His Plaything(44)

“Nixon … I'm…”

Her words dissolved into a lilting cry. The feel of her walls pulsing in ecstasy around me pushed me over the edge. I kissed her hard, drinking in her moans, and drowned in her heat, her scent, her passion.

In all my crazy sexual adventures, I had never made love to a woman before. Hell, I'd never thought I would. But there was a first time for everything.





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.”