Stepbrother Soldier: A Forbidden Military Romance Novel (12 page)

Suddenly, Jessup whinnied and kicked at his stall, hard. Both horses
were still fully saddled, and probably fairly annoyed about it. I giggled as I
raised myself from his lap, his cum dripping down my thighs. I dressed quickly,
noticing the dirt on the bottom of my feet, but didn’t put my shirt back on
just yet. Ashton was still leaning back on the hay, watching me with delight in
his eyes. I threw him what I hoped was a saucy look as I went to Jessup’s stall
and began to remove his harness and saddle.

“Jesus, Christy,” Ashton said. “It’s all business
with you, isn’t it?”

I laughed slightly, hauling the heavy saddle from Jessup’s back.
Ashton was taking his sweet time getting up and getting dressed; not that I
minded. The view of him was still pretty spectacular; his dick was huge when it
was hard, but it wasn’t too shabby when it was soft, either.

“I’m just…I’m surprised that…after…” he said, his tone growing darker.
My own mind seemed to cloud as I realized what he was trying to say. I didn’t
want to think about that now. Not now, when I could still bask in the
afterglow.

“I’m surprised, too,” I said, hoisting the saddle back onto the shelf
it had come from. My breasts jiggled as I moved around the barn, but I was
starting to feel more self-conscious. The vague mention of the Admiral had made
me feel unsettled. I grabbed the wife beater and pulled it over my exposed
chest, grabbing a brush from a shelf.

“I mean, it’s a great surprise,” Ashton said, now finally rising and
putting on his own clothes, also opting to remain bare-chested. I helped him
with the saddle and harness, then went to brush Jessup, losing myself in the
repetitive motions, the steady breathing of the horse, his chest rising and
falling against my hand as I brushed him down.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his soft hide. I could
hear the blood pumping throughout his body, could feel his breath. I must have
stayed like that longer than I realized, because I was surprised when I felt
strong arms encircling me from behind. I leaned backwards, letting my back fall
against Ashton’s tight chest.

“We should have this always,” I murmured, my body and mind exhausted
from the two wild rides.

“In a perfect world, we would,” Ashton said, the words rumbling
through his chest, the vibrations coursing up my spine.

“We could just stay here forever,” I said, not
really meaning it but liking the fantasy nonetheless.

“But duty calls,” Ashton sighed into my ear. I knew he was really
talking about two things, one of which I hadn’t really given any thought until
then. I had a duty to expose the Admiral. Ashton had his duties to the
military.

I didn’t know what his contract was like, but I imagined it wasn’t one
that could be easily escaped. My heart fell as I realized our time together
might be much shorter than I’d imagined. Eventually, who knew when, but
eventually, he was going to have to leave. And unless we got married, there
wasn’t much chance of me going with him. And I don’t think I need to list all
the reasons marriage was out of the question.

“You still don’t know anything about where they’ll send you? Or when?”
I asked. I felt him shake his head no behind me.

We stayed just like that as the light began to dim, evening coming on
fast. Too fast.

14

The next day, I woke up eager to get to town and start doing whatever
needed to be done to bring my story to the media. I made a quick mental
checklist of people to reach out to, places to start. I still needed Ashton to
tell me what he knew of the other girls who had been victims of the Admiral.

Ashton and Jane were already sipping coffee at the table when I got
into the kitchen, fully dressed in the clothes I’d worn upon arrival, freshly
washed by the ever-hospitable Jane.

“Someone’s ready,” Jane said while lifting her coffee cup to her lips.
She had been giving me the same strange sort of look since we’d returned from
the ride the day before; it wasn’t malicious or even suspicious, just…strange.

“I think it’s time, for sure,” I said, my stomach starting to knot up
as I thought more and more about the task ahead of me. It wasn’t going to be
easy. It was going to be hard to start, and probably harder to finish. But I
had to. There was no doubt about that.

“Okay, let me finish my coffee and we’ll go,”
Ashton said. “Want a cup?”

“I’m okay,” I said, not needing caffeine to add to my stress levels.
Ashton nodded and took a few big gulps from his own mug before standing. Jane
looked at us both eyebrows raised.

“You won’t have trouble finding the library, it’s right on Main St.
Will you pick up the stuff on this list while you’re in town?” She handed me a
list of groceries. I nodded and looked at Ashton.

“Ready?”

He didn’t look ready, but he nodded nonetheless. I really hated how
nervous he was acting; it was true that, if the Admiral was tracing my e-mail
accounts, that logging in would blow our cover, but I still felt like that
didn’t matter. I was going to blow my own cover soon enough.

The drive into town was thirty minutes or so, and we spent much of it
in silence, our hands entwined in the middle of the cab. I felt stronger when
he was near, and even stronger when we touched. I worried for him, too, though.
He had been struggling before any of this even happened, and it wasn’t like
having your father try to rape your stepsister was great therapy for PTSD.

As we pulled up to the library, which looked like it had been around
since the 20’s without being renovated once, Ashton let the car idle at the
curb.

“I’ll go shopping while you’re in there. Should be twenty minutes or
so,” he said. I nodded and hopped out, wishing he was coming with me but
knowing that he couldn’t always be there. I was going to have to stand on my
own two feet sometime. Now was as good a time as any.

The library looked as ratty and run-down on the inside as it did on
the outside, but I could see a nook with some computers in it, and that’s all I
needed. After signing in at the desk, I settled into the wobbly chair and
waited for the ancient computer to boot up and connect to the internet.

I knew something was up from the moment I pulled up my e-mail. For one
thing, there were, I kid you not, 207 e-mails in my inbox. Now, I was a pretty
busy girl, with a lot going on, but to have 207 e-mails arrive in 3 days is a
little extreme, even for me. And all the e-mails had blaring subjects like “we
need to talk”, “how could you?”, “please say this is a joke”, and “regarding
your academic standing.” I pulled up that last e-mail first, my heart already pounding,
palms sweating as I clicked frantically.

Dear Ms.
Starling,

In light of the accusations against you regarding
your third-year term papers, as well as your recent contribution to the campus
newspaper, we are immediately placing you on academic suspension pending
further review.

Considering your history of excellence, we are
shocked and appalled by the accusations and your recent behavior. We will
expect you to attend a judiciary hearing regarding these matters, to be
scheduled within the next two weeks. This will be your chance to defend
yourself against the accusations and to explain your controversial editorial.

On a personal note, we would like to give you the
benefit of the doubt on all accounts, and expect that you will be able to fully
debunk all charges against you. Please call Linda Hurley at 555-045-0394
immediately to discuss the details of the hearing.

Sincerely,

Jordan Franklin, Chairman,
Ohio State University Committee on Academic Honor

Accusations? Controversial editorial? I went back to my inbox, my eyes
bouncing from e-mail to e-mail, seeing names both familiar and strange in the
“sender” column. “I agree with you,” “you’ve disappointed us,” “what’s going on
with you?”, “
you’re
scum”, and on and on. Sprinkled in
among these was another sort of e-mail: receipts.

Your order
from PUSSY DUNGEON has been processed.

Thanks for
your recent purchase at BDSM WAREHOUSE.

Order no.
3402-494 from LUOGO ADULT TOY LOT has been shipped!

I didn’t know which to tackle first, where to even begin. Obviously,
someone had hacked into my e-mail and school accounts, and my credit cards, and
done some serious damage. I didn’t need three guesses to figure out who that
“someone” could be.

Switching to my “sent” folder, I saw the last e-mail I’d sent (or, at
least, the last e-mail that had been sent from my account). It was titled “Re:
Editorial submission – high priority”. Clicking it open, I winced at reading
words that bore my name, but which I never typed.

“Samantha,

Yes, I am aware of the controversial content. I believe it may be what
the paper needs. And yes, it is entirely reflective of my position on all
accounts. Please do not question me further on this. If you are too cowardly to
print an honest, thoughtful, passionate editorial based upon fears of backlash,
then you are not the person that I thought I knew.

It is the job of the newspaper to raise questions, not shy from them.
As the editor-in-chief, albeit on a long-distance basis, I will accept no
further argument on the subject. If you refuse to put it on the website and in
the next issue, I will do it myself. I still have administrative power over the
website, and if I remember correctly, you do not.

Sincerely,

Christy”

The e-mail expanded into a chain, which included an attachment with
the first e-mail. I clicked on it, dread filling my heart.

I won’t re-print it here word for word, but I can give you the general
gist of the editorial that had been penned under my name. Basically, anything
that I’d fought for in the past four years of college, the editorial denounced.
It implied that women were fundamentally inferior to men, that sex was not a
privilege but a right, that allowing LGBT clubs and organizations on campus was
immoral, that a return to a more conservative, less socially conscious America
was the only way to save the country.

It was, in short, utter bullshit.

I could feel my blood boiling as I read through it once, twice, then a
third time. Each word was like a dagger in my chest. I couldn’t believe that
Samantha, one of my closest friends on the staff, wouldn’t see right through it
and recognize it as fraudulent. Even the writing style didn’t sound like mine!

But I knew this was, really, only the tip of the iceberg. The e-mails
had hinted at something else, something far more insidious. Clicking back to my
inbox, I scanned for something, anything, that would give me some indication of
what the “accusations” were all about. Finally, I found an e-mail from
Professor Kennenbaum,
my thesis
advisor, titled “Regarding the recent allegations against you.”

Dear Ms.
Starling,

I was shocked and saddened to hear about the
controversy over your supposed plagiarism. I would like to take this time to
say that I stand fully behind you, and believe you have been the victim of a
cruel prank by a jealous peer. If you need character witnesses for any upcoming
hearings, please do not hesitate to contact me.

While I have never heard of this “Jai Ping” who
is claiming you stole his work, you can rest assured that I do not put his
evidence above my faith in you as a scholar. Let me know if I can be of any
assistance, even if you only need a sympathetic ear during this ordeal.

Best,

Professor R.
Kennenbaum

Plagiarism. Someone had accused me of plagiarism. Who the hell was Jai
Ping? And what sort of evidence could he possibly have? I’d never plagiarized
in my life! Obviously, the Admiral had had a hand in this, too, but how?

I went back to my inbox but saw nothing else that would give me more
information; as I scrolled down, though, I saw more and more of the same
receipts, all from adult websites. I felt like I was drowning as e-mail after
e-mail promised that my order had been received or shipped, or offering me $50
off my next purchase. Opening a new tab, I pulled up my bank account info; both
my credit cards had been maxed out, my debit account wiped clean.

So I was
broke
, and my academic integrity was
in question, and a disgusting editorial had been published under my name. None
of those things seemed, in the moment, too be too large a hurdle, but put
together it was like coming home to find that a tornado had torn your house
apart. I stood up, shaking, looking around wildly for Ashton. He’d said he’d
return in twenty minutes, and that had been twenty minutes ago. I needed to use
his phone. I needed to call my banks, call the school, call anyone who could
help me.

I nearly tackled him when I saw him enter the
front door.

“I need your phone, right now,” I said, holding
my hand out, body shaking.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s up?” he asked, moving towards me. It seemed
like he was going to hug me, but changed his mind. I could understand why; even
though no one in the library knew us from Adam, there was still the feeling of
risk whenever we touched in public. As though we were so guilty of indulging in
what we both knew was taboo that anyone watching us would automatically know
that we were stepsiblings instead of a young couple.

“Come,” I said, taking his hand and dragging him to the computer. He
sat down and started looking through the e-mails, his brow furrowing as he put
the pieces together.

“He’s trying to discredit me. He’s trying to ruin my reputation! That
sick bastard!” I cried, much to the chagrin of the elderly librarian, who shot
me a dirty look. I didn’t care. “I need to start making calls. He maxed out my
bank account and credit cards, too.”

“Okay, well, start there, first. Then we’ll need
to talk about…”

“No way. No more talking. I need to get in touch with people and tell
them what happened,” I said, hands on my hips, blind with fury as I thought
once more about the Admiral posing as me through e-mail. Looking down and
sighing, Ashton handed me his phone.

“Look up my bank’s number, please?” I said,
leaning over his shoulder as he typed.

As I spoke to the customer service representative, explaining the
situation in as little detail as I could manage, I was shocked to hear that
they had apparently called my cell phone the day before and “spoken to me”. I’d
confirmed my security word and verified all the purchases. How the Admiral had
pulled that off, I still don’t
know.
I suspect it has
to do with the fact that my security code was my childhood dog’s name, which
the Admiral must have learned from my mother. How he’d managed to convince the
caller that his voice belonged to a 22-year-old girl, though, is still a
mystery.

After re-confirming my security code, the operator told me I’d need to
file a police report in order to have the charges reversed.
Fuck,
I thought. How could I file a
police report without telling the whole story? And if Ashton was right, which I
knew he probably was, about going to the cops, it could be more dangerous for
me than anything else I could do.

They’d run the Admiral’s name through their system and, probably,
dismiss me outright. Identity theft and credit card fraud wasn’t the sort of
thing that a rich, high-ranking military official could have any motive for,
especially if the identity he was stealing was his stepdaughter’s.