. “Lieutenant Simpson shows great leadership skills, and he will be an asset to the Army with proper guidance on keeping his personal matters in check.”

I look up, fuming. “You cold-hearted son of a bitch. You shipped me out because I didn't bend over backward to your threat? Wasn't that week and some change of shit detail enough for you?”

“I told you, Lieutenant. I run things by the book. That the book has many ways to do things is something that you West Pointers don't seem to understand very well,” Bradley says, half snarling as he sits forward, totally confident in his being right on this whole thing. “I told you to break it off with her, Simpson. You're lucky I don't have you up on charges of disobeying a direct order as well as fraternization. What, did you think me being in a pickle about Hardy would stop me from getting rid of a bad officer?”

“I am in no way a bad officer,” I seethe, barely stopping myself from leaping across his desk and slamming my fist into his smug face. Still, my fingers tighten on the arms of my chair enough that I can hear the wood creak under them, and I'm about ready to see if I can rip them off the chair as is. “The Regulators are the best fucking platoon in this company. Or were you just jacking me off when you put us up for the battalion competition three months ago?”

“Three months ago, you had a good platoon,” Bradley says, scowling. “Oh, by the way, here's your new assignment.”

He hands me another piece of paper. I force myself to take it with professional demeanor before I read it, and I feel like I've been punched in the gut. “Tenth Mountain? You're sending me to fucking Fort Drum?”

“The battalion commander checked with division, and there aren’t any slots open for a high-speed First Lieutenant like yourself within the 82nd, especially in an XO slot like I know you're looking for. But, the Pentagon was able to find a slot in the 10th Mountain. You'll have to be quick on your move, however.”

“Why?” I ask, the ball in my gut turning to ice. I know the schedules as much as any other infantry officer, and I'm just waiting for the other boot to drop.

“Your new company rotated last month to Afghanistan,” Bradley says with a triumphant chuckle. “Unfortunately for them, their XO caught himself a very bad case of some disease or another and had to be rotated back to the States. The unit is short-handed now, so they've got priority. You're going to need to clear post by Wednesday. You fly Thursday morning.”

I ball up the paper, growling. “You're seriously sending me into a goddamn war zone with no prep, with Mountain boys? I'm not Mountain, I'm goddamn Airborne!”

“You're an Infantry First Lieutenant who’s qualified for an Executive Officer position,” Bradley shoots back, not offended at all. In fact, I think he's liking this. He'd want nothing more than for me to push it too far so he actually could have me arrested and court-martialed. “You are what the Army says you are. Now, my advice to you is to shuck your ass up to battalion to start the paperwork you need to get done. Oh, and don't worry about your property book. I've already signed it all back over to me. I'll take care of anything missing. I'll be making the announcement to the company at end of day formation. Try not to miss it so that you can say goodbye to everyone. You brought this on yourself, Simpson. Don't make it any worse.”

I stand up, trying to control my temper, and take a deep, shuddering breath. The only thing stopping me from wringing his arrogant neck is the fact that I can't see her in Leavenworth either. “Good fucking day, Captain.”

* * *

L
indsey's face
is as grave as I feel while she reads the papers again, dropping them on the table. “Tenth Mountain, in Afghanistan. Oh, Aaron . . .”

Lance, who doesn't quite understand the problem, only sees that his Mommy and Daddy are sad, and he gets worried. “Mommy? What's wrong?”

“Daddy's going to have to go away for a while,” I tell Lance, squatting down and taking his little hands in mine. “About six months or so.”

Lance looks confused still, and I realize that even though he's been an 'Army brat' his whole short life, Lindsey's never been deployed. “But why?”

“The Army wants me to go, and I have three years left on my commitment,” I tell him, picking him up and sitting down with him in the dining room chair that's available. “Lance, have you ever made a promise to do something?”

“Yes,” Lance says. “Miss Wendy makes me promise to pick up my toys every day before I get to take them out.”

“And do you?” I ask. Lance nods, and I echo it. “Well, buddy, about two years ago, I made a promise to the Army. I promised them that since they paid for me to go to West Point, and they paid for all the classes I took and the food I ate and all that stuff, that I was going to serve five years in the Army afterward. They gave me my rank, and they even gave me a job that way, but I still have three years to go on that promise.”

“But you just started to be Daddy!” Lance says, upset.

“I know,” I say, hugging him tightly as he starts to cry. “But you want to know something? Now that I'm your Daddy, that's never, ever going to stop. We can live in the same house, different houses like we do now, or even if I'm on the other side of the world. I'm always going to be your Daddy. And that's never going to change.”

Lance cries harder, and I rock him in my arms until he tapers down to sniffles, calming. I help Lindsey set him up with a video on my TV, and the two of us step into my back yard, wanting the privacy. “I understand how he feels,” Lindsey whispers, coming closer so I can hug her. “It's not fair, Aaron.”

“I know.”

“Can't you just . . . I don't know, resign your commission?” Lindsey asks, and I shake my head. “Why not?”

“Because if I don't complete my five years, the Army can come after me for the pro-rated amount of what they value a West Point education to cost. If I'd flunked out of the PT test, or there were some other possible reason they'd have me let go, that'd be one thing, and they probably wouldn't come after me for it. But, I'd be refusing orders to report to a combat unit, currently deployed, for no reason at all in their eyes. I'd have no defense. They'd come after me for every cent.”

“How much?” Lindsey asks, and I sigh. “That much?”

“You got somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty grand sitting around?” I ask with a dark chuckle. “Never mind that they'd probably bring me up on charges if I do. Face it, Lindsey. Bradley had a trump card, and he played it very damn well.”

“So what do we do now?” Lindsey asks, and I reach out, hugging her.

“We spend every minute together that we can between now and Wednesday,” I tell her, kissing her. “They're flying me straight out of Pope to Germany before bouncing me to Afghanistan, so I can get on that plane exhausted and wiped out. Who gives a damn? I'm already on 'transfer leave' from the 82nd, so while I'll be busy, I don't have to worry about anything other than cleaning out my stuff and packing my bags. Bragg's even letting me keep my field equipment so that I don't have to check out anything in Afghanistan, so that's squared away too.”

Lindsey nods, sniffling. “So this weekend?”

“This weekend is a family weekend,” I tell her, kissing her again. “I was thinking spending time with my son and my woman, eating pizza and going to Chinese buffets, and just packing as much fun into the next two days as I can. Then dealing with the rest. I did have one request.”