Authors: Ava Jackson
His Plaything (13 page)
Epilogue
Avery
The department chair cleared her throat and called, “Avery Palmer.”
I stood, flicking my tassel out of my face, and started climbing the stairs up to the stage. Amid the general low-key applause, I flushed slightly to hear Cynthia’s distinctive whoop from the back of the auditorium. The whole family had come to watch me graduate … except for the man I most wanted to see.
I had hoped Nixon would be back by now, but his last email said that his training mission would last another few weeks. Nothing either of us could do. Our first deployment as a couple had overlapped with my graduation ceremony—and when the government said go, Nixon went.
Though his absence added a bittersweet touch to this moment, I didn't resent it too much. This was his life, his dream job, and I was happy to be part of his own happiness. The sight of Nixon standing tall in his service dress blues had lit a fire of pride in my heart … not to mention other places. Just what was so damn sexy about men in uniform?
Maybe I should write my first blog post about the aesthetic psychology of military fashion.
My mind drifted back to the morning I'd kissed him goodbye, smiling through my tears. He had looked so impressive—every inch the strong protector, selfless to those he served and fierce to their enemies. The sleekness of his double-breasted suit jacket was interrupted only by six brassy buttons, the campaign medals glinting over his heart, and the official patches on his left sleeve. Nixon had explained to me what each symbol meant. At the collar, a perfect four-in-hand necktie peeked out against his crisp, snow-white shirt. On his head perched a white cap with goldenrod embellishments and a stiff black brim. His sharply creased black trousers and spit-shined patent leather shoes completed the picture of clean-cut strength. Pure masculinity, disciplined but never tamed.
As I accepted my diploma and shook hands with the department chair, there was a renewed burst of clapping. I glanced out into the crowd, confused, and heard a piercing whistle. My eyes cut over—only to see the same uniform that I'd watched walk away two months ago. Nixon was waiting just offstage, a huge bouquet of red roses in hand.
Without hesitation, I rushed down the stairs and threw myself into his arms. He caught me in midair and spun, kissing me passionately, and the crowd erupted into tumultuous cheers. Amid the excited din, Nixon swept his bouquet hand under my knees and carried me right out of the graduation ceremony. I could only imagine what our family was thinking, but if Nixon didn't care, neither did I.
“There's some classrooms down this hall to the left,” I whispered into his ear. “Nobody should be using them today.”
“God, I love you,” he muttered back, his voice already slightly rough.
It took only a few minutes to find an empty, unlocked classroom. Nixon set me back down on my feet and shoved a chair under the doorknob. “Panties off,” he ordered huskily as he started undoing his belt.
I hurried to pull my lavender thong down over my shoes and dropped it on the linoleum, followed by my cap and gown. I knew where Nixon was going with this—I couldn't wait to feel him, either. And as much as I wanted his entire naked body pressed against my own, I also wanted to avoid tempting fate. If somebody happened to wander by and catch a glimpse of us…
I squeaked when he picked me up again and sat me on the professor's desk. With one warm, strong hand behind the small of my back, he pushed up the skirt of my graduation dress. “You ready?” he asked.
I held his gaze, hoping he could see just how badly I needed him—in my heart as well as well as my body. “Since the second I saw you out there.”
“Avery … God, I missed you so much.” Holding me tight, he thrust in easily, and our moans blended together. His thick cock disappeared inside me until he was fully buried. “I've been waiting so long…”
“Seven weeks, three days, and—ooh—ten hours.” With every sharp snap of his hips, pleasure sparked from deep inside my pussy all the way to the base of my skull.
“Is that all?” I felt his chuckle in my sternum more than I heard it. “Feels like even longer than my last dry spell.”
“Our phone-sex sessions weren't enough?”
“Oh, they were amazing,” he panted. “It was my hand that wasn't enough.”
Sparks of pleasure built hotter and hotter, faster and faster, lighting up my whole body. “M-mine … either,” I managed to reply before I couldn't speak anymore. He shifted his grip on one hip to rub my clit with his thumb—and that was all it took. I almost screamed, legs locking around his back and toes curling in my high heels as I quaked with overwhelming pleasure.
Eyes fluttering shut, I slumped back onto the desk, almost too boneless to catch myself with my elbows. It took me a second to notice that Nixon had knelt down. “W-what are you doing?” I gasped, fighting to sit up and look at him. “We have to get back out there!”
His head disappeared under my skirt as he propped my ankles up onto his shoulders. “You need to get cleaned up first … wouldn't want you dripping my cum all over those panties in front of our folks.”
Before I could say another word, I felt him wipe a tissue across my sensitive flesh, apparently cleaning up his mess. Then his talented mouth went to work and I lost the power of speech again. My clit was still oversensitive from my last orgasm and I could feel every rasp and writhe of his slick tongue. The tiniest movement set my raw nerves quivering like plucked harp strings. It wasn't long until I stuffed my knuckles in my mouth, biting hard to stifle my cries.
Nixon stood and wiped his face on his sleeve, grinning at my breathless, disheveled state. “Need a hand?”
“Shut up.” I gave him a halfhearted glare, but I was still too blissed-out to muster any real annoyance. “You don't need me to tell you how good you are.”
“But I always love hearing it.” He offered an elbow to lean on while I stepped back into my panties.
I quickly retouched my makeup—not too bad, though my lip gloss had gotten smeared straight to hell—and gathered up my cap and gown. Then I led Nixon back to the auditorium, where the reception had just started.
Oops … I guess we were gone longer than I thought.
Cynthia and Russ were talking to one of my professors by the stage. At the refreshment table along the near wall, Emma and Ford were examining the selection of cheap punch and grocery-store cookies. Nixon walked up behind his brother and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Ford turned, blinking, then laughed. “You sneaky son-of-a-bitch! You could've at least told your own brother you were coming.”
“Like you can keep a secret.” Nixon smirked. “Without marrying her, I mean.”
Ford gave Emma a meaningful glance. “In case I didn't tell you before, you're allowed to call him a motherfucker now. He'll be your brother-in-law soon—you have that privilege.”
Keeping an amazingly straight face, Emma nodded at them both. “I'll keep that in mind.”
Nixon snorted, not unkindly, and turned back to Ford. “So how's the ranch these days?”
As they started catching up on family-business news, Emma winked at me behind their backs. The message was clear:
Got laid, huh?
I tried not to let my embarrassment show. Instead, I pointed at my neck and raised my eyebrows:
I'm not the only one
. Emma looked startled and adjusted her thin silk scarf to cover the purple bite mark there. Then our awkwardness collapsed into giggles, causing Ford to give us a weird look.
Emma stepped close to envelop me in a warm, perfumed hug. “Mom and I are dying for some good seafood, so Russ wants to take us all to Truluck's for dinner,” she whispered into my mussed hair. “But as soon as the over-fifty crowd goes to bed … you owe me some juicy details. Trade you a drink?”
“As if I wouldn't tell you everything anyway.” I couldn't keep the stupid grin off my face. For sheer juiciness, my story definitely wouldn't disappoint.
“We can get rid of the boys and go to the hotel bar.” Emma finally let go of me, her smile full of affection. “It's so nice to see you again.”
Finally noticing our little party at the refreshment table, Cynthia waved frantically and started dragging Russ toward us. I grabbed Nixon's hand to get his attention and grinned at my stepparents, eager to welcome everyone back into my life. We were definitely an unconventional family—
but all the better for it
, I thought.
Settling in to catch up on everything I’d missed over the last few months, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I had my diploma in hand and my man back safe and sound. Nothing could get me down today—not even the very confused expression on my dad’s face as he walked toward us. Clearly, he hadn’t missed Nixon’s very public display of affection.
Well, Dad
, I thought.
You’re the one I should be thanking for not being able to cover my room and board
. Right after I thanked Russ and Cynthia for coming up with a fabulous solution.
Nixon’s hand squeezed my hip, and I leaned into him. Best. Roommate. Ever.
About the Author
Ava enjoys naughty things. She’s drawn to the forbidden and taboo, and writes kink that makes you think. Raised in Idaho, Ava now lives on the East Coast with her husband and two dogs.
Also by Ava Jackson
Stepbrother Master
Three months.
Three months trapped on a ranch in remote Montana with my mom’s latest husband … and his dark, brooding son.
I shouldn’t care that my new stepbrother’s talent with ropes goes beyond lassoing stray cattle. I shouldn’t care that his every look says he wants me … but he’s going to fight it to the bitter end.
I shouldn’t care that as the summer rolls on, my fascination overwhelms my better judgment and now I’m dying to call my stepbrother … Master.
