His Plaything (8 page)

“Wha…?” she murmured, still fuzzy with pleasure.

“I need you in my bed,” I said huskily. When I straightened up, she squeaked and clung to my neck. “Don't worry. I've got you.”

Drunk with desire, I carried her to my room and lay her down. Her eyes on me felt like fire as I hurried to strip my clothes off. I rolled on a condom and her gasp blended with my groan as I lined my cock up to her entrance and pushed inside, so slow it felt like heavenly torture. Her skin already glowed with a thin sheen of sweat. Usually I liked to fuck from behind, but for my first time with Avery, I wanted to see her face. To see her long, dark lashes flutter, her mouth opening as she moaned, so that I knew she was enjoying this just as much as I was. I'd never worked so hard for sex in my life. I didn't cook for women or bring them flowers or give them massages. So right now, I was damn well going to savor the fruits of my labor. I was going to watch Avery fall apart under me. And fall apart she did—again and again and again. Until we fell asleep still molded together, one arm around her slim waist and the other pillowing her silky head.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, Avery's lingering scent, and the distant sound of water running in the bathroom. She must have slipped out at some point during the night. Maybe she felt weird about screwing me again; maybe sleeping together was still too intimate for her. Or maybe she'd just woken up before me. Whatever her reason for leaving was, I already wanted her again. Now that I'd had a taste of Avery, I couldn't give her the chance to change her mind about me. I needed her in my life—needed to touch and taste and please her every day. Just the thought of her naked curves, wet and soapy from the shower, made my cock twitch. Without bothering to get dressed, I rolled out of bed and went down the hall to join her.

Chapter 12

Avery

Hibiscus-scented steam billowed out of the shower. My hands kept pausing in my lathered hair, thick shampoo suds running down my arms, as I contemplated last night. Part of me—hell, most of me—still couldn't believe what had happened. I had had sex with Nixon. Incredible, sweaty, mindblowing sex that was even better than my fantasies. I felt languid yet full of energy, exhausted yet exhilarated. My pussy was still sore and the muscles of my hips and legs twinged from strain. In a weird way, it felt kind of satisfying … or even sexy. Like a memory written into my body. I had earned those aches and pains from pleasure. Every time I moved today, I would remember how good Nixon had felt inside me.

My breath was already coming a little quicker. Despite the hot, humid air, I realized that my nipples had tightened.
Jesus, what's this man done to me?
Last night, I couldn't even keep track of how many orgasms I'd had, but apparently nothing was ever enough when it came to Nixon. Just the thought of his touch made me want him all over again.

Out of all the scenarios I had pictured when I'd first moved in here, getting addicted to him definitely wasn't one of them. And I was afraid that “addiction” was the right word for it. Where did we go from here? Was he just making all that stuff up about commitment and monogamy?

The shower curtain rustled. I hurried to rinse the soap off my face just in time to see Nixon step under the spray in front of me. “W-what are you doing?” I stuttered, my eyes glued to his gorgeous body. Every dip and swell of muscle glistened with moisture. I probably looked like a horny schoolgirl at a boy band concert.

And the shower invader just grinned at me, not caring at all about my inner turmoil. “Hey, I just wanted to talk. Can I stay? Please?”

Disarmed, I managed to look into his eyes instead of further south. He
had
been awfully sweet over the past few days … and we did need to talk. Had he really meant everything he said last night? My curiosity—not to mention how tired I was of living in Awkward Tension Town—finally outweighed all else. “Fine,” I said, relenting. “Talk about what?”

“Just how you're feeling. A lot has happened between us in the past few days.”

“The understatement of the century,” I snorted.

He gave me an exasperated look. But there was something else there, something that seemed almost like affection. I wasn't sure I should trust myself to read that expression correctly. “Does the family thing still bother you?” he asked. “The fact that I'm your … ex-stepsister's stepbrother or whatever?”

“You mean my stepbrother, period? Uh, yeah… We've already talked about this,” I sighed. “I'm still having a hard time understanding how
you
aren't weirded out.”

“It's not a blood connection. It's not even a direct connection through marriage, really. You practically need a damn flowchart to explain it to people.”

“Yeah, but we…” I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just wrung my hands together, afraid that they'd gravitate to his perfect pecs and we'd end up screwing again instead of talking. As insistent as the heat between my legs was getting, we needed to discuss our relationship. We needed to make sure we were on the same page before we got back to …
Goddammit! Naked Nixon is a hazard to my sanity.

“Ford and Emma are in our same situation—actually, they're a lot more closely related than we are—and they're engaged, for Christ's sake. Dad and Cynthia gave them their blessing.” With a gentle smile, he rested his hand on my shoulder. “We've got nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody would think badly of us. Nobody would even care.”

“Really? You're saying you'd call me your girlfriend in public?”

He blinked, looking confused. “Why the hell not? Might take some getting used to, bu—”

“You'd tell your friends right now that we're dating?”

“Fox and Logan can go fuck themselves.” Nixon paused. “Especially Fox. At the end of the day, I've got an amazing girl, and they've got nothing but their hands.” His forehead touched mine; even through the steam-laden air, I could feel his breath on my lips, just barely. “Avery … last night was off the charts. It was … different on a whole new level for me. I want you to really believe that.”

And you've got a good sample size for comparison, don't you?
I thought. Somehow, though, it didn't have the same venom as before. His long, wild list of past conquests had lost much of its power over me. The desire in his eyes—for
me
, Avery Palmer—was too honest to be anything less than irresistible.

“Last night was … good for me, too,” I finally admitted.
Another understatement of the century.
It almost scared me how well we fit together. Beyond anything I had ever experienced. I could hardly believe that what I'd felt with Nixon and what I'd felt with my high-school boyfriend even existed in the same universe. To call both acts “sex” seemed like a grave oversight of the English language.

Cradling my head in one hand, he pulled me to him. His kiss was an affectionate, almost tender press of lips. Not chaste—I couldn't imagine Nixon's touch ever failing to excite me—just innocently sensual. A kiss for kissing's sake, instead of a calculated first step toward more. But the spray had wet our mouths and before I knew it, our tongues were slipping against each other. His other hand drifted down to my hip. When he pulled back, we were both breathing faster.

“I fucking knew it,” I said, giggling despite myself. “I knew you didn't come in here just to talk. Otherwise you could've waited five minutes until I was out of the shower.”

“I wasn't lying. I really did want to check up on you.” He kissed me just under my ear. “But I admit … a wet, naked Avery was a pretty big bonus.” Another kiss, lower, over my already-fluttering pulse. “Could you really blame me for wanting to see that?” He gently nipped my collarbone, then laved the tender spot with his tongue. “For being unable to get enough of you?” His thumb rubbed circles over the crease where my thigh met my hip. Even that subtle touch sparked straight to my clit.

I bit my lip. “Nixon, I've …
oohh
… I've got class in an hour…”

“Take the day off.” His mouth descended to my nipple, all hot suction and flickering tongue. A whimper tore itself from high in my throat. I might have fallen if his other hand hadn't been holding me up behind my back.

“Y-you're evil,” I gasped. “You're evil and you need to … f-fuck me right now.”

He gave me a smile that begged to be slapped right off his face. “I can live with that. Just let me go get a condom.” He started pulling aside the shower curtain to step out.

Something made me reach out and grab his elbow. “Wait. I, um…” I almost couldn't believe I was about to say this. “I'm clean, and I can't get pregnant, so if you're clean…”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“No more waiting. I want you now. And I want—” I swallowed. “I want to know what you feel like.”

His shock had already been replaced by a sinful grin. “You mean you want to feel my cock inside your sweet cunt?”

The filthy words were like an electric shock. I nodded quickly and said, “Yes,” my voice so husky I almost couldn't recognize it.

Nixon yanked me into a searing kiss, then spun me around to face the faucet. I braced myself on the tiled wall just as he pushed in. I slumped forward, panting as he filled me inch by breathtaking inch, so thick, so long it felt never ending. Finally his washboard abs met my back, only for him to pull out and slam back in. I moaned in ecstasy, toes curling against the slick porcelain of the tub. He set a punishing pace—hips hammering, lips and teeth at the nape of my neck, fingers rubbing my clit in firm circles—and I spurred him on with my ragged cries.

Last night, I had loved feeling Nixon's weight on top of me. Watching his face and knowing he was watching mine, kissing deep, sharing our breath, his tongue in my mouth echoing the movements of his cock. We had been lost in each other. Being bent over this way felt … primal. Different, but just as good. The shower's warm spray pattering down on us just added to the illusion, as if we were mating in a summer rainstorm. Every position and scenario had its own unique flavor, I was quickly finding out, and I looked forward to exploring them all with Nixon. White-hot pleasure coiled in the pit of my stomach, tighter and tighter, ready to shatter, and I moaned, “I'm coming! Oh God, come inside me!”

“Yes, ma'am,” he growled. His fingers bruised my hips and his cock throbbed inside me. We stayed like that for a minute, Nixon thrusting slowly, letting me savor every warm aftershock as he rode out his orgasm. I could feel his broad, muscled chest heaving against my back. There was something incredibly erotic and sensual about the feel of his hard body pressing over mine.

Craning my neck, I looked over my shoulder and grinned at him. Not a shy or uneasy smile, like I'd been wearing the few days before, but bright and toothy and real. He gave me the same look right back.

Then I turned around completely and pushed him away, laughing, feeling almost giddy. “Now I have to shower all over again,” I mock-scolded. Before he could ask, I added, “And no, you can't help. At least let me make my two other classes today. We only get three excused absences and I don't want to blow them all on sex.”
No matter how insanely amazing that sex is
.

“Okay, damn. Toss me out, why don't you?” With a crooked smile, Nixon gave me one last peck on the lips and stepped out of the shower. “I'm going to go make breakfast.”

“I like my eggs sunny-side up,” I called cheerfully after him. My dry spell was officially banished; I'd had more orgasms in the past twenty-four hours than in the six months before. Making up for all the time I'd lost—years of tepid sex and frustrated celibacy—was sure going to be fun. And deep in my heart, there was a small hope for even more. A sense that this thing between me and Nixon, whatever it was, might really become something more than just physical.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. But I wanted to wait and see.

Chapter 13

Nixon

After Avery came back home, we spent the rest of Tuesday together, then Wednesday morning and evening. A few hours here, a few hours there—whatever time we could steal between Avery's classes. Even though we were sneaking around snatching quickies like a couple of high-schoolers, I hadn't felt so relaxed and contented in years. It was amazing how, just a few short weeks ago, the thought of someone invading my space had made my blood boil. Now I was happy that Avery had moved in—and even happier that she had come to trust me.

On Thursday afternoon, we took advantage of Avery's morning-only classes to cuddle on the couch for the rest of the day. Some stupid reality show about cake competitions was playing on TV, but neither of us were paying much attention. My feet were propped up on the coffee table. Avery was lying in the crook of my arm, head pillowed on my chest, breathing like she was half asleep as I stroked her hair.
Just how do women get their hair so damn soft, anyway? Special shampoo? Something to do with estrogen?

“I've been wondering about something,” Avery mumbled without opening her eyes, and for an absurd moment I thought she'd read my mind. “Where did you learn to cook?”

I flexed my fingers into the wavy locks, running my nails gently over her scalp, and felt her shiver a little. “In the service.”

“For real?”

I looked down at her. She probably couldn't see my raised eyebrows, but she could feel me shift position slightly. “Yeah, really. Is that surprising?” I asked.

“Well, you know.” Her hand made a vague motion. “Most people think cooking is girly. I figured you'd be … ” She let herself trail off.

“What, too manly to know how to feed myself?” I teased. “You have to learn practical skills in the military. Sewing, cleaning, laundry, ironing, first aid, stuff like that. I mean, who the hell else is going to do it?”

“I always thought there was …  I don't know, staff or something to cook for you guys.”

“Sometimes there are. But when you're on a remote mission, holed up in a cave or trekking through the jungle, knowing how to make MREs edible comes in real handy.” I chuckled. “It's always funny to see new recruits get their rude awakening. Especially the super 'hoo-yah!' meathead type guys. They thought service was going to be like real-life Call of Duty, all guts and glory … boy oh boy, you should see their faces when they figure out that their mommies didn't come along with them. Always brightens my day.”

Avery cracked up, squirming against me until I couldn't help but laugh, too. Over her furious giggles, I heard my phone buzz. I pulled it out of my pocket. Not recognizing the number, I answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

“Chief Petty Officer Nixon Bennett?”

Avery fidgeted away from me and I realized that my back had unconsciously gone ramrod-straight. There were some officers whose sheer rank you could hear over the phone, and this was one of them. “Yes, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Relax, son. This is Captain Harry Sutherland—”

Captain Sutherland? As in, the leader of the entire Naval Special Warfare Group ONE? The man who oversaw a quarter of all the Navy SEALs in existence? Wondering whether I should be shitting myself right now, I almost missed what he said next.

“—and I'm calling to inform you that you're being awarded a Silver Star.”

It took me a moment to un-swallow my tongue. “Excuse me, sir?”

“For your performance on your last mission in Syria.”

I licked my suddenly parched lips. “That mission succeeded because of my teammates and support staff, sir. Whatever I've achieved, I owe it all to their hard work.”

A dry chuckle. “That's a good line. Make sure to include it in your acceptance speech.”

There was nothing to say to that other than, “Thank you, sir.”

“Your flight to Arlington departs from NAS North Island at oh-seven-hundred hours tomorrow. A Navy car will pick you up in front of your provided address at oh-six-fifteen. You'll return by twenty-hundred hours on Saturday.”

“Yes, sir.” Despite the elation that threatened to choke my voice, I couldn't help thinking that this was terrible timing. Of course I was over the moon—this award was the third-highest decoration for valor in the whole fucking U.S. military, after all—but I also hated to leave right when Avery and I had finally made some real progress. We wouldn't even be able to spend much of tonight together, since I had to be ready for action in less than eleven hours.
Oh, well. Duty calls … not like I can tell the Pentagon to hold off until I've locked down my woman situation.

“I'm sure I don't have to remind you that SEAL business is never publicized, even in the case of military honors. Your team commander and your platoon leader have already been notified, and we'll handle the press in our own way, so you can consider yourself under a gag order until further notice.”

Forgetting he couldn't see me, I nodded as I replied, “Understood, sir.”

“Good. Have a nice day, son—and congratulations.” Click. Dial tone.

I hung up, still a little dazed, and Avery snuggled back into my side. “What was that all about?” she asked. “I could feel your heart pounding.”

“Uh … ” Even if the details weren't classified information, I would have been reluctant to tell Avery much; I didn't want her getting all starry-eyed over the whole
real-life hero
thing again. “I have to go out of town tomorrow morning. Really damn early.”

Her grip on my bicep tightened. “Are you being deployed again?”

“What? No. It's just for a couple days. I'll be back by late Saturday night.” I squeezed her and kissed the crown of her head. “I'd tell you more, but … Navy business. You know.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Her tone was resigned—not happy, but not hurt, either. She knew better than to press for details. What was more, she knew I was married to my job.

But I'd be damned if I let Avery feel like second fiddle. I gave her another squeeze, then got up. “Since we were talking about food … I have to go pack real fast, but after that, you want to make dinner?”

She stretched and let out a squeak. “Sure. What were you in the mood for?”

“You,” I said, lowering my voice into a purr. Then I added in a normal tone, “But beef stir-fry with rice is an acceptable runner-up.”

“Hmm … ” Instead of laughing or sticking her tongue out at me, Avery looked slyly thoughtful. “Food first.”

“Does that mean you for dessert?”

“Maybe. Now go get ready for your big secret mission, Major Pervert. I'll start cutting up the vegetables.”

“That's Chief Petty Officer Pervert to you, civilian,” I called as I headed into my bedroom. I quickly folded my dress whites and a few pairs of socks and boxers into my suitcase, already suppressing a grin of anticipation. I seemed to be smiling a lot these days.

After an early dinner and half a movie, we went to bed. But we didn't sleep. I was more than willing to give up an hour of precious shut-eye to hold Avery tight, rocking inside her until she trembled and muffled her moans against my neck. Our slow, languid press of skin on skin felt an awful lot like making love.