His Plaything(12)
I almost gasped. Every word flashed straight between my thighs with throbbing heat. Nixon licked his wickedly upturned lips and my pussy ached, wanting so badly to feel that flicking tongue on my clit. Wanting that long, thick cock to fill me up until I couldn't think about anything but pleasure. The part of me that understood things like shame and stepbrothers was on the verge of being kicked out of the driver's seat. If Nixon so much as touched my knee, my legs might fall open. If he climbed on top of me right now, I'd let him—hell, I would beg him—to give me all he had.
Abort, abort! my brain screamed at me. I had to seize back control, right now, or my own body wouldn't give me another chance. I leaped up, putting my wineglass on the coffee table so quickly I almost tipped it over. “I-it's late,” I stuttered. “I think I should call it a night. Sorry.”
Without waiting for his reply, I fled from Nixon for the second time that day. I didn't even look back as I hurried down the hallway. I really wasn't sorry at all, but I still didn't want to see his reaction. I didn't know what would be worse: him frowning in disappointment, shrugging in oh well whatever apathy, or staring hungrily at my ass. I couldn't deal with any of it right now. I'd had too much wine, too much traveling, too much sun, too much testosterone in too small a space. The bottom line I was coming to: nothing about this night was my fault.
Over and over again, I tried to excuse myself for my rampaging hormones. But when I had brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas and snuggled up under the silky-smooth sheets, I realized that I'd never actually told Nixon no.
Chapter 7
Nixon
The next day, my alarm went off at four-thirty in the morning. I dressed in sweatpants and a worn-out T-shirt, filled my water bottle, and walked down to the Coronado Beach to meet my teammate Logan for our regular ten-mile run.
Now was the quietest that this place ever got. The beach and its boardwalk shops were almost deserted. The eastern horizon glowed orange, but the sun wouldn't actually rise for another hour and a half, and the slight chill in the air was perfect for hard exercise.
I jogged over to where Logan was warming up near the gate. “What's up?” I asked. “Do anything interesting with your time off yet?”
“Nah,” he grunted, still finishing his stretch. “You ready to go?”
I chuckled a little. I'd known Logan for almost my entire SEAL career, and he'd never been one to waste words. Overall, he was a pretty stand-up guy—reliable, level-headed, tough but thoughtful. In the past, I'd solved more than a few personal problems on his advice, or even just by thinking out loud around him. “Ready when you are.”
Logan got to his feet and we started running. For five or ten minutes, the only sound was our tennis shoes pounding the wet sand, the whoosh of the surf, and a few seagulls crying in the distance. We usually talked a little for the first eight miles or so, before we really had to save our breath and concentrate to push through the burn. And I definitely had a topic in mind for today. But I wasn't sure what to say about my new roommate, or what kind of reply I even wanted from Logan. So I let us lapse into comfortable silence.
“My new stepsister Avery just moved in,” I said after a while. “Kind of on short notice.” Thanks so fucking much for that, Dad.
Logan didn't say anything. But his head turned slightly, so I continued. “This is her last semester at UC San Diego, so she'll be out of my face again by next January, but… ” I trailed off. Was her short stay a good or a bad thing? I still barely knew how I felt about this little arrangement. On the one hand, I'd wanted to fuck Avery's brains out since the moment we met, and she'd managed to pique my interest even further. On the other hand, I was stuck with an uninvited guest who made stupid rules about my private life.
After it became clear that I wasn't going to finish my sentence, Logan said simply, “Huh. Good luck, I guess.”
I gave a humorless chuckle. “To me or to her?”
“Either one. You ever live with a woman before?”
“Nope. I enlisted right after high school. So I went straight from living under my dad's roof to living under the Navy's.” I cocked my head to look at him. “What difference does it make? It's not like I don't understand women.”
He shook his head. “It's different. I've shared my place with a couple girlfriends. Never for long, though.” A shadow came over his expression. “Hey … what do you think you'll do after the SEALs? Would you ever leave the Navy?”
“Huh?” I hadn't expected this sudden change of topic—let alone such an absurd question. “Hell no. You know me. I love every horrible goddamn second.” Where else could I get the same kind of adrenaline rush, that camaraderie and focused flow that came with teamwork in the midst of danger? “When I get too old for active duty, I'll just join a Reserve SEAL Team or a Naval Special Warfare Unit or something. I'm still not sure.”